Kraftwerk-BREMEN RADIO 1971 CD-R (bootleg)

Yeah, the bootleg scene hasn't been that hotsy-totsy as of late (give or take TWELVE YEARS), but here's a really snat one that's come across my path only just yesterday thanks to the kind generosity of Mr. Imants Krumins. 'n not only that, but if you click on the above link (and have a little bitta computer savvy) maybe YOU TOO could be the proud owner of this brand-spanking-new boot cee-dee without paying the big buckskins that are usually associated with procuring these long-desired rarities guaranteed to make your heart (amongst other things) go "boom!" Who says we're living in a vast internet wasteland with such unforseen wonders as INSTANT BOOTLEGS at the reach of our very fingertips anyway???

So here it is (if you so wish), Kraftwerk live in 1971 right after their debut album was already corrupting impressionable young krauts to the height of collective mass guilt for the existence of James Last. Besides that, this ain't one of those Ralf Hutter/Florian Schneider efforts where they prance off into the outer reaches of minimalist space cantatas (nothing wrong with that mind ye!) nor their latterday electronic disco iceberg emotion style that fit in well with the post-Devo gang, but the now-infamous Hutter-less edition of the band when future Neu!-meisters Michael Rother and Klaus Dinger were filling in for the bespectacled one to amazing effect! And (as you'd already know from their "Truckstop Gondolero" video that was bootlegged all over the place these past ten years), they add to the German expressionist motif in a fashion that I (in retrospect) wished the Kraftwerkian infrastructure would have been permanently modeled on with their downright punkoid playing that coulda made Kraftwerk the Stooges of Germany if they tried hard enough! Too bad Hutter decided to come back to the fold with the Neu!-faction vamoosing and Kraftwerk hadda eventually get sandwiched into the dancerock/futuristic hoodoo pigeonhole, but at the time BREMEN RADIO was broadcast (7/25/71) Kraftwerk were perhaps at their pinnacle, presenting a pretty hard-edged variation of krautrock that I would say actually equalled the similar primitive garage band aural crankouts that the competition from Amon Duul II and Can to even the more addled groups of the land (German Oak come to mind) were putsching forth in relative obscurity.

The aural quality's immaculate (especially given the 35-year-old "maturity" of the source material) and the performance is so unlike the legit Kraftwerk offerings with Rother's rudimentary guitar and Dinger's "motorik" drumming dominating the sound (Schneider is pretty much mixed to the back) to the point where this group arguably ceases to be Kraftwerk and more or less ends up as a proto-Neu! effort I'm sure 75% of the kraut-loving British punk rock scene in '76 woulda slashed for.

The disque begins with an outta left field and totally-unexpected soo-prize called "Heavy Metal Kids," 'n although I believe this is one of those spurious bootleg titles that have misled many an ignorant neophyte over the years the name of this one really does fit the subject-at-hand. Remember that old issue of GULCHER where a then-unknown Thurston Moore referred to Suicide a "heavy metal Kraftwerk"??? Well, this Kraftwerk IS "thee" heavy metal, bub, especially with Rother's guitar doing the best primal thud that early-seventies metal was known and loved in the fanzine world for, sorta coming off like the daftest Tony Iommi wannabe cranking along with the cultured European school of minimalism that somehow seems to be plunging to the same depths of atonal despair as Sabbath etc. were around the same time. And don't tell me it was only a "coincidence"!!!

And what's really super about BREMEN RADIO 1971 is that there's only ONE previously-released number here, the once-well-known "Ruckzuck" which sure enough begins like the album version, but without Hutter's keyboards (and with Rother's guitar) the song veers off into a decidedly different direction sounding more late-sixties guitar psychedelia than early-seventies techno. (One of the best things about krautrock, like Hawkwind, the Pink Fairies, punk rock and the best movements of our time, is that it was reactionary and hearkened back to past triumphs that were perhaps jettisoned way too fast from the memories of the pop-listening public of the day.) In fact, other than the (very) basic structure, there's really nothing here that compares to the more familiar take so it's "almost" like a totally different song at that!

The whole of BREMEN RADIO 1971 is like that...heavy-duty repeato-riff quasi-psychedelic rock which has a Stockhausen-bred sense of Teutonic order on one hand and Stooges-level dunce-thud on the other. A winning combination, especially on the final track (entitled "K4") where Schneider plays his violin with what sounds like a wah-pedal coming off more like Ron Asheton than David LaFlamme. Krautrock (in its best incarnations) always had that provincial soundwarpage to it, and if you think that late-sixties garage primacy and the European classic tradition could walk hand in hand, maybe BREMEN RADIO 1971 is for you. Anyway, if this one had gotten around back then, maybe groups like Kongress wouldn't've come off as such a shock.

BURNING BLOGPOSTS GIVE YOU SO MUCH MORE!

I dunno what the weather's like in your part of the world, but here in Sharon Pee-Yay we're smack dab inna middle of Autumn and boy do I hate it! Gotta say that for me Fall's the second worst season of the year...oh, it's OK at the beginning, but when the leaves start tumblin' down and you have to rake 'em up and scoop 'em outta the rain gutters hopefully avoiding any unseen cat manure or dormant bats in the process, the natural situation surely collides with one's sense of laziness! Then again, I also hate Winter because of all that snow one has to shovel up, and Spring ain't that hot of a time because the tree fuzz wreaks havoc with my nasal passages. Summer...well, I do have a soft spot in my heart for that time o' year mainly because it reminds me of when I was a kid and didn't have to go to school or act civilized'r anything! It's always nice to keep in touch with your Inner Brat.

Enough chat...before I clue you in to a number of interesting items that have come my way as of late (which I assume is the reason you tune into this blog, perhaps looking for a shard of something in-line with your sense of primitive rockism, or general slobboid Amerigan tastes, or both, or none for that matter), I know that you're more than anxiously awaiting my opinions on a certain new blog that has appeared on the internet scene which I assume will be making a big splash in the days to come. And yes, you would also be correct to think that I surely breathed a sigh of relief when the said blogschpieler had decided to abandon his previous blog for what at the time seemed like some totally occult reason. And while we're at it, yes dear reader, even """""I""""" harbored a few ideas/wishes that it was my own personal salvos against this bulwark of misinformation and downright distortion which brought his blog to a thankful demise, but alas that is not the case since the "man" has brought forth a totally new blog (not counting his beer-oriented one which I haven't yet perused since I never really cozied up to chic alcoholic microbrewery snobbery) onto the internet scene which, unlike his previous endeavor, will deal with subjects beyond the standard alternative/indie music clique which was the sum whole of the previous blog's existence for all the good or bad that may imply.

OK, as we all know by now that this mysterioso blogger is none other than one Jay Hinman, and his new blog goes under the moniker of Detailed Twang which, as Hinman explains on the said blog's initial post, is the name of some number by the British post-something group The Door and the Window. Funny, I almost bought one of their discs back in '79 back when Systematic Distribution had just changed their name from Renaissance Records, but I got over it. Still, I'm sure that more than a few recent visitors to BLOG TO COMM must wonder exactly what it is that I have against this guy (or more accurately, vice versa), and given the solemn occasion of a new blog from the pen, er, keyboard of Mr. Hinman maybe it is time to explain things all over again. After all, the year 2004 seems soooo long ago and memories are perhaps a bit hazy at this point in time, so for the newcomers to the BLOG TO COMM sphere of influence perhaps a little, or even a LOT of background and analysis is in ordure (no sic).

Anyhoo, for a little history if you will...as you might or might not know, besides being the creator/moderator of this humble blog I am also the editor of what in my admittedly biased opinion is a nice albeit shifting-quality fanzine called BLACK TO COMM. Rather than give you a detailed rundown of the history of the fanzine which you can easily enough read elsewhere, let me just say that this title began in 1985 (for the previous four years I had been contributing to a variety of magazines and wanted less, uh, "editorial restrictions" with regards to many of my more scabrous submissions) and within a few years the creation had evolved from a fun yet low-budget crudzine to a nice offset-printed publication which at times has even included a bonus compact disc featuring some extremely rare (still!) music that I had been championing yet had not made it out beyond the confines of a few eager beaver collectors and rockism maniacs like myself. And, after over twenny years at the helm all I gotta says is that I most certainly am proud of my efforts in dishing these BLACK TO COMMs out at an unsuspecting (or perhaps unprepared) populace, although I certainly would have done a lotta things differently had I the chance to do it all over again like be even nastier to a lotta the enemies of rock & roll and all high energy musics who unforunately wield a little too much power out there, if you get my drift.

The oddest thing about putting out these BLACK TO COMMs not only on such a shoestring budget with an irregularity more akin to the winner of a peanut butter eating contest has always been that...although I'd been doing it for what seems like ages on end and have more or less cultivated a mystique and aura about the thing, it always seemed as if when each new issue had arrived it was like I was starting all over again in getting people to know that not only did this fanzine exist, but that """""I""""" did as well. Believe-you-me, it sure did get frustrating after awhile banging my head on doors and coming up with the "who's he???" response more often than not, and you can bet that I sure understood what Eddie Haskell meant when he told Wally that he hadda act like a big brass band to get anyone out there to notice him because I sure hadda as well. And yeah, at times the self-hype and publicity-generation (or what I could do with such limited resources) did help a bit, but unfortunately when the much-needed publicity did come more often enough it was either way-too-patronising or more often than not downright destructive as Gerard Cosloy's oh-so-cute remarks in his once-Peter Gabriel-dominated fanzine would attest to.

That's why I had been anxiously awaiting any positive mention or comment (no matter how small or humble, though the bigger the better I always say!) regarding BLACK TO COMM when the blasted thing would arrive from the printers and into your sweaty palms. Sure, such responses never resulted in any issues instantly selling out nor did whatever publicity that may have been generated really add up to any great shakes on my behalf, but at least a mention from Byron Coley in SPIN would bring in two or three orders at best plus would plant a few seeds in a number of fertile minds out there. And, like I said, with doing a new issue almost like starting from scratch and many distributors refusing to touch the thing (and with helpful and friendly people the likes of Ted Gottfried going under with his very beneficial SEE HEAR distribution biz and magazine shoppe) I was anxiously awaiting any real positive appraisals of the thing given all of the brick walls I had been ramming into all these years. So maybe that's why I was hoping that I would have gotten a pretty nice writeup of my latest issue from blogger David Lang (see picture immediately below). And let me just add that at the time Dave was writing up a review of the mag, I really coulda used an uplifting pat on the back. Not that's I'm that much of a down-inna-dumps feller, but let's just say (without breaking out the violins playing "My Heart Bleeds For You"!) that besides the heavy tension of having to put out this fanzine and a lotta the personal upheavals happening in my life (things which delayed the latest issue's release by over a year), my spirits were pretty much chungered given alla the emotional strain and stress coming from all directions at the time, and the LAST thing that I needed was a back-stab the intensity of the one I was to get from Mr. Lang on his Lexicon Devil blog! And although this was well over two years ago all I STILL gotta say is man, was that a deep cut!

In order to sum things up in the proper perspective sorta way, lemmee just say that on his blog Lang nonchanantly told his lumpen audience that oh, he really likes the fanzine and thinks its all gosharootie, but boy is he hot and bothered by the (get this!) racism, sexism, homophobia etc. that certainly reeks in my work! Heavy-duty claims dontcha think, and claims that really can be uttered with ease but as Joseph Sobran said are pretty hard to defend. Now, given that Lang is a liberal and one of the particularly rancid European variety I can understand just how he would have little real comprehension of just what racism really is (especially given that he lives in Australia, where racism against Asians is rampant yet I have no evidence that Lang is a basher of anyone so at least I will not cast aspersions upon whatever is left of his dignity!). After all, in today's rather restrictive clime, a white man who is murdered by black thugs is a racist while a black man murdered by white thugs is a victim...OK, that is way too much a generality but perhaps not too far from the point. (I mean, remember that black guy who got dragged to his death by some klan-types in Texas awhile back? That made the front pages and evening news and had garments rent all over this land, though similar crimes where whites have been dragged to their deaths by blacks have certainly been, er, consigned to the back section if lucky!) Now, I don't expect Dave, living in the comfy confines of Australia and all, to comprehend what American race relations are all about, and if complaining about certain situations where there certainly are injustices dealt against white people by blacks (vice-versa for that matter) or via whatever court-sanctioned injustice and arbitrary law there is out there makes me a "racist" then I'm sure that racism is blooming all over the place, and I guess that also makes a lotta black people racist against their own as well!

I could say the same things about all them other charges, but I think I put Lang in his proper place (the toilet) with my original response to his pallid argument here so why rehash a lotta old turds anyway? However, one bad thing that came from Lang's post was that another, way more popular blog, went on the record seconding Lang's position, sort of. Y'see, a day or so after Lang made his "damning" accusations against me and my magazines (while dragging in all sortsa conjecture regarding my "private life" which I believe should have remained private given that I'm not gay or at any risk to the populace at hand), our old pal Jay Hinman wrote a post that pretty much stated that he (gosh darn it!) agreed with Lang, although this personal smear also went out of its way to attack my musical faves (most notably Von Lmo and the Plastic People of the Universe, both acts who I guess are "beneath contempt" in Jayzey's sphere o' things although he once did write me a nice li'l note praising the likes of Lmo live more or less so I guess he's changed his tune). Not only that, but he cast aspersions upon my personal life and mocked what he called my repetitive nature (a gross exaggeration, especially for a guy who writes about the same tired eighties underground acts incessantly!), garnering a whole lotta pile-on hatred directed towards me and my fanzine in the process. Not that I mind snippy little hit-and-run remarks especially when they're tossed out by mental midgies and talentless hacks the likes of J. Neo Marvin, but amongst the pilers were a few people who I, hate to admit it, considered friends at least on a distant, pen-pal sorta level. Like that dumb Swede Heinrich Olausson who has turned out to have been the Viduken Quisling of the fanzine world for taking the word of an outright DISTORTER over mine. Really, I never had any beefs with any of these people, not Tom Lax (who has turned out to be a bigger decadent buttwipe than any of us could have fathomed during his SILTBREEZE days) nor Scott Soriano (who made me ashamed that I even dared review his Monoshock compilation, a disque you can bet I'll never be playing again!), and I especially had no qualms with Steve Hesske who hadda turn from top-notch BLACK TO COMM booster to trendy turncoat heel when he discovered his bread was better buttered on the Hinman side of things. Listen Steve, I never had any argument, any qualms with you and considered you a useful lieutenant in the war against the jive, but hey if you wanna pick little fights and berate me every chance you can get via email while siding with the enemy go ahead. Maybe if you weren't acting like such a hothead I would have given you credit for sending me that MC5 burn in my review (I know that little faux pas got you so bent-outta-shape!), but hey, it's not like I'm that much of a sucker for punishment. And by-the-way, my description of your comments regarding boxer Jack Johnson were related IN PERFECT CONTEXT without any personal distortions whatsoever, as your letter reprinted from TEENAGE WASTELAND GAZETTE below will perfectly illustrate:

Dear Adny,

Right after I wrote you that last letter I got the latest and greatest copy of TWG, and I just wanted to fill you in on the recent survey we conducted concerning Armed Forces TV over here. Pops Savage says its pretty good cause you don't have to worry about which show to watch since we only get one American station (the rest are German). Ray Schuyler from up in your neck of the woods (ed. note: a cliche!) likes it cause there are no commercials except for the anti-drug ones and the re-up ones. Jack Johnson (not the famous spook boxer [my itals], nor any relation because he's white) doesn't like it on account when you don't like something you can't change the station unless you want to watch a bunch of dumb krauts speaking krautese. Myself, I got pretty pissed off when they took off HAWAII FIVE-O and changed the time of BOXING AT THE FORUM from saturday afternoon to late monday night and they also took ROLLER DERBY. On the other hand, they show ROUTE 66 now and also NAKED CITY so, as you can readily see it was no easy decision to make so I'm going to hold off for awhile. Later WALT DISNEY PRESENTS came on and it was all about this crippled kid who raised pigeons in his spare time cause he had a lot of spare time cause he was a gimp and lived in a wheel chair......... What a show!! Keep up the good work.

Hats off to Larry (not Willette),

Sgt. Steve Hesske

Now, frankly I don't see any sign of racism in Hesske's above missive, nor did I originally present his above comment out of context like Hesske claims. (He told me it was all in the spirit of what was going on at TEENAGE WASTELAND GAZETTE, and I agreed since even Adny Shernoff himself had a disclaimer about the humor in one ish!) And after all this nastiness back and forth twixt the two of us all I gotta say is hey Steve, if you wanna be pal-zy again I have no qualms, but at least fess up to the fact that I in no way was gunnin' to smear your reputation, and while we're at it I'm not the only one to use cliches either!

Of course all of this happened over the course of the past two years, seemingly an incredible chasm in time once you get down to it. And hey, I gotta admit that I'm still smartin' over all of those gut kicks placed by the likes of Lang and Hinman, with sales in the red and a general lack of interest regarding my fanzine, this blog, and my other endeavors whatever they may be. True, both of these fine upstanding self-made men deleted their posts concerning their abject hatred of me for occult reasons (frankly I was hoping they'd leave 'em up if only to eventually bury themselves), but the seething hatred I have for them, and their turncoat lackeys remains. As it should.

But what does that have to do with Hinman's new blog? Well, little if anything. Y'see, I probably won't be reading the thing even though I know that a whole buncha his radical left pals will undoubtedly be leaving comments quoting Jay's little snide asides regarding me (so what else is old?). And who knows, maybe I'll POST 'em! But frankly, should I really care? I mean, being a high-energy music lover and cheerleader for the BLOG TO COMM "lifestyle" whether it be regarding books, tee-vee, moom pitchers etc., you ought to know by now that most if not all of the things that Jay posts about has very little appeal to my sense of gulcheral values! Y'see, I gave up on a lotta what was getting tossed around as "post-punk" or "amerindie" or what-have-you beginning in the very-late-eighties (figuring that little if any of it has any relevance to my own personal tastes), and frankly reading the rants and raves of a "militant athiest" the likes of Jay won't exactly mesh with a Pope Pius XII fan like myself. Y'see, I'm more into this thing called rock & roll, and saying that Jay doesn't write about music meaningful to me would be like saying that THE ADVOCATE doesn't publish articles relevant to my sexual slant, or that COMEDY CENTRAL isn't attuned to my own sense of humor. So good luck with your new endeavor, and remember that what you and Dave did to me will probably somehow come around full circle one of these days and smack you upsides the heads. And who knows, maybe I'll be around to enjoy the fun and games, which would be fitting!

OK, now onto something a lot more entertaining...anyway, following are reviews of just a few of the gulcheral items that have passed my eyes and ears over the past week or so, and I do know that you'll enjoy reading about all this booty as much as I've had stealing it!

SONNETS FOR BILL DOGGETT by Bill Shute (Kendra Steiner Editions)

Dag nabbit, but I just gotta admit to you that I'm downright jealous of this Bill Shute fellow. Here it's been nine whopping years that he's vamoosed himself outta my life (and the lives of just about everyone but Paul McGarry, who actually got invited to Bill's wedding a few years ago!) especially at a time when I coulda used some of his insightfulness and downright homespun telephone hospitality, and now that he's making a "comeback" everybody's drooling over the guy's deck shoes as if he's Peter Laughner fresh from the grave! In the meanwhile, what do I get but a whole lotta grief, bad publicity and a stack of fanzines just beggin' to be turned into moolah for musical and dining purposes! All kiddin' aside, it's sure nice to see Bill Shute shinin' on the spotlight after pullin' that Houdini-inspired disappearing act, and as he commanded me to do I will now review one of the chapbooks he has so graciously flung my way being such a gracious guy 'n all.

I've always considered Bill a friend even when we were locking horns over my Downliners Sect review or when I expressed to Mike Stax my frustrations over not being able to talk to him like we did inna old days, so don't expect me to give you a totally impartial writeup regarding his latest endeavor. And it's a wowzer, dedicated to the late Bill Doggett (whom I believe Shute used to rail off to me some profound musical descriptions some of which may have even made the pages of my mag via his old "Inner Mystique" column) and not only that but this book's filled to the brim with some great verseage that's even loads better'n the slop Bobby Troupe used to spout off when he was playing a murdering beatnik on PERRY MASON. Even a retarded dullard like myself can appreciate this 'un, for Bill's "blank" verse does not shovel romantic or political dross like all that stuff you read in various VILLAGE VOICE-type fishwraps, because BILL DOGGETT focuses itself on a real life segment of living that you or I, but not the usual above-it-all upper-crust limousine libs, can most certainly relate to. Take "Slow Walk" and its dank New Jersey "ambience" where not only can you smell the anchovy pizza but feel the pit in Denny's guts as his life is about to take a turn for... Well, I really can't tell you, but reading it sorta gives me the feeling I used to get the night before a big job interview. And amidst the "buttery clam chowder" and hot rolls (and Buster Keaton vids!) of "Ready Mix" to the one about the nun who finds joy despite the extra-busy regiment of serving others (which come to think of it is her joy), you get the feeling that Bill, unlike the earlier-mentioned bloggers more attuned to gazing at their own sphincters, is still firmly rooted in real life and would rather spend his days talking to pensioners, guys on the edge, factory workers and nuns rather than "amerindie"-minded wastrels. BLACK TO COMM readers tend to be that way. It's like when Brad Kohler tells me about the people he works for at the old age home and there's this one lady in her 80s or 90s and he asked her about Joe Cook and she drew a blank, but she sure lit up when he mentioned Harry Langdon saying "You could laugh by just looking at the man!" You may think its corny, but really, I can't stand all this decadent porno gutter living nohow and being a downhome workaday fellow is a lot better'n being a bigtime hothead porn-saturated white-collar cluck, albeit it probably doesn't pay as much. I think Bill thinks the same way too, and his down-to-earth and direct-hitting poems sure say a lot more to/for/and even about me than all of the negative schpiels and fancy oneupmanship out there directed against me ever could!

(And I liked the one about weird dreams too, though I gotta say that the gal in question's night-time brain activity certainly doesn't top the ones I've been having, and have documented on this blog for all to analyze!)

The Marbles-LIVE AT MAX'S KANSAS CITY 5/27/78 CD-R

As I said in the previous post, a certain (or uncertain for that matter!) Mr. J. B. has just recently sent a number of burnt discs my way, and although for the life of me I can't get the Pink Floyd and Raspberries ones to play on my home entertainment system the audio disques are no problem at all, at least on the car deck. Anyway, I was pleased as punch to have received them even if I have to take long car trips to Alliance Ohio in order to enjoy the things, and once again Mr. B. deserves a huge THANK YOU for his neato efforts in helping to uplift the sad sack state of musical affairs here at BLOG TO COMM central with his occasional care packages. Anyway, this particular disque in question was the tops for pops as far as the aforementioned package goes, it being a live show from the oft-talked about but rarely listened to En Why See band the Marbles recorded back during the punk-active summer of 1978 when punk meant having to say that you were an original music band (and probably very little else).

Like the Planets and many other groups perusing the CBGB/Max's circuit during the Glory Days of Underground Rock, the Marbles were one of those bands that were often read about but rarely if ever seen (live), or heard for that matter. Maybe they were too much indebted to the poppier side of the sixties (with hefty Left Banke/Hollies/Beatles influences) to "make it" with the punk-active crowd at hand, but at least their name and faces were kept in the public eye thanks to a couple of now-rare singles and publicity thanks to the likes of BOMP magazine and FFANZEEN, who actually did an interview with these guys in the same issue they had a gab with the James Chance-era Teenage Jesus and the Jerks! And even I, after all these years, have gotta admit that the only Marbles I've heard was a track on one of those old ROIR samplers, the poppy "Red Lights" which was nice yet didn't quite make me think that the Marbles were any sort of higher echelon local garage band types 'r anything along those lines but hey, I get that way sometimes.

So you can bet that B.'s disque sure came in handy with regards to educatin' this particular sap! At this live Max's show, the Marbles proudly show off their sixties roots (complete with their sixties-Beatlecut stylings which for once match the patented late-seventies/early-eighties "power-pop" retro sound too many scenegrabbers took way to heart) not only with the better-than-you'd-expect three-part harmony but with the snat playing, especially from Eric Li and his electric piano. Musically the Marbles seem to scour the best of the '66 pop brigade (Left Banke, early San Francisco post-Brummels) with their energetic set (why do you think they would cover Johnny Rivers' "Poor Side of Town" anyway?) and the only fault I could find with this disque was that too many songs had too many melodies jam-packed tightly into each other making for at-times difficult listening. I mean, the Marbles utilize great melodies and couple 'em with pertinent lyrics to boot, but it seems that the seven different riffs that fit into one number would have been put to better use as seven different songs! Not as good as the long-missed Disposable God Squad, but I would definitely say that the Marbles are better than even the more-current Morgan Taylor's Rock Group, a band who I hung a few hopes on as far as resurrecting seventies-bred sixties pop for the oh-ohs, but then again I think they're out of commission as well so I'll have to go looking for a new generation of popmeisters to bring back the energy and excitement of yore.

Cap'n Swing-GREAT NORTHERN RECORDING STUDIOS, BOSTON MASS, 7/13/76 CD-R

Another Mr. B. find, this immaculately-sounding disque is none other'n THE CARS under their original name recording some demos smack dab inna middle of one of the more proactive times for Boston rock, at least if all those fanzine articles can be trusted. Now frankly, I gotta admit that I never was that much of a Cars fan and found their entire oeuvre a bit too nauseating during the candy-coat gnu wave days of the eighties, and because of that I didn't have high hopes about these demos either even though they were recorded long before the seventies underground seemed solid enough and didn't peter off into various directions and factions. But B.'s description of these early Cars as being sorta like the Velvet Underground filtered through...I think B. also mentioned Roxy Music and Steely Dan (a band whom I gotta say I used to have an affinity for, at least during their early single days, though that might have just been adolescent confusion) sounded interesting enough, like when people would describe a certain group as coming off like the Stooges meet Mantovani or something equally stupid yet for some reason the """SUCKER!!!"""-light didn't start blinking on and off in your mind, so I guess I figured WHY NOT???

So these early Cars really don't sound that much different than the group of more reknown, though at least their mid-seventies sense of rock aesthetics sure comes off more digestable than the late-seventies ones that made 'em such hot fodder for the gnu wave crowd. In many ways Cap 'n Swing sound a lot like some of the more pop-oriented groups who were playing Boston at the time like Susan f'rinstance, only even this early in the game the pop slop is saturating the hot pop chordings and more of Roxy's suave stylings as opposed to avant leanings are obviously being tampered with for purely commercial effect. A special surprise on this disque are the two rewrites of the Velvets' "Here She Comes Now" done with a Bryan Ferry chicness that sounds more in tune with what that man (and the Cars as well) were doing in the early-eighties. Nice enough as a once-in-awhile listen, but the Fans outta Georgia did this much better and at the same time as well.

Lake Of Dracula-SKELETAL REMAINS CD (Savage Land)

I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I had an aversion of sorts to all of the talk about a Chicago no wave revival that was going on a decade back. As I've said many times before I always considered no wave "proper" the primitive style of punk (and other musics mixed in) that was happening in New York City during the years 1977 to 1981 or so, and anything else even from the burgh in its aftermath (such as God is my Co-Pilot) was more or less "post" no wave, a totally different animal if you ask me. So maybe that's why I had some trepidation with regards to this new collection of decade-old material that head Lake of Dracula (and Chicago no wave leader) Weasel Walter sent my way. Frankly I didn't know what to expect with this one...rehashed Lydia Lunch bleats or Mars slide guitar cantatas? Good thing I didn't do a Meltzer and review this one by solely looking at the cover!

As it turns out, Lake of Dracula were a pretty good, tight if you will punk band, not really "no wave" to these ears but pretty much in-tune with a lotta the other punkers who were making their blare known to a wide array of fanzine scribblers at the time. Personally, at the time I sat out on most of this blast (figuring that what I did hear couldn't hold a candle to the sounds that paved the way for this modern blarescapading), but even though I ain't an au-thor-oh-tee on most of this nineties scrunch I was held rapt by what Lake of Dracula were doing on this live outing (with various single sides tossed in for good measure). It's good enough post-whatever music I guess and it probably won't be burning up the lasar launch pad the way other current faves do, but Lake of Dracula were much better than even I would have given them credit for ten years back and if your tastes tend to lean towards the more atonal modern ice-stare, then why not pick it up???

Can-INNER SPACE CD (Thunderbolt UK)

Silly me...I was under the impression that INNER SPACE contained nothin' but those recently-reissued early Can sides on one shiny disque, but it turns out that INNER SPACE is nothing but the final Can album when the band had all devolved to the point of art rock nada 'n even the guys at FUTURE fanzine couldn't get behind 'em anymore! And yeah, I've been trying to avoid this particular period of Can's existence for years, but since I plunked down the money for this I guess I takes my cherce as Iggy once said so onto the launch pad it goes! At its best, INNER SPACE sounds like some of those nicer mid-seventies Can space-soothers that sound so relaxing during those late-night fanzine reading sessions I'm so fond of. At its worst (which is most of this disque), INNER SPACE paves the way for way too much eighties dance-rock tragedy that has made me an even bigger crank than I should have been to begin with. Judging from this one I would say that they broke up at the right time...I mean, imagine what the one after this woulda sounded like!

Don Cherry/Krzysztof Penderecki/The New Eternal Rhythm Orchestra-ACTIONS CD (no label)

I knew it was gonna be a dud since some other blogster of "note" (see above) gave it a good writeup, and y'know, I was right! I never did cozy up to Cherry's "world music" leanings though I thought that maybe the avant garde classicisms of Penderecki would have tamed them a bit. (And besides, I was hungering for some of those hot euro players the likes of Peter Brotzmann and Gunter Hampel.) But most of ACTIONS just lumps on lazily without any truly real hot avant playing to redeem Cherry's krishna overtones. Only does the 16:30 title track show any true promise, and believe it or not but it's Terje Rypdal's guitar that helps save this from being yet another budget tossaway!

BEFORE I GO, I thought I'd point out to you what promises to be the first of a new feature on Eddie Flowers' SLIPPYTOWN website, mainly the posting of classic old fanzines for modern-day perusal and abuse! Yes, Eddie probably got tired of me pestering him to make me copies of his SPOONFUL and NIX ON PIX fanzines and, in a fit of rage (or perhaps to save his sanity) he has decided to start sharing his collection with rock fandom fiends like ourselves online! And to start things off Eddie has actually made available for us in the here and now the debut (and best) issue (#0) of the infamous GULCHER fanzine...yes, why pay beaucoup bucks like I did for something you can now get for free, and besides the fanzine (which you can easily enough print up for your own bathroom reading material!) you're also entitled to some thirty-one-years-later musings from Flowers himself regarding the whys and wherefores of this important title, which besides being one of the classier fanzine reads of the day has also spawned a virtual dynasty as well as record/CD label! Believe-you-me, between the class writing (from the likes of Bangs, Meltzer, Highland, Flowers, Saunders and Cub Koda!) and the marvelous layout and mid-seventies hipster opinions sprinkled throughout, GULCHER #0 could teach Jay, Dave and the rest of the aforementioned blobs above what rock writing (and rock & roll) is all about, but I doubt any of them would have the mental acumen to take advantage of Flowers' free offer. Anyway, here's looking at you Eddie, and here's hoping that more fanzine classics from the REAL Golden Age (1971-1975) of Rock Writing will make it on-line and in the very-near future as well! (And Eddie, if you're reading this don't worry, I'll be winging my order your way as soon as Get Hip finally decides to pay me for the mags I sent 'em three years ago!)

MORE FANZINE FANABLA!

No, I don't wanna talk about any of the nice and wondrous Cee-Dees and DVDs that my adoring fans have sent me (including a certain Mr. Jonathan Behar of Los Angeles, who out of the goodness of his heart has flung my way some 1976 vintage pre-Cars Captain Swing demos plus the Marbles live and two-count-'em-TWO DVDs of early Pink Floyd and the Raspberries onna telly! Thanks be to Mr. B!!!!), nor do I want to talk about the hardcover collection of early MAD magazine rarities that I got my mitts on this past week either. Heck, I don't even wanna talk about this new and exciting blog that has just appeared on the internet scene that's bound to make waves with all of you hot and up-on-it swingers wanting to be in with the in crowd! All of this stuff is fine and good and will get the Royal (and I do mean Farouk!) Treatment this coming Sunday, but for now lemme just type to you about a subject that has been for the past hunkin' quarter-of-a-century or so very very near and dear to my heart, mainly the world of fanzines (and a few that I just happened to snarf up as of late...see how it all fits in???).

According to some hideous nabobs of negativity out there in ex-friends land, the fanzine has pretty much gone the way of the Edsel considering the new immediacy of just any dumb bub putting his views to type onna blog and wooshing! 'em out to an eager public with a lot less effort and angst than having said views printed out and distributed (maybe). And yeah, these hideous examples of turds acting as people are RIGHT for once in their hidebound lives, for in this age of instant gratification why wait six months for a putdown than can appear TODAY and to a potentially larger audience t' boot! Still, the concept of the fanzine remains near and dear to my ever-clogging heart probably because I still get thrill-tingles up and down the system thinking about all the pertinent information on my favorite underground stars of the day back when the LAST thing that the "mainstream" press 'n media wanted to do was to acknowledge the presence of high-energy musics working outside of their decaying star system! And yeah, even that sounds way too altie/socialist for someone with strict freeform thought patterns such as I, but I gotta admit that I was totally excited to have lived through an era in rock music which was totally vibrant and as exciting as the late-sixties Velvets/Detroit sonic upheaval (which I was way too young to know about or appreciate had I only been told!), and fanzines certainly were a part of that entire throbbing soundputsch with their circumventing of the traditional media ways, dontcha think?

Anyway, the first fanzine on our itinerary ain't even a musically-oriented one along the lines of those that certainly inspired me to put out my own wondrous efforts, but a self-produced magazine that was believe-it-or-not trying to outdo the old MAD comic book and in ditto format too! And believe-it-or-not, but I even reviewed a couple of these ODDs in my latest issue where I compliment its co-conspirators (the Herring Brothers Dave and Steve, or was it Sid???...wait, he was the guy in the Gants, right?) on their amazing artistic abilities and sorta shrug off the fact that a lotta the stories in their mag just weren't that funny although I really didn't mind given (as I stated) that the two were giving it the ol' college try. Well, anyway it seems that just like all of the comic book publishers (and MAD themselves!) were doing at the time the Herrings just hadda go and put out their own GIANT-SIZE ANNUAL featuring some of what the two considered their best stories o'er the past year, and they did it ditto-style (with an offset cover in order to lure the unsuspecting) and called it VERY, VERY, VERY ODD! I'll bet having their own "Giant" collection of past works re-presented as if the public was clamoring for such printed matter was a big masturbatory ego-boost for the two, yet I dunno if the rest of comic fandom was getting all hot under the collar as our dynamic duo were over this fanzoon which spent its time mocking the comic book and tee-vee scene with seemingly teenage ease.

Actually, VERY, VERY, VERY ODD #1 (dated summer '65) was a lot better'n sarcastic ol' me is letting on, with the fantastic artwork and halfway-decent stories making for a much better fanzine time than THE COLLECTED UNINTELLIGIBLE MUSINGS OF JACK C. THOMPSON AND SWELLSVILLE (yeah, I'm beating a dead fish, but it's a dead one that still deserves a flogging!) ever could. Like all good self-backpatting fanzines are wont to do, alla ODD's previous covers (even the aborted late-fifties issues that NOBODY saw!) are nicely shrunken and reprinted, plus the sagas ain't really that bad'n appeal to a guy like me who enjoys a good groaner gag once in awhile figuring a good bad pun is way better'n a bad good one. True, the "Souperman" punchline where "Lax Loafer" brings The Man of Steel down with a big magnet won't appeal to your more "sophisticated" readers who think they have an edge on the rest of us because they work in porno bookstores, but REAL PEOPLE like you and me who live and breathe in the non-cultured lunchbucket world and easily survive without the needless input of what are being called "Secular Progressives" can enjoy such adolescent humor for what it's worth. The same goes for the "Blunder Woman" saga (where her long-suffering boyfriend Steve disguises himself as an ugly teenage gal so he could step onto Blunder Woman Island and destroy her power!) or even the spoofs of such old tee-vee standbys as SEA HUNT and THE FUGITIVE which sure dredge up the old memories of when I was five watching both of these shows having NO IDEA what was going on, but eyeballing Lloyd Bridges knifing oozy octopussies sure appealed to my kindergarten brain so it didn't MATTER!

Next on the fanzine list for today is 12 O'CLOCK JULY, a mag devoted to the sixties Detroit garage band scene that appeared for a few brief shining moments in the early-nineties then disappeared to where all good (and not-so) fanzines go...the basement! Funny, but being a fan of these sixties punks especially of the Detroit variety and looking for more and more information on the bands and sounds that influenced the MC5 way-of-rocking (and vicey-versey), I wrote to the editor of 12 O'CLOCK JULY way back when asking for information on how to obtain his magazine and guess what...I didn't hear a thing. Hmmmmmmm, I wonder why??? Anyway, given that the editor of the rag must be a bonafide JERK if he dared to snub 'n ignore such a fine and upstanding member of the fanzine community such as I, yours truly hadda go and settle for a mere photocopy of the issue that featured a neat article and interview with the Unrelated Segments, and only now am I getting hold of the real deal which is nice enough but a good fourteen years too late inna game if you ask me!

Half-serious gripes aside, this particular ish (#3) is more or less geared towards the Michigan way of thinking not only with a lotta that local garage rock on the cusp of the teen clubs/Grande Ballroom scene information that always got me drooling (still searching out the Apostles and alla those bands who imitated the MC5, and as early as 1967 mind you!), but 12 O'CLOCK JULY actually had the smarts to include not only a neat piece and interview regarding the Thyme (on A-Square records, also home to that rip-roaring MC5 thriller "Looking At You"/"Borderline") but a piece on the Mussies (yes, a band with that name actually existed!) plus a whole bunch on the Rationals and Scott Morgan that (dare I say) puts the information given in issue #17 of my own fanzine to shame (I think that the guy who did this one was sober, but who knows). It's so funny, but after all these years the Detroit/Ann Arbor/MC5-derived scene still hasn't been documented in a proper and detailed fashion, and yeah a book/compilation is just what the average BLOG TO COMM fan is begging for even this late in the game. But at least we have things like 12 O'CLOCK JULY to help put the pieces together, and for that we should sleep a little easier at night knowing that the saga of the Aardvarks will live on in the hearts and minds of anal-retentive record collectors everywhere.

As you probably know, its the seventies brand of rock fanzinedom that really lights a fire beneath my pitted butt, so latching onto a copy of the first issue of SNIFFIN' GLUE was more than a welcome treat especially in these days of flaccid blogscribing passing as important and pertinent thoughts. And considering how I pretty much don't care that much for the whole late-seventies breed of English fanzine-ing (in fact, I don't care that much for the other issues of this fanzine that I got my hands on), I gotta say that this debut SNIFFIN' GLUE is a pretty hot fanzine ticket to informative bliss, and I wasn't exactly expecting that in a scene saturated with unbearable crudzines that existed only to try to glom some freebie wares (where have I heard that before?). However, I shouldn't be that surprised especially how even """""I""""" mentioned earlier on some post where SNIFFIN' GLUE editor Mark Perry was more or less a "peripheral punk" (sorta like Claude Bessy and Richard Meltzer) whose tastes and maturity spanned a whole lotta games and even styles and certainly transcended a lotta the self-imposed trapping that the "punques" put on themselves at the time, and if anything this debut issue of his magazine proves it.

Far from being a typical English Wanking Class Socialist fishwrap as are wont too many of these UK self-produced fanzines (sheesh, if Thatcher had only lost perhaps we wouldn't have hadda put up with the thought of punk going the same route as the IWW!), Perry's SNIFFIN' GLUE is a nice talk-to-you affair that's fortunately not bound by any of the pre-conceived notions regarding what is/ain't punkdom that seemingly were being handed down on a platter by the gods of Mount Olympus. Besides honest appraisals of the likes of the Ramones and Flamin' Groovies (the former getting the thumbs up while the latter were considered too "Beatles/THANK YOUR LUCKY STARS" for Perry's tastes, though the Groovies were a prospective future feature so I guess Perry wasn't giving up on 'em!), we the unsuspecting are given the no-holds-barred lowdown on a whole bunch of his then-current faveraves from the likes of the Blue Oyster Cult and Todd Rundgren (a review of RUNT) amongst the rah rahs directed at a whole cityfulla up and coming bands. And yeah, you even get some actual relevant obscuro info here such as a writeup of a live gig by some group that was opening for Eddie and the Hot Rods called Violent Luck (Perry making 'em out to be a wild Mott/Dolls/Stooges mutation) who before the issue went to press changed their name to none other'n SISTER RAY! Naturally this Sister Ray was no relation to the well-unknown and unloved (in hometown Youngstown at least) groupage other'n maybe in spirit, but they sure sound total early-mid-seventies proto-punk tough from Perry's description (he say they looked like the Stooges, a blessing in an age when English punk was bound to become fashion-mad) and I and probably you gotta know more about 'em so all I gotta say to you English cats 'n kittens out there is...any information, tapes or pix available???

In all SNIFFIN' GLUE #1 reminds me of none other'n Lindsay Hutton's own ever-lovin' fanzine called what else but THE NEXT BIG THING, at least the early issues although that one was much meatier and owed loads more to the early proto-punk reads the likes of BACK DOOR MAN and DENIM DELINQUENT. But still, SNIFFIN' GLUE was a much better wowzer than even I would have been led to believe even...yesterday???, and certainly worth your seeking out for real exciting punk thrills!

FINAL INSPIRATIONAL WORDS! (or: IT'S NICE TO KNOW TONTO STILL ALIVE): Jay! Why you quit? Maybe you somewhat possibly truthful analysis of rock is right! I reed above comments about Cris Stiglino and he seams like agent against the freedom! If this "mans" against you meybe you need to stik to it! Personnally I think he is stranje man. Sharon Pa? Where is this place? Near burning tyre pit? Rekkords do not put hairs on a chest! This man must be stopped! Start wiht him and muve ups! Meybe this land can be saves from the crayzies. Peace!
Kaspar Szumlak | 09.29.06 - 3:04 am | #

No concert pix yet...wait for the big weekend blowout (which might just turn into a blowUP!) for snazzy snaps and a whole lot more!

SONNY GERACI, THE TURTLES WITH FLO AND EDDIE, PETER NOONE AND HERMAN'S HERMITS LIVE AT THE STATE THEATER, UNIONTOWN PENNSYLVANIA OCTOBER 14, 2006!

Yeah, you're probably wondering what I was doing this weekend, eh? Well, it wasn't the usual thumb uppa ass weekend that many a lonesome blogger has to go through that's for sure! Y'see, Jillery invited me to go out with her and her hubby to see the above-highlighted show, and the lady said she'd even pay for the whole swingin' time'n all so I figured that between a free concert and a free meal how could I go wrong? So after downing some pretty good wop food and strolling the local environs (and believe me, for being a "small city" downtown Uniontown looks rather spiffy especially compared with such rundowns urban areas the likes of Youngstown Ohio and Sharon Pennsylvania...heck, I'll bet Uniontown looks like Disneyland next to Erie!), the three of us headed for the State Theater, a pretty nice and well-preserved moom pitcher emporium of old that now handles the likes of these outta-town package deals (coming up: doo-wop and the Smothers Brothers!) for an evening of Sonny Geraci (Outsiders, Climax), the Turtles "featuring Flo and Eddie" and the big kahuna for the evening, Peter Noone who I guess has legally appropriated the "Herman's Hermits" moniker for his own usage.

Kinda nice milling amidst all the cornballus grandpappies who made me feel like one happy spring chicken (there were a few youngsters splattered here there'n about who I guess felt that it was Saturday night'n they hadda do something!), and even with the bad premonitions (such as some gal handing out those glowing sticks you're supposed to wave to the music at hand, "appropriated" by Jillery for some future arts and crafts project no doubt) I sure had a swell time which is more'n I can say about a lotta concerts I've attended which had all the spark and zeal of a rectal probe. Rubber gloves aside, opening act Sonny Geraci went through the old hits and more (like a cover of the Righteous Brothers' "Rock & Roll Heaven" which I didn't know Geraci had originally recorded) and did a pretty good job of it for an oldster despite the use of pre-recorded backings and a load of turdly banter twixt him and his drummer.

Next up were Flo and Eddie, and you can bet that (at least) for me this was the highlight of the evening. Hey, these guys have been performing longer than most people have been alive on this earth and have made a pretty good slew of records either as leaders or as backups, and considering the Herculean task I had in the mid/late-seventies trying to order their two hopelessly o.p. Reprise albums you could bet your bottom buckskin I've been awaiting this moment for a much longer time'n any of you could imagine. And yeah, the two doing the same comedy routine sans the X-rated humor (no "Dildos of the Stars" for this aged audience!) that they've been doing for ages or at least since I saw 'em with Martin Mull on SOUNDSTAGE three whopping decades back sure was pretty snat, and naturally (or "of course"???) they didn't do such old-timey showstoppers as "Mud Shark," "Afterglow" or even "Out of Our Tree" (which they actually learned straight from the Wailers) but they managed to throw in a cover of Jan and Arnie's "Gas Money" amidst the big Turtles hits and their overall gab was funny enough without being condescending to the hicks. (Though Mark Volman seemed to be slightly irritated about something that evening...maybe no backstage buffet!) Naturally I was a little bummed by the omission of what is perhaps my fave-rave Turtles song (the folk-punkin' "Let Me Be") but I was sure having a ball watching the two cavortin' about seemingly having enough fun doin' something they probably can do in their sleep by this time.

Headliner Peter Noone certainly got the crowd throbbin' with an hour-long set lookin' pretty good for an old-timer himself who thankfully still has that showbiz energy and presence, cracking jokes about the local yokels, the Turtles and his own physique that seemed to come straight outta some English Holiday Camp. Now I gotta admit that I think Herman's Hermits were pretty good at what they did which might not be "cool" with some considering the fact that many English Invasion fans fancy them to be the wimpoids of the movement along with the likes of Freddy and the Dreamers and the Hullabaloos, but they always had solid hits that might not have been high energy rockers but were straight-ahead and enjoyable for what they were. (If you don't believe me, read Tim Ellison's snat English sixties rock post right here and see just how important even the so-called "expendables" were.) And for a guy who likes the Hermits for a myriad assortment of reasons (one being that they actually copped their original/proper name from Jay Ward creations "Peabody and Sherman") I thought that Noone certainly still knew how to wow an audience to heights of mid-sixties frenzy whether he was doing the old hits, the aforementioned veddy English humour or even his Johnny Cash and Mick Jagger impersonations. It sure was a whole lot better'n scouring the local clubs to catch the latest in cultured alternative sounds, mind you.

I should be getting some hot photos from the show that Jillery managed to snap hopefully more sooner'n later. Might even post a few if she ever emails 'em my way!

OTHER WONDERS TO HAVE TAKEN HOLD OF MY LIFE: given that nobody out there inna family has picked up on my hints re. giving me a new turntable and stereo system (I wouldn't mind buying them myself, but I figure that if I purchased a system that I don't particularly care for I only have myself to blame...if someone gets me one for a gift and I don't like it, I can always blame them!), I'm starting to scarf up more and more Cee-Dees in order to reacquaint myself with old vinyl faves I haven't had the chance to hear in quite some time. And, in a magic stroke of luck (considering their contributions to the compost heap we now call heavy metal), I managed to get hold of both Black Sabbath's PARANOID and the Stooges' RAW POWER in one order, a feat which wouldn't've have gone unnoticed by the likes of Lester Bangs or Jymn Parrett thirty-three whopping years ago. PARANOID as you might have guessed continues to hold up with a good-enough metallic thud (which seems to have been surpassed by the true heirs of early-seventies HM soundscapading, mainly the mid-eighties "metalcore"/"speedmetal" groups who also seemed to burn themselves into oblivion but what else is new) and blabbing more about it especially after having reviewed the thing in both issues #2 and #25 (!) would only be a waste of space if you ask me. However, before I convienently switch subjects let me just add this...at the time PARANOID was speaking for long-haired pimplefarms torn between a future in Southeast Asia or the local Foodmart, heavy metal "proper" was still the sound of sixties punk revved up and downed out simultaneously and it's not that hard to see how pundits the likes of Metal Mike Saunders thought that Sabbath were the logical extension of such late-sixties punk forebearers as the Stooges. (Why do you think Sabbath producer Rodger Bain tried his skills with the Troggs anyway???) And speaking of the Stooges, this "remixed" take of RAW POWER finally reaches my earlobes after a good nine years of on/off interest, and although I think it sounds just as eerily muddy as the original I still gotta say I love this one to death all the more. After having heard all of those still-vital '73/'74 Stooges live and outtake platters both legal and not for the past umpteen years it's nice to refresh yourself at the well of RAW POWER, and its cooling waters of pure adrenaline rush still manage to eternally shut up all of those latterday heavy metal pretenders who were raking in the cold cash while the Stooges were having trouble scratching up enough moolah to pay off Kim Fowley after he caught them hitting hard on Rodney's latest kindergarten find. It's too bad that the true-strain heavy metal of the early-seventies...bands like the Stooges, MC-5, Hawkwind, Pink Fairies etc. hadda take the back seat to a load of instant burn-out "Classic Rock" fodder, though it's really great that these same bands managed to give us something even better...mainly punk rock.

While we're on the subject of the Stooges, here's one that's been in the collection for quite some time yet I haven't had the time to listen to TELLURIC CHAOS alla way through until recently, but now that I have I can safely say that it's probably one of the tippy-top-est items I've heard by a relatively-well known band all this year. Skydog, the same label that gave us a whole simperin' batch of rare items both legal and not, is still in the business as you know and thankfully they've had the uncontested SMARTS to have released this fantab live disc of the reunited Stooges for all of us starving mongrels. Recorded way back in the dark days of '04, TELLURIC CHAOS features what else but Iggy and crew delighting a Japanese audience with a load of numbers old and new that PROVE these guys have BUCKED THE TREND to give us a reunion that ain't pure pedestrian pablum like a load of the ones we've had to experience over the past thirtysome years. (I mean, I like Moby Grape, but everybody tells me that all those reunion attempts of theirs since the early seventies have been total wastes-of-time, and given the scarcity of money why should I take a gamble'n find out for myself????) The audience is eating it all up and's perhaps as fine as any Japanese audience since UFO's LANDED JAPAN or even Deep Purple's double effort, and for being an oldster Iggy is still fit as a fiddle which I'm sure is something that would have surprised even the Iggiest of fans back in 1975! The rest of the band (even with Mike Watt, who is to these Stooges what Joe DeRita was to the Moe and Larry variety} is as violent as ever which certainly helps matters out. Really, I didn't think Iggy still "had it" with all those bad solo career moves and general rockstar lethargy, but this disque is a total winner from front-to-back and you just gotta love Skydog for keeping the spirit of the seventies alive while everyone else out there seems to be thinking eighties, nineties and TODAY for that matter which really bugs the turds outta me as it should you!

NEXT TIME: more goodies (of the aural and printed variety) will be up for review, plus maybe I'll post some hot Peter Noone pix while I'm at it. Stay tuned or stay cube!

BILL SHUTE'S TOP 30 ALBUMS (in no particular order) THAT MADE ME WHAT I AM TODAY--THE MOST INFLUENTIAL ALBUMS DURING THE PRE-PUNK HIGHSCHOOL YEARS circa 1972-76.

(You asked for MY list, Chris, so here it is...)

1. KIM FOWLEY, Outrageous (Imperial)
2. VELVET UNDERGROUND, White Light White Heat (Verve)
3. ARCHIE SHEPP, Three For A Quarter, One For A Dime (Impulse)
4. STEVE LACY, The Forest and the Zoo (ESP-Disk)
5. BIG BILL BROONZY, Do That Guitar Rag (Yazoo)
6. CHOCOLATE WATCHBAND, The Inner Mystique (Tower)
7. ZOMBIES, Odessey and Oracle (Date)
8. JOHN CAGE/DAVID TUDOR, Indeterminacy (Folkways)
9. GEORGE HARRISON, Wonderwall Music (Apple)
10. GENE VINCENT, Record Date (Capitol)
11. ANTHONY BRAXTON, For Alto (Delmark)
12. CAPTAIN BEEFHEART, Trout Mask Replica (Straight)
13. LA MONTE YOUNG, Theatre of Eternal Music (Shandar)
14. PAUL BLEY, Ramblin’ (BYG-Actuel)
15. FRANK WRIGHT, Church Number Nine (Calumet)
16. J.B. HUTTO, Slidewinder (Delmark)
17. JOHN LENNON, Plastic Ono Band (Apple)
18. THE ASTRONAUTS, Astronauts Orbit Kampus (RCA)
19. THE GANTS, Road Runner (Liberty)
20. TERRY RILEY, Persian Surgery Dervishes (Shandar)
21. THE MOONRAKERS, Together With Him (Shamley)
22. SIR DOUGLAS QUINTET, Mendocino (Smash)
23. COLEMAN HAWKINS, The Hawk Flies (Milestone)
24. BOB DYLAN, Blonde on Blonde (Columbia)
25. IGGY AND THE STOOGES, Raw Power (Columbia)
26. VELVET UNDERGROUND, 1969 Live (Mercury)
27. ELLIOTT MURPHY, Aquashow (Polydor)
28. JOHN MAYALL, Memories (Polydor)
29. BUDDY HOLLY, Holly In The Hills (Coral)
30. THE YARDBIRDS, Roger The Engineer (Epic)

Chris, could you put this in the main blog rather than the comments section so more people can see it?
Thanks...BILL SHUTE

Sure Bill...but only thirty???? C'mon, you can do better than that!

SATURDAY NIGHT LEFTOVERS

I liked the idea of doing a Saturday evening rather than the usual Sunday afternoon post so much that I thought I'd do another one this week as well! Unfortunately there ain't as much that I have to write about this time, particularly because I shot my wad on the STRAW DOGS review last go 'round plus frankly I haven't been gobbling up as many Cee-Dee wonders as I would like (though I still am snatching up all the good ol' vinola out there in anticipation of a new turntable and stereo system winging its way to my chimney this upcoming Christmas). So bear with me as I go through a couple of recently-received items that have filled up my senses (for good or bad) a lot more'n any John Denver ode to his flat-chested ex-wife ever could!

Steppenwolf-EARLY STEPPENWOLDF/FOR LADIES ONLY 2-CD set (BGO, England)

It is kind of a shame that, for all of their hit singles and albums not to mention influence on the late-sixties rock scene that Steppenwolf are all but forgotten save for a smattering of aging "classic rock" aficionados plus a few oldies radio tune-ins who hear the same two mega hits ("Born to be Wild" and "Magic Carpet Ride"...not even an occasional "Sookie Sookie" to liven things up!) over and over via some satellite feed. Like Tommy James, these guys were pretty big roost rulers during the not-so-dim days of late-sixties rockism yet for all of their efforts (admittedly mixed affairs which I won't deny) even the more in-tune amongst us seem to poo-poo Steppenwolf into the same wastebasket of pre-punk non-hip offal along with all of that bubblegum stuff which...hey, was a lot better'n most of the dross getting the royal treatment by the "underground" pundits during them days, savvy?

And yeah, I must 'fess up to the fact that for years I TOO was of the opinion that Steppenwolf were for losers only, perhaps because of the over-played "Born to be Wild" which, like the umpteenth play of "Stairway to Heaven" and the Chuck Eddyfied praise bequeathed upon the song, has a million lights flashing "WARNING" inside my brain. And with dozens of local nimnuls out there (who I hadda butt heads with during my early-twenties days) proclaiming to be the voice of the proletariat real working class steel mill hard-living rough and ready types lumping Steppenwolf in with a load of horrid early-eighties slim pickings the likes of Journey and REO Speedwagon (and throw a few Foreigners on the fire for good effect) how can any proud elitist like myself claim to do anything but hate 'em? But then again two things helped sway me from looking at Steppenwolf as yet more FM rock fodder (after all, they gotta play something in between "Close to the Edge" and "Karn Evil 9"!), and those two things were mainly none other than Don Waller and Russell Desmond!

Now I'm not exactly the kinda guy who does a lotta 180-degree switcheroos on the basis of a "rock critic" (please note the quotations, willya?) whom I admire from afar...after all, I've read Tim Ellison for about ten years and although he's one of my fave current writers that don't mean I'm exactly rushing out to buy any From (Of?) Montreal disques as of yet. And another fave of mine, namely Lenny Kaye, used to rail on about the Grateful Dead and even JAMES TAYLOR in the pages of CAVALIER and that didn't make me any more hot to champion either the San Fran burnouts or the introspective wuss! However, I certainly will read almost anything said "critics" (again, please note!) will write about even the dullest of dull musical acts out there, for like in BACK DOOR MAN or DENIM DELINQUENT the writing and presentation of such ideas is so snat that you'll read just about all of it even if you don't particularly care for the wimps being written about!

Waller didn't write his pro-Steppenwolf screed for the old BDM but for the liner notes of one of those eighties Rhino NUGGETS samplers, the one in which "Sookie Sookie" appears and yeah, not being familiar with that song at the time and reading about it via one of my fave writers did help plant the seed of Steppenwolf in my back pages. And what helped bring that seed to primal fruitation was Russell Desmond's Steppenwolf survey in his CAN'T BUY A THRILL #4 from 1978 which, besides a thorough historical rundown of the band with all the tiny minute information being packed with personal recollections and the like, also includes a downright slimy story about the time Desmond and his friend were at a stop-and-rob where they saw some poster plastered in the front window proclaiming that Steppenwolf were playing at some Baton Rouge dive that night, and some Cajun guy with all of his upper teeth missing (who also noticed said poster) began talking with 'em about going to see the show as well! Slowly but surely throughout his conversation with the two fine upstanding young male specimens this Acadian fellow starts tellin' 'em about how he also likes to hang out at gay bars, first saying he just likes to observe the goings on and then telling his agape audience that he only likes to "be performed on" even though he wasn't gay himself, and finally offering his own oral services (remember, no top teeth) to our now totally-grossed out Steppenwolf fans! (Believe me, after reading this saga all agog over the seediness of the thing I was ready to jump into a vat of concentrated Lestoil myself!) The kicker to the story was that Desmond and his friend went to the Steppenwolf concert that night and although they didn't see their French friend in the audience (not that they were lookin'...), they didn't see Steppenwolf either! The group who happened to be performing that very night were in no certain terms a buncha imposters (Desmond thinking that maybe a roadie had usurped the name since he couldn't even find any of the original members [not just lead singer/main focus John Kay] anywhere in sight!), though their attempts to get their money back were nothing less than futile with the manager telling our dejected lads "Of course they're Steppenwolf...see, their name's on the marquee!"

But you can be sure 'n shootin' that it is Steppenwolf on these two disques in question, and I gotta admit that it's sure nice that BGO reissued these platters in a nice twofa fashion even though pairing early, prime Steppenwolf with latterday iffy 'wolf isn't exactly the stuff dreams are made of. EARLY STEPPENWOLF (recorded live at the Matrix in San Francisco March '67) is the clincher and the only reason that I got hold of these platters, mainly because of the unbelievable side-long (using el-pee speak) version of yet one of many Steppenwolf standards, "The (now infamous) Pusher." And yeah, I know that the more "familiar" version of this Hoyt Axton composition (I believe off the STEPPENWOLF LIVE album) is what drove many a punk-minded kid to the wild and barbed-wire strains of Delta Five a quarter-century back, (sheesh, the phrase "tombstones in their eyes" alone is enough to make one grab up all the Rough Trade singles one could get his hands on!), but this "Pusher" is made totally copasetic to many an adventurous ear by the great electronic opening (obviously created under the influence of dope so thank the pusher for "The Pusher"!) that recreates the spirit of early San Francisco a lot better than a hunk of the native bands, and it took some out of town Canadians to do it! With atonal guitar, distorted organ and what sounds like either well-controlled feedback, a theremin or perhaps one of those other noisemankers during the pre-synthesizer days, Steppenwolf (who were still chirping under their old Sparrow moniker) make a heady soundstew of avant-punk that I'm sure would've even impressed the Red Krayola, and although the stories about how the local FM station would play this and the Velvet Underground's "Heroin" simultaneously (!-as recounted by Aral Sezen in the latest WHAT GOES ON) doesn't sound like any real great shakes "The Pusher" is still a winner even with those subpar lyrics which Kay does his best to make his own (and he does!).

The rest of EARLY STEPPENWOLF is a beaut even though this was a tossout from a few years later released only to pump the market with more Steppenwolf product. Frankly this white-kid blues rock sounds very in-tune with a general '67 punk mode (as did a lotta the early-San Fran sound morphing from garage to freak to eventually country commune jams as the decades shifted) at times reminding me of those oft-bootlegged Captain Beefheart San Francisco tracks from roughly the same stratum. And for a throwaway they sure did a fine job here coming off a lot better that most of those seventies live album budget affairs that sounded worse than most bootlegs! After listening to this one, you know that Steppenwolf deserved all the fame they got even though they certainly should have become more than just another nostalgic trip playing to the oldsters at revival shows worldwide.

As far as FOR LADIES ONLY, this one foresakes the metal for settled-down numbers that on first play reminded me of (believe-it-or-not!) Roxy Music's COUNTRY LIFE (an album I adore) without the slick decadant smarm. There's really nothing here to have me recommend this particular one to you, mostly because the whole thing just zooms in one hole and out the other. Kay and company were clearly at the end of their creative juices here (I'd at least like to hear their radical politix elpee where they were ripping off Led Zep on numbers like "Draft Resistor") and gee, even I forget exactly when Steppenwolf started to drop off the National Youth Radar mostly because I was more concerned with comic books at the time, but with albums like this hastening the drop who knows. Still, get this double-set for the live material which is rather nice introverted material for those bedroom-barracaded times most of you loners go through.

Alternative TV-LIVE AT THE RAT CLUB '77 CD (Obsession)

SNIFFIN' GLUE's Mark Perry, like Claude Bessy, Richard Meltzer and a few other peripherals, seemed like one of those punks who was more or less perched on the outer rim of the punk rock "scene" for wont of a better word. Punk in spirit yet with the historical/dark obsessive backbone that many a punk rejected, Perry's Alternative TV never really seemed to fit in with the British media's idea of what all that noise was supposed to be about...to some (like Paul Rambali at NME), they tended to owe more to the Amerigan brand of garage-punk groups from Patti Smith to the Velvet Underground, and it probably wasn't until fellow borderline acts like Wire and Swell Maps were making a big noise (and creating what was unfortunatley known as "post-punk" as if anything after punk was worth a dime) that people could categorize these guys, but for whatever reasons you know that Alternative TV got the short shrift mostly because hardly anyone could pidgeonhole 'em into the right pre-defined perspective that fit into their narrow views of what was supposed to be all hot and roaring in Merrie Olde at the time.

Anyway, this cheap-o live cassette recording made by Genesis P-Orridge of all people at least captures just what it was that was all the worthwhile about Alternative TV, who on one hand sound like the best British equivalent of what was taking place on the Amerigan garage scene while creating the "next logical step" as far as British punkisms would go, pretty much going off on their own tangents all the while. Sound is properly muddy, performances are great in that cheap unrehearsed yet primed way, plus you get a soundtrack snippet taken from the drag queen film that opened for the band (!!!) and to top it off the group does a cover of the Mothers of Invention's "Why Don't You Do Me Right" (the Polydor budget album collection was probably just released)! A fun time was surely had by all, and I gotta say that while I've had trouble sitting through CD collections from the likes of such British punkiods the likes of the Drones and V2 (who seem to have strengthened my prejudices against British punk manyfold---I will continue to listen to 'em for further study of course) I will be playing Alternative TV more often than not which is saying something in these particularly anti-British rock (at least for me?) times!

Claw Hammer-THANK THE HOLDER UPPERS CD (Interscope)

Gee, I wonder why I picked this compact disque up? Seems I read a review of their one single somewhere, but I just can't remember exactly who wrote the thing. Hmmm... Anyway, although the nineties were a particularly dark age for my listening parameters (despite the era being the so-called "Golden Age" of rock fanzines or 'zines as they were called by then although I never saw any great rewards for the fruits of my labor) I remember having a strange admiration for a number of groups who were making then-current rackets out there. Of course there was Monoshock and lessee...well, there was also Claw Hammer, and although frankly I started to tire of their sound mainly because although I tried hard and hard to think it true, the music just didn't have the same ZING! as the stuff which inspired it. However, I gotta say that their great meshing of everything from Captain Beefheart and the Hampton Grease Band to early Blue Oyster Cult, bloozy Rolling Stones and early-eighties Los Angeles street strut sure made for a particularly tastier time for myself than listening to the various "promo packages" that were being winged my way (all of which have dried up in the interim...fortunately!) during my more "active" days of fan-obsessive rock writing.

Anyway, Claw Hammer are so maniacally-inclined on this particular disque that I'm almost ashamed that I erased that radio tape I had of them someone sent me ages back. Sure there's a lotta the early-eighties West Coast sockahoola here that some bloggers may love to death (which, on principle, makes me run the other way), but the almost heavy metal hardness of the music coupled with the crazed vocal attack and the near-Gurley-styled guitar leads certainly don't have ME dumping THANK THE HOLDER UPPERS into the flaccid meat grinder. And yeah, even the "fan" who inspired me to pick this particular platter up is right (oooh, how that hurts!) when he talks about the manic guitar interplay which I know hasn't really been heard since the glory days of Rocket From the Tombs, but still for being a mid-nineties vintage "grunge" (I mean...INTERSCOPE?????) release this sure runs rings around the usual dried-up junkie competition out there. I guess some people were put on earth for a good reason other'n to tick me off!

IN OTHER NEWS...the guy who is pictured on the right, namely one LOU RONE, told me this little factoid a few weeks ago that I thought I should pass onto you. Since I'm a fellow who is always interested in the evolution of songs and styles usually when said song or style is something right up my alley, you can bet that I pay attention when I find out about how some of my favorite songs have originally come about, or how certain hipster bands and songs have radiated genius across the boards influencing bands and songs where you'd lease expect it. Like you already knew that the Rolling Stones copped "Stray Cat Blues" off the early Velvet Underground, and that Rocket From The Tombs got the idea for "Final Solution" from Blue Cheer's "Summertime Blues", right? Well, did you know that none other than Von Lmo (and band) got the song "Be Yourself" by mutating none other than Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love"??? I've yet to do a side-by-side play, but frankly this bitta information does seem mighty interesting, and perhaps something that would add to the myriad theorizings of one Tim Ellison (who could certainly make a huge blogposting outta this simple fact!). Anyway, it's just something I thought I'd pass along to youse in case you're out there in search of even BIGGER thrills!

FINAL NOTE: none other than yours truly had a strange dream last night that I wouldn't exactly relate to you solely on the basis of it being a weird one, only there was a rock & roll angle to it so I will. Somehow amidst the long and drawn-out storyline (where I mingle with relatives as they looked in the distant past amongst other things) I was watching television when I saw a strange film with none other than the Styrene Money Band's "1967" clearly playing on the soundtrack. Anyway, as the song plays on verse-by-verse (the lines about holding it in our arms and in rapture protecting it from harm) I saw a pan of a shot that, as the song went on and on, was repeated clearer and clearer starting with a semi-close up of a cave/primitive man looking at the future with a wild abandon as we see the growth of civilization via various artifacts such as an ancient fertility doll on through various Greek and Roman works of art (busts, paintings) all the way through to the present day. The clinker is, as the song reaches its end (and the screen is crystal clear) we suddenly see some indescribable work of art perched upon a mountain which (as my brain syntaxes were relating to me) represents the pinnacle of man at his creativity and maturity, which explodes as the song strikes its final chord! I can surmise that this dream is symbolic of/perhaps even foretells the end of civilization as we know it or the destruction of the pure man by baser colletivist minions for that matter, but whatever this amazing and relatively vivid dream does have to say it surely tells us...that NY-QUIL does wonders for your nocturnal brain activity!

MOOM PITCHER OF THE YEAR (even if it was made in 1971)...STRAW DOGS!

I think I may have seen this one on the tube long ago, or maybe not. Whether or not I did is a moot point anyway because like I said they used to edit these things to heck when they hit tee-vee but whatever, I do have a recollection of STRAW DOGS perhaps from what I've heard about it all these years. Oh yeah, I remember the big hubbub even in 1971, y'know, how STRAW DOGS hadda go and spoil all of the good timey peacenlove jive that was being passed off on us imbecile kids who were so stupid as to eat up everything our teachers fed us not having the brains to know we were guinea pigs all the while (I go into a lotta this in my T. Rex review in the latest issue, but it sure feels good mulling it over here!) but anyway, even though I can't recall anybody going out to see STRAW DOGS back then or talking about it or even mentioning its existence (heck, I can't even remember it playing at any theatres around here for that matter), it sure cast a dark shadow across the cinematic landscape. And if you can remember three-plus decades back perhaps you too will recall that STRAW DOGS had even the usual dignified critics all aghast...por ejemplo the usually too Metropolitan to be allowed to live Pauline Kael (or was it Judith Crist??? Always got those bitch crits mixed up) even branded STRAW DOGS as "the first American film that is a fascist work of art" which seems to be way off the mark...wasn't BIRTH OF A NATION s'posed to be just that, though considering just how much the final half hour or so of each of these films do have a striking similarity I can see just how Miz Kael could be forgiven for a momentary lapse of memory along with the usual taste.

But since I am so angered by the current state of affairs myself to be about "this close" (forefinger and thumb spread one mm. apart or at the most the average penis size of your typical rock blogger [not me!] for that matter) to joining the Falange, maybe I would be more suited to seeing a "fascist work of art" in any form than I would the usual neo-communist dribble so in vogue. And believe-it-or-leave-it, but STRAW DOGS is just "thee" film to sate my raging soul...in fact, I would call STRAW DOGS the feel good movie of this or any year because it's such a torrential downpour of great and pure Amerigan violence that always sent the Werthams of this world running away faster than waving an EC comic at 'em. And given the sad sack state of entertainment affairs (films/television as a tool of the know-betters) maybe more people should be exposed to this sort of "fascism" lest we all turn into a nation of feelgoods whose only choices in life are mind-numbing panacea on one hand and dulloid decadence on the other.

What else can I say but this film is a pure "masterpiece" and given that it has an exemplary cast (Dustin Hoffman smack dab in the middle of his "New Hollywood" stardom, the eye-popping Susan George [nice looking gal and she ain't even Japanese!] and a buncha English locos who seem to have been cast at the nearby pub) and of course director Sam Peckinpah at the height of his pow'rs who could deny that STRAW DOGS bravely railed against all of that humanist ca-ca that was being forced down our throats at the time! For the uninitiated, Hoffman stars as David Sumner, a milksoppish mathematician who is taking a sabbatical from some college (during the height of "student unrest" as they used to say) in order to write an undoubtedly brainy and boring textbook. Tired of the violence that has torn apart late-sixties/early-seventies Ameriga he and his girlish/braless hot potato of a wife Amy (Susan George) show up in her old Cornish hometown expecting the peace and quiet they certainly couldn't get in the US of Whoa unless they were living in Sharon or something, only instead of a harmonious existence straight outta some PBS britcom they get harassed by the local workmen who are supposed to be fixing up their ancient abode but spend their time goofing off at the local pub. Of course it doesn't help things out with little girl tease Amy going around topless in plain view of the workers (a scene which prompted none other than Handsome Dick Manitoba in the pages of TEENAGE WASTELAND GAZETTE to exclaim that he'd "like to pop [his] tart in her toaster") but before long David and Amy start finding things like their cat hanging in the closet by the light cord while Amy gets a particularly heavy-handed come on from her old flame who she gave some to long ago and now he wants seconds.

OK, I gotta admit that the first half of this film does drag a bit, but the slow-burn dragginess of the thing helps build up to the can-you-take-it climax. David the ever-pacifist acts more like the patented early-seventies Dustin Hoffman did in all of those other "Youth Films" he was doing at the time being hip and sincere trying to coddle the local toughs who invite him out for a day of quail hunting while the old boyfriend and later on the psycho gang leader sneak back to the abode to rape Amy...and the fact that the old boyfriend's "encounter" is eventually accepted as consensual (talk about "He Hit Me and it Felt Like a Kiss"!) still rankles a lotta ire amongst feminists out there! Even that doesn't seem to get to the spiritual weakling David (who reminds me more of the guy in that Charles Atlas ad who gets sand kicked in his face), but only after a good hour-and-a-half of indignations upon intimidations does the proverbial worm of a man finally turn (leading to one of the best raging orgasmic frenzies of violence seen in a long time) when the thugs demand that David hand over the village idiot he has been harboring. Y'see, said idiot had just strangled the local teen tease (Amy ten years earlier?) and when the badskis advance upon David's property to demand that said idiot (who had earlier been hit by David's car) be turned over to them for a right royal whipping does Sumner suddenly change from Dagwood Bumstead to Mr. A defending home and property (while roughing up Amy herself when she starts losing her own nerve) and killing all the potential lynchers in the process. And you can bet that for a pacifist he sure kills 'em in a particularly bloody way, perhaps getting rid of years of pent-up frustration no doubt! The inner tension the first 90 minutes of this film sorta squirts out like a festering pimple onto the bathroom mirror not only with a foot shot off (which I assume is fatal since we don't see the foot's owner for the rest of the film!), but a pan of hot acid in the face, a poker to the skull, gunshot blasts and even a bear trap neck scrunch not only paying back for the previous few years of ALICE'S RESTAURANT-styled fare but the entire sixties hippie trip! No wonder the flower child leftovers avoided this one like the plague, but for me this only seems like the logical conclusion.

I dunno how much STRAW DOGS took in at the box office...I assume it did some respectable business, but one thing's for certain and that is the heavy duty violent aspect of this film (along with DIRTY HARRY and A CLOCKWORK ORANGE) sure helped wean Amerigan moviegoers off the sexual moosh that was overtaking the cinematic arts during those "now film" days. In a few years, once people wanted to forget about the Vietnam War for good and the peace "vibes" of the early-seventies began leading the way towards the healthy suspicion of the middle portion of that decade, violence and cynicism would be the wave at least until the Carter era put wholesome bung back on the map. Films like TAXI DRIVER, ROLLING THUNDER, MACON COUNTY LINE and especially THE DAY OF THE LOCUST made up for the previous hip complacency in Hollywood with some mighty fine hard-edged sourness that sure stood for better cinema than the entire STAR WARS brouhaha, and if only the place would forget its narcissic self-centered candycoat and get back to the bared-wire intensity of flicks like STRAW DOGS will we have a fine future of heavy-duty cinematic madness to look forward to 'stead of the hideous blanditude that's covered the clime for seemingly eons on end awlready.