The Party of Helicopters (photo by Shawn Brackbill)
Ah, the days of white belts and cocaine compacts.
I was so on the fence with sassy hardcore/emo back in the early aughts. On one hand, I can almost always get on board with evolving old styles, especially when drawing inspiration from dance music and free jazz and no wave. On the other, godDAMN were some of the kids drawn to this scene a bunch of pose hounds. It was super druggy, very fashion driven; both things I wasn't very into.
I'm pretty certain I saw the Party of Helicopters once...maybe twice. Almost definitely at the student union at Goucher, possibly at the Sushi Cafe. Their contemporaries were a "who's that?" of the late 90s indie side of punk rock: bands like the 1985, Harriet the Spy, Racebannon, Three Studies for a Crucification. The finest bands from western Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana. Too weird for Polyvinyl / too straight forward for Lengua Armada. Perfectly suited for a fest like MacRock. Just a bunch of dorks dorking it up with dorky music for dorky kids.
All of it adds up to a weird-ass mix for this, their final record. It came out on CD via Atlanta's Velocette Records, home to a Vic Chesnutt record, a couple of Jucifer releases, and not much else. Bifocal Media did the vinyl; they were a much more fitting (and long-lasting) home for a band like this that had a foot in so many worlds. There is, however, something about the way the vocals and music blend to make this stand out for me. Which is why I guess I'm sharing it. That, and I'm certain I paid a buck for it a couple years back. So, you know, it fits with the theme, I suppose.
There are two great things that have come from Sterling, Virginia. One is the comedian, writer, actor, and reason to be on TwitterPatton Oswalt. I'm a fan; I celebrate his entire catalog.
The other is the subject of today's post. Their name is Pageninetynine (or Pg. 99, or Page 99), and even if they hadn't blown up among a certain type of punk rock listener in the years after their initial break-up, they'd still be one of my favorite bands I've ever seen. As time passes, I can only recall fragments, like a montage of amazing moments. There was the last show at the old Ottobar, where Blake or Chris got passed amongst the crowd and kicked a hole in the the ceiling that remained even after the Talking Head moved into the location. There was the last Wilson Center show, and the stage flexing under the weight of a hundred kids pulsing to "By the Fireplace In White". There was the night that they and Majority Rule played with Cro-Mags and Most Precious Blood at the "new" Ottobar; every security guy was onsite to ward off a skinhead vs. hipster brawl that never took place. I also seem to recall them opening for Earth Crisis at St. Andrews in College Park, and a bunch of barbeque jokes being made. So many Reptilian shows, and shows where they were the second of six bands on the campus of Johns Hopkins, and sticky basements in the DC suburbs because there was NO WAY the 9:30 Club was going to let these freaky kids play that stage.
Were they really only a band for six years? There's no chance that was the case; it simply cannot be true, no matter what the historical records say. They were just a ubiquitous part of the scene; the guys from NoVA that fit in so well with what was happening in Baltimore at the time. And they played with such heart, such passion, that one couldn't help but become not just a fan, but rabidly so. Then, one day, it was done, splintering into Mannequin and the Malady and Haram and Pygmy Lush.
Do you remember that time, when you were young and before Green Day was on MTV, when you'd see another kid in a Misfits t-shirt or wearing a painted leather jacket and you'd immediately talk to them? Because you had found a kindred spirit, and there weren't a lot of them out there. It's still like that when I wear the old Reptilian "Document #5" t-shirt I got the week the records showed up in the store. I can't really wear it comfortably anymore because I'm probably 100 lbs. heavier than I was then, but when I DO squeeze into it, I occasionally get that native nod, and every once in a great while, I'll make a new friend. There are far too few shibboleths left in the world, riddles that, upon solving, open up something memorable and previously unseen. Pageninetynine was like that for me.
They've reunited now twice, mostly recently in 2018 and 2019 as a series of benefits for local charities in each town they played. Their first reunion, which I regrettably bailed on, saw them play the Black Cat in DC and at Best Friends Day, the annual Richmond outdoor show every year. It occurred to me that the 2020 BFD would be coming up in a few weeks. Here's that Best Friends Day set from 2011. I honestly cannot remember where I got this initially.
It'd be tough to follow up last month's Criterion releases, but somehow the
crew in New York City have kept things at a super-high level in August with
four brand-new releases and a reissue, all of which are pretty much "must
haves". Whether it's a early Jean Renoir sound film, a Paul Schrader movie
from the early 90s, or THE comprehensive look at the work of Agnès Varda, this
month is worth a deep look. Let's get started.
August 4
Criterion continues to work through their pre-Blu-ray catalog, reissuing their
early releases at a pace of one a month. August sees the reissue of 1975's
"The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum". While it doesn't look like the DVD has much new to it other than the new
Joan Wong cover, the Blu-ray features a 4K restoration overseen by director
Volker Schlöndorff and producer Eberhard Junkersdorf (with uncompressed
monaural soundtrack, natch). The Blu-ray also receives an exclusive essay from
critic Amy Taubin. I've never seen this, which now strikes me as odd, because
I'm endlessly interested in stories involving the Baader–Meinhof Gang and the
leftist struggle in 1970s West Germany. Apropos of nothing except my juvenile
sense of humor: this film features a performance by Hubert Fux.
August 11
Agnès Varda is an under-seen giant of cinema. Whether as a documentarian, a
creator of short films, or a feature filmmaker, her body of work
stretched over 60 years, and remained vital up until her death last year. Her
work predated the French New Wave, but influenced a number of that movement's
key characteristics. So it's a great opportunity to celebrate her career with
this 15-disc box set, Criterion's biggest (in size) release since their "100
Years of Olympic Films" set.
"The Complete Films of Agnès Varda"
isn't just a clever name, either. All 39 of her films, from 1955 to 2019,
appear in this collection, with two making their first ever appearances in
home video. The 2011 documentary series, "Agnès de ci de là Varda", also makes
a debut on home video here. It serves no one to rattle off everything in this
box set. For me, I'd prefer to start with one of her California films; "Black
Panthers" was the one that introduced me to her work, "Lions Love (...and
Lies)" is pretty awesome. I'm also looking forward to cracking open the 200+
page book included with this set. The contributors list includes Amy Taubin,
Michael Koresky, Ginette Vincendeau, So Mayer, Alexandra Hidalgo, and Rebecca
Bengal; a veritable New York Times masthead's worth of critics and writers. If
last month's Bruce Lee box set satisfied the heart, this one is a treat for
your brain.
August 18
I'd heard of
"Town Bloody Hall"
long before ever seeing it. I knew it could be read not only an indictment of
Norman Mailer as a glib asshole, but also of some of the shortcomings of
second-wave feminism. When I finally saw it, I also learned that it was
entertaining as hell. Originally shot by D.A. Pennebaker in 1971, it took
eight years and the participation of Chris Hegedus to find its narrative and
to be released. This first release after Pennebaker's death in 2019 and the
first collaboration between the future spouses features a 2K restoration and
archival interviews with most of the key participants. There's also Mailer's
appearance on "The Dick Cavett Show" in 1971, where he discusses
The Prisoner of Sex, his book which led to the town hall. If you have
the least interest in how feminism has progressed, or like Pennebaker's or
Hegedus's work, or you just want to watch some a dickhead writer get raked
over the coals by a quartet of second wavers, this is a must buy.
I never cease to be surprised by the extent of Paul Schrader's body of work.
Yeah, I've seen all of his most acclaimed films: "Taxi Driver" and "Raging
Bull", "Hardcore" and "First Reformed". Yet I wasn't at all familiar with
1990's
"The Comfort of Strangers"
before Criterion announced they were bringing it to Blu-ray this month. So I'm
pretty stoked to check out a film starring Natasha Richardson and Christopher
Walken, set in Venice, and written by Harold Pinter that I've never seen
before. Reading the description, it brings to mind "Don't Look Now" and "The
Talented Mr. Ripley". I'm not saying those have anything in common with this,
only that that's where my brain went. "Comfort" gets a 4K restoration,
overseen by DP Dante Spinotti, as well as new interviews with Spinotti,
Schrader, and Walken. I feel like this is one of those "judge a book by its
cover" situations. For me, the cover looks super interesting.
August 25
I really thought that the largest portion of Jean Renoir's work was already available via Criterion. So it was a double surprise not only that 1935's "Toni" wasn't already available, and that only about half of his catalog was available through Criterion. It's been years since I initially saw it, and I remember it having an impact on me with its story and cinematography. Wes Anderson calls it a great influence, and the film presages what would come in both Italian neorealism and the French New Wave. "Toni" gets a 4K restoration that was screened to great acclaim in 2019 at Cannes, as well as some great archival material featuring Renoir and his cast. There's also a fresh translation and a new video essay from critic Christopher Faulkner, who pops up regularly on Criterion releases and is always watchable. If you're into pre-war cinema, this looks like a great pickup.
And that's the lineup for August. If you couldn't tell already, I'm all onboard for the Varda box set...provided, of course, I can come up with the bread for it. I'd be remiss to not point out that Barnes & Noble is hip deep in a 50% off sale that ends August 2nd. I've spent a fair amount of money there this month, picking up last month's "Lady Eve" reissue, "Stalker", and a number of other titles that have been on my list for a while. Will I lay low until September? Maybe...but I doubt it.
I suppose we can always use a Kathleen Hanna rarity. Viva Knieval was her second band, after Amy Carter, and before Bikini Kill. Among her bandmates was Louise "Zeb" Olsen, who played in Go Team with Tobi Vail and Billy Karren, and self-released this under the Ultrasound Records. This has more in common musically with L7 and Babes in Toyland than you might expect, considering the band's home base and membership. Fun fact: Tim Mac of Halo of Flies recorded this four-song slab. 1,000 on black, 1,000 on red, gang. And that is the most amazing part to me: that a relatively unknown band would press 2,000 7"s.
Sweetbelly Freakdown, live at CBGB's, 1997 (photo by Mark Beemer)
"HELP ME OBI-WAN, CAN YOU HELP ME?" If you want my attention, there are very few better way to grab it than by making a Star Wars reference in a song titled "Pleas to the Action Figure".
Swiz had been broken up for nearly six years when Sweetbelly Freakdown got together in 1996. I remember wondering why they didn't just reunite Swiz when the four ex-members joined forces; it turns out they decided to go with a minimal, almost primal sound for their single and LP. The nine songs on their self-titled record just buzz. It's very out of step with a lot of their contemporaries. I remember only really seeing them on bills with metallic hardcore bands; maybe I saw them with 454 Big Block and Hatebreed?
I see a lot of comparisons to the Rollins Band and the later Black Flag records. To that, I say...maybe? I don't hear the metal or Grateful Dead influence present in those records. And as much as I love ol' Hank, Shawn Brown doesn't present like a poet so much as a method actor in his vocals. The Jason Farrell artwork here is also one of my favorite of his record covers; it certainly lays the groundwork for his Damnation A.D. and At The Drive-In illustrations. This is yet another release that I wouldn't mind reissuing and remastering, should I end up with a spare million spacebux to spend on a label.
I picked up a cheap copy of the second Ceremony record, "Still, Nothing Moves You", on CD this week from the fine folks at Hollow Ground Distro in Texas (good folks, buy their stuff!). That led me to load all their stuff up until "Zoo" onto my phone, which then reminded me of this record. So, I figure, let's share.
I hadn't seen Ceremony the first time they played Charm City Art Space in the mid aughts, but I was fully on board by the time this 7" came out in 2012. They'd made a trio of perfect progressive hardcore full-lengths and a host of great singles since forming in 2005. Their third LP, "Rohnert Park", remains one of my favorites from that period when I started booking and playing shows again. But they'd left the friendly confines of Bridge 9 Records for the big leagues of Matador and the Beggars Group, and were getting ready to go on tour with new label mates Titus Andronicus. This slab came in an edition of 1,000 available only on the tour: 500 on black, and 500 on clear.
I'm not going to lie to you: I play the Ceremony side of this a lot more than the T.A. side. Ceremony comes to the end of that path of rockin' hardcore with "Everything Burns". Their next record, "Zoo", would see them really embracing British post punk and downplaying their more moshy side. Titus Andronicus previews their release later that year of "Local Business" with album cut "In A Big City". It sounds like most of the rest of their music to me: like the random punk rock song playing on the PA of a Whole Foods.
Is this worth hearing? Damn straight, it is. Honestly, I'd like more splits to be like this: a band I'm pretty sure I'm going to like, and one that I'm ambivalent or even fully against.
Here's a story about the first time I met Ted Leo. It's the spring of 1995. A friend from my drama class invites me to join him and a couple other classmates to skip school on a Monday and trek from HarCo down to DC to see the Cranberries play a free show at the Sylvan Theater, down by the Washington Monument. The 'Berries were mid-tour in support of "No Need to Argue", and while I wasn't a big fan, that record was ubiquitous. And it was a perfect day in DC: sunny, not too hot, just really nice. We had arrived in time for an opener none of us had ever heard of, a local band called Chisel. They were just great, to the point where I remember asking aloud, "Why doesn't 'HFS play these guys?" They were punk in the same way Jawbox or Shudder to Think were punk, yet tuneful, with enough pop flavor to cross over easily.
They wrap up their set, and, by this point, it's a pretty big crowd. No one watching the show knew it at the time, but there were about three times as many people in attendance than had been expected. The Cranberries take forever to come out, and when they finally do, they play "Linger". I've seen more restrained pits during Cro-Mags show. People were flying off the stage. It was wholly inappropriate for the show and I was probably one of a handful of people reveling in it. Dolores O'Riordan sat her acoustic guitar on a stand behind her, and the 'Berries began their second song. I remember noticing half a dozen mounted police had appeared on either side the stage...then the song cut out. The Park Police had ended the show, and, suddenly, we're all in a riot. Our brave quartet was a Mekons song come to life. We darted between a pair of horses to stage right, watched as a drunk college guy took a swing at a cop, and beat feet to Union Station.
We're earlier than we expected to be, so we have no clue which train to take towards home, or when said train will leave. We're trying to interpret the big schedule; after all, we're four high school kids from the northern suburbs of Baltimore. What do WE know about the Metro system? I turn to my left, and who do I see, but the band we'd just seen, pre-riot. One of the women in our group whispered, "Oh my god, are those the guys from that band?" They hear us talking about them, turn and look. I wave and say, "Hey. You guys were great today." And we all start talking. I had no idea that they hadn't released an LP yet, just a few singles to that point. Or that they were barely a few years older than us, fresh out of Notre Dame. Here were some fellas just an hour after opening for the biggest band on the planet (at that moment). They actually wanted to talk to us. It was an amazing feeling.
I told Ted that story a number of years later before a show at the Ottobar, thinking he'd have no clue what I was babbling about. Instead, he recalled parts of the day I hadn't been familiar with; that Chisel was at Union Station because they'd gotten the gig last minute and hadn't driven their van, that the Cranberries had been pissed off because Chisel had to share a backline, that they'd had a giggle after we left because they couldn't understand why we were treating them like rock stars. We clinked glasses of Jameson and toasted each other for surviving the great WHFS Riot of 1995.
I was already a fan of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists before that night, but that encounter really sealed my love for the man and his music. It bums me out that they had such shitty luck with labels: Lookout going out of business, Touch & Go almost completely ending release of new records, Matador just abandoning support of the band. That 10 year run, between "The Tyranny of Distance" and "The Brutalist Bricks", remains one of my favorite series of records from a single band. I feel like they were a contender for the best indie rock band around during that time, as well as one of the last links to the indie scenes of the 80s and 90s.
"Tell Balgeary, Balgury Is Dead" came out in 2003, between the TL/Rx's third and fourth albums. It was both a throwback to their early dub recordings, as well as the record that best reflects Ted's Irish Catholic heritage. There are a trio of covers, interpreting The Jam, Split Enz, and Ewan McColl. Dan Littleton (the Hated, Ida) makes an appearance on "Bleeding Powers", as well as handles producer duties on much of the record. I'll even argue that the title track might be the weakest part of the release. It all reminds me of the Joe Strummer solo records, or something you'd hear played from the corner of an Irish pub in an East Coast city.
The "Sharkbite Sessions" was recorded and released 2 years later, and shares two songs in common with "Balgeary". But this is a tighter, more raucous affair. The trio of Leo/Lerner/Wilson had been playing out live for three years at that point, and it shows up in this recording. I bought this mainly because TL/Rx covered "Suspect Device" by Stiff Little Fingers, but I think it serves as the flipside of the coin from "Balgeary". At any rate, I have no clue if these are streamable, but I think they're hella great summer records. So plunk 'em on a tape and drive around, enjoying the fresh air at least six feet away from everyone.
I've always felt like my knowledge of Italian punk and hardcore was a bit on the weak side, so it was really cool to turn this up for $1.50 at a Goodwill a couple years ago. I had downloaded the Wretched / Indigesti split from Erich Keller's blog years before, so I had a good sense of what I was in for. But this 1998 compilation, featuring Indigesti's collected output from 1982 and 1983, was a mind-melter. I mean, who would you compare this to? They were among the leading lights of Euro-thrash; they just were doing it two to three years ahead of everyone else. What I like most about this is the D-beat-esque lyrical style: just slam poetry, dunked down hard atop a pulsing beat.
This is a reissue of the record that came out in 1994, which, of course, compiled their cuts from that Wretched split, their "Sguardo Realtà", 10 unreleased tracks, and an 8-minute live set in Milan. I won't say it's the best $1.50 I've ever spent, but it's definitely one of the best dollar bin/thrift store finds I've ever had.
It's difficult, at times, to keep up with the various new release titles that the fine folks at Kino Lorber are releasing or distributing. After all, they have (...checks notes...) 89 new titles coming out over the next nine weeks. But when a crucial title from my youth hits the "coming soon" slate, it tends to stand out.
1985's "Def-Con 4" is what I think of when I remember the heyday of video stores and VHS. There was a one-sheet hanging in a frame in the video store my mom managed that, at the age of 7, had everything my mind was looking for. There was a dead astronaut, a derelict satellite, killer tag lines. It was the tail end of the Cold War, and the Strategic Defense Initiative looked like a reality, so it just grabbed hold of me. I didn't know it at the time, but the poster artist, Rudy Obrero, was also responsible for some of the box art for Mattel's "Masters of the Universe" line. It made sense that I'd be obsessed. I recently ordered that same poster for the New World Pictures home release; it's an indelible part of my childhood that lives on beyond the reputation of a cruddy B-movie.
Now, the folks at Arrow UK released their own Region B Blu-ray in 2019, chock full of the kind of features that has them high on everyone's list of reissue labels. But not everyone has an all-region player, so it's nice to see that the folks at Scorpion Releasing are putting their own version out September 15. Per their Facebook page, it'll have most of the same features as the Arrow UK release. We'll get the same 2K transfer, a new interview with the film's composer, a lossless soundtrack, trailers, and brand new illustrations on the cover. I love the jankyness of that cover. All that said, I'll take full advantage of the reversible cover, and go back to that infamous Obrero artwork.
Click here to preorder from Kino Lorber. "Def-Con 4" on Blu-ray releases September 15, but the gang at Kino Lorber tends to ship preorders a bit early.
I've been following Al Quint on Instagram for a while now, because 1) he's the sort of fan, writer, and booster I've always aspired to be, 2) he's seen so much great music over the years, and 3) he takes the time to document it all. For the uninitiated, Al is the founder and creative force behind Suburban Voice, a zine that started in 1982, transitioned out of print to Myspace in 2003, then switched over to Blogspot in 2006. If Al has an opinion about punk or hardcore, you'd best listen to it, because he's seen damn near all of it.
One of the things I always dug about SV was that you'd often get a record with your zine. Starting with issue #28, you get record reviews, interviews, features, and a slab of vinyl. There are some excellent records in that discography: from the American Standard/Crucial Youth split, to the DC Hardcore tribute that came with issue #36, to the last vinyl release featuring the Trouble, Fit For Abuse, and the Pinkerton Thugs, every record was top notch. In issue #41, Al put out his first compilation CD. He could have cheaped out and let some label put together a Warped Tour-type sampler for his 15th anniversary. Instead, he put out an incredible historical document, calling 20+ years worth of bands and getting a ton of unreleased recordings and demo cuts. Within a year, he'd do it again for issue #43.
"Dangerously Unstable" remains a GREAT snapshot of what was happening in 1999. There's Anti-Flag covering the Buzzcocks, and the Pist AND the Boils, both covering Negative Approach. Oh, there's an Infest track, and Tony Erba makes himself heard with Gordon Solie Motherfuckers and 9 Shocks Terror. I remember this being the reason I tracked down the following year's reissue of Zero Boys' "Vicious Circle" on Panic Button, because "Positive Change" was the second track. Even the lesser lights piqued my interest, because they were here. Al picked 'em; they're worth hearing.
Alright, movie fans. August is just a couple weeks away, so let's take a look at what Vinegar Syndrome has coming out. I've set the mood appropriately by throwing on the 1979 Chuck Vincent trash classic "Summer Camp" (featuring a young Linnea Quigley!), so I'm ready to talk some weird cinema!
Vinegar Syndrome has been distributing the releases from the American Genre Film Archive for a while now, and its been a revelation to dive into these movies. AGFA dives deep to release some truly amazing films, from the work of Ugandan auteur IGG to Ed Wood sexploitation to scare film compilations. Their newest release is the lone directorial release from Z-movie goddess Tina Krause, 1999's "Limbo". This shot-on-video release looks sounds totally batshit, with a murder triggering a decent into hell for the protagonist. If you're a fan of surrealist horror and no budget filmmaking from the 90s, this is right in your wheelhouse.
Fun City Editions is a brand-new reissue label focusing on reissues of maverick repertory cinema and music that can best be described as works that exist "outside of their time." When your first release is Amos Poe's 1984 neo-noir "Alphabet City", it tells me that your taste is worth paying attention to. Poe's work from the 70s and 80s always captures that era of pre-Guiliani New York City that a lot of people both romanticize and bemoan. The cast has some great names in it: Vincent Spano, Kate Vernon, Jami Gertz, and a pre-"Police Academy" Michael Winslow. The score was written and performed by Nile Rodgers as one of his first works after the breakup of Chic. This sounds like a pretty cool crime thriller to satisfy your lust for the days of cheap rent and cheaper heroin on the Lower East Side. If you needed one more excuse: well, that slipcover is pretty fantastic looking.
The first of three VS releases in August is the first ever digital release of 1982's "Pandemonium", an incredible horror parody from Alfred Sole, who directed "Alice, Sweet Alice" and "Tanya's Island". This feels like a forgotten classic to me, with a cast list including Carol Kane, Paul Reubens, Tom Smothers, and Phil Hartman. I was super surprised to hear this hadn't been available since the days of VHS. The film gets a 2K restoration; the proud owner also gets an interview with writer/director Sole. THIS is my pick of the month. Fun fact: Sole left directing after this, his third theatrical release, and became a production designer of some renown. Trivia, everyone!
Vinegar Syndrome also brings another lost 80s "classic" to Blu-ray in August with the release of 1987's "The Caller". Would it surprise you to learn that a film starring Malcolm McDowell in 1987 is super weird? It shouldn't. I've never seen this, but in my quick "judge a movie by its cover" judgement, the VS website's description of "The Caller" as "a labyrinthine mystery tinged with horror and science fiction elements" also is not surprising. I'd be disappointed if this wasn't feverishly odd.
August's smut release has a fun link to my favorite director, Orson Welles. Welles' cinematographer on "The Other Side of the Wind" and one of his latter-day collaborators, Gary Graver, directed and shot 1981's "Indecent Exposure" under the name Robert McCallum. Graver worked with a ton of different stars and directors over the years: Welles, Robert Corman, Ron Howard, Al Adamson. But many fans would argue his finest period occurred in the early 80s in adult films. His run of directorial efforts from "'V': The Hot One" to "10 1/2 Weeks" is as strong a body of work as you'll find in the Golden Age of Porn. I'll always mark out for a Georgina Spelvin appearance; add in Veronica Hart, Jessie St. James, and Eric Edwards, and you have the recipe for a very sexy Blu-ray/DVD combo pack.
That's it for August. As is the custom in their part of the woods, any orders made at vinegarsyndrome.com will get you a limited edition slipcover along with your disc of choice. Ralf Krause handled design on "Pandemonium" and "The Caller"; Earl Kessler Jr. returns with the cover for "Indecent Exposure". You can also save $35 by ordering all three Vinegar Syndrome releases this month at once as part of the August 2020 Package.
I don't want to sound like a broken record, but I miss No Idea Records as an active purveyor of punk rock. If the ethos of Ebullition and Dischord informed my politics, then No Idea taught me it was cool to be goofy, never pose out, and have fun.
As their 100th release, they put out this fun lil comp, featuring a fat stack of No Idea bands covering other bands. Pretty straight forward, although the cover choices are inspired. Will you ever again see bands covering Assück, Johnny Cash, Galaxie 500, and Morrissey in the same place? Doubful. Plus, take a gander of the beautiful tri-color vinyl, limited to a measly 1,110 pieces:
Fuck, that's just lovely.
All the tracks are great, but I'm a huge fan of Small Brown Bike covering "Jailbreak". One of my favorite live bands playing one of my desert island cuts; what's not to like? It's dirt cheap to get a copy these days, so maybe you grab a copy.
Most of us didn't grow up on the Upper West Side, or taking the train into Boys Town, or sneaking in from the Valley. Mostly, we lived in small towns, on farms, in suburbs without distinction. We felt "off", which is why so many of us caught the first thing leaving town to chase a punk rock dream come true.
Not long after I learned about Fugazi and Bad Religion in the early 90s, I got turned onto what was happening in my town. There was Surge, whose singer was in my drama class with me. There was Suppression, who had two songs on a cassette comp with Surge and whose power violence made Megadeth sound like baroque pop. And then there were Swank, who all went to different high schools from me, but were literally the band to see in Roanoke. They became the link to the outside world; if they played with an out-of-town band, I checked them out, because they probably were awesome. When I moved from southwestern Virginia to suburban Baltimore, they became a bona fide. I could tell another kid who was into Maximum Rock 'n' Roll or Flipside that they were who I went to see back home. They were a common point of reference.
Their second full-length, "Bound", came out the fall I graduated from high school. I saw a Whirled Records ad in HeartattaCk promoting it and an Action Patrol record, and plunked down $10 to get both. They were the first people I'd ever met who put out a CD! So cool! And they'd play alongside all these bands from Florida and New York City, who ended up putting out records with No Idea and Moon Ska. I last "saw" them on a bill in College Park, MD, in 1999. They opened for (ahem) Leatherface, Hot Water Music, and Panthro UK United 13. I was broke as shit, so I sat outside during their set, listening in, then split and drank alone.
All of this is a long way around the block to mention that Swank got back together last year and released a new record, sans saxophonist and The Fest founder Tony Weinbender.. I just ordered a copy, unheard, because that's what you do when a band from 25+ years in your past puts out a new album. While I wait for it to arrive, here's "Bound" in its entirety. You'll probably dig it if you enjoy 90s punk weirdness, early 3rd wave skapunk, or kids channelling the Big Boys.
It's finally gotten hot here in Washington state, so what better way to cool off during an international viral crisis than by bumping some dub?
I got this through work the year it came out. Music Club was a UK budget label that did a fair amount of inexpensive compilations that I'd still recommend to people looking to get into a particular music style. In this case, this was the first record of dub I'd ever bought. I knew who Lee Perry was, but was in the dark about everyone else. It was a great introduction to a number of the all-time greats: King Tubby, King Jammy, Scientist, Augustus Pablo, and the all-time great riddim section of Sly & Robbie.
I thought it'd be fun, since I have no access to the original CD, to do a bit of annotation and list what releases each of these tracks come from. And then I started working on it, and discovered it was a lot more difficult than I'd have expected. So why don't you just lean back and listen to this, and I'll go get us some ice cream?
I kinda miss the days when I knew all the punk rock inside baseball bullshit: who'd signed who, who got dropped, etc., etc. I loved being a smart mark about the behind the scenes moving and shaking. I get reminders now of far my finger is from the pulse of things. For example: did YOU know Epitaph now owns the Jade Tree back catalog? I did not; now I do. I suppose that's why you've been able to get all those pretty-looking reissues recently.
And why mention this? Well, Jade Tree was the big label up the interstate that put out records like the one you're about to listen to. This J Church 10" was my first exposure to the label, as well as my first exposure to one of the all-time great pop-punk trios. Lance Hahn had the brain of an anarchist, the heart of a romantic, and the pipes of a barroom belter. They were such an incredible singles band; their throwaway B-sides and comp tracks are better than most other bands' Side 1, Track 1's. This came out the same year as "Hello Bastards", the first Damnation A.D. LP, and the only Walleye 12". Bands from Dillinger 4 to Joyce Manor and Dogleg owe J Church a debt of influence for making smart, adult pop punk. I feel like, had Lance not died in 2007, they still would have been playing out, probably trekking out to Gainesville for the Fest once every few years and showing the kids how its done.
I thought of this because: 1) I've been listening to that new Dogleg record a lot, and there's much about it that reminds me of J Church, and 2) John Yates did the cover design for this. I've been following him closely on Instagram, and it reminded me of this 25 year old slab o' wax, which still sounds super fresh to me.
I don't want to get in that old fart mode of "I've done so many things I forget most of them", but I'm at the point where the random shit I've done is starting to blur more than a little.
I'm fairly certain I saw Servotron once, although the particulars escape me somewhat. I know this because the timeline for seeing them play Reptilian Records on a Sunday afternoon lines up. Any AmRep band on tour in the late 90s at least stopped in to say hi to Chris X. And if you were in or around town on Sunday, you probably played a free gig at 5pm in the back of the store, after Chris and Johnny Riggs and Gene had moved the videos and iguana out of the way. This was the first time I'd seen anything we'd now describe as synth-punk, although I'm sure my only frame of reference was Devo.
A bunch of college aged kids, leaning into kayfabe, dressed up like cyborgs, making punk rock about robot revolution is about as peak 90s as it can get. Throw in some cover art by Shag, and how pissed off the audience would get over a pro-robot message, and you have a package that's is sadly lacking these days. How stoked would you be where you can afford to get angry over such a silly thing? It'd mean life was pretty good, right? Bring back something like this as the soundtrack to freeing yourself from organic tyranny.
I'll set aside the poetry for my second GSY!BE post. Am I feeling more hopeful? Only, perhaps, that the inevitable class war will kick off in the next six weeks or so.
What I remember about the first All Tomorrow's Parties was that it was one of the first Wire reunions, Shellac and Sigur Rós were playing, and that I was otherwise unthrilled by the lineup. ATP seemed like a good idea, though; let's go to a resort and watch a bunch of bands booked by another band play with 1,000 like-minded souls. Even if you're only hyped on 1 out of 4 bands, you'll probably get stoked on a few more, meet some folks, make out, drink, eat some weird pills, make some memories.
Within a couple years, friends would end up traveling to the UK every spring. The second-hand reports of Mission of Burma playing live, or watching Iggy & the Stooges play on the Queen Mary were mind-blowing. Who would have ever thought you'd get to actually see these bands grown up listening to? Even better was discovering the taste of some of your favorite artists. Yes, it's fun to see who My Bloody Valentine, or Matt Groening, or Belle and Sebastian would want to put into a lineup. Coachella's vibe was always a little more mercenary; this was fantasy camp for indie rock dorks.
So here's Godspeed from the first ATP. I really enjoy that they're not on the "offical" flier. They bookended the original festival series, playing the first and final shows, as well as seven others across the 12 year, four continent series. Any of the shows they played would have been a ripper, although I'll admit to wishing I'd seen them in 2011 in London, when they played in a lineup alongside Portishead, Swans, Beach House, and an Alan Moore/Stephen O'Malley performance. Dope show.
I don't have an awful lot to say about the self-titled 12" from Grey march. I like the recording enough, although hearing Grey march play live in 2013, almost 20 years after they initially broke up, really drove home how good they were/are. They were Baltimorian contemporaries of the Revolution Summer crew in the mid-80s, playing what we'd now call post-punk, but what slotted right next to emo and post-hardcore back in 1986. There's as much of a Factory Records vibe here as there is a T.S.O.L. or Rites of Spring influence.
All of this is an excuse to hype Toxic Flyer Fanzine, the longest running zine from Baltimore and one of the few living links to the days of Grey march, the Marble Bar, Reptile House, and Jules' Loft. Billy continues to do things the old fashioned way: a newsprint or photocopied zine featuring his own music writing and live photography. I'd love to see him digitize everything into an online archive, but, for now, if you want to dive back into that history, you have to visit his Etsy page. Billy just released issue #49 a couple of months ago, featuring photos from recent Subhumans, Krays, and Days N Daze shows. It's great, underseen stuff.
Add a MFT of Kerum pictures on an ancient external hard drive to the list of things we lost in the war. Hence the above flier for what I remember being a pretty crucial show at the Bloodshed. Here's what I remember:
Kerum started out with Chuck and Clint from Baltimore A.R.A. and Brian Redbeard. Redbeard and my little brother were high school buds who were super into computers and once ate a bunch of acid in my backyard. He grew up down the road from our townhouse, threw awesome garage shows, and was a generally good dude. I knew fuck all about grindcore past Napalm Death at the time, so their arrival to my awareness became a bit of an education in death to false grind.
Brian left the band and moved down to D.C., and Kerum added my buddy Bachman on bass and Eric T. Neal on vocals. Bachman was a real-deal farm kid who was equally into punk and hip-hop; likewise, Eric T. was the assistant manager at the record store in town and was the first person I knew to get into John Zorn. Josh came in on second guitar; I'm sorry, but I literally have no recollection of him.
They kept playing out, literally all over the place. They were the first band from HarCo that I remember making a national tour. They were the local short/fast/loud opener du jour for half a decade; they could slot anywhere, and Eric T. had an incredible visual aesthetic that he applied to fliers for Kerum shows. They would eventually add Jimmy from In$pite on co-vocals, morph into Shitdogs of War, morph again into Deceiver when Eric T. left for Texas after a false diagnosis of brain cancer, and then fragment as everyone got a little older.
So, about this disc. This is everything except their split tape with California's Abysmal Terror: the "Twilight of the Apocalypse" LP, their split with Unholy Grave, some unreleased tracks and their 2002 demo. I know there are some recordings from radio show appearances floating around as well. While this lacks the visual flair of some of their physical releases, it does capture that moment around and after 9/11 when we played with reckless abandon, made records with no heed to anything but art, and occasionally committed some light larceny,
Photo of Ennio Morricone with Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza by Roberto Masotti
"When the legend becomes fact, print the legend."
There are giants that we share the earth with, and, until Monday, Ennio Morricone was among them. There are far better eulogies that can be written about him than I ever will be able to jot down. So I'll talk about buying this CD.
After John Williams, Morricone was the first film composer I could recognize by ear. I latched onto his score of "The Untouchables", and as I kept watching movies in the early 90s, like "Hamlet" and "Bugsy" and "The Mission", I kept noticing that the same Italian guy with the name I didn't know how to pronounce kept making music that moved me. Somewhere along the way, I learned he had made the music for The Man With No Name Trilogy, and got really hooked on this piece with whistling (it was "Theme from 'The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly'"). I started working at this Borders-style bookstore in the music department, and this bad boy was showing its cover from the end of the soundtrack section. I used my employee discount to get 50% off $12.99 (plus tax). I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed initially that none of "l buono, il brutto, il cattivo" appeared on this disc. But I got over my disappointment fairly quickly.
Even 30 years after its release, this is a pretty good survey of Morricone's spaghetti western scores from 1963 to 1968. The opener, "A Gringo Like Me" from 1963's "Duello nel Texas", has this earworm quality to it that, within three listens, will have you singing along with Peter Tevis. There are fair enough chunks of both "Per un pugno di dollari" and "Per qualche dollaro in più" to convince you to drop some bread on vintage Italian copies on vinyl. But the pieces I keep coming back to are his four cues from "C'era una volta il West", released in the States in 1969 as "Once Upon a Time in the West". To me, a track like "L'Uomo Dell'Armonica" is just a memorable as "L'Estasi Dell'Oro".
I could rattle off how many records the man sold, or how many scores he composed, and how many times he got robbed of a Grammy. That's part of the legend, but irrelevant to the story I'll tell. As a teenager whose exposure to modern composition only came from film scores, Ennio Morricone helped open my ears up, and widen my eyes to a wider world than punk and thrash records. His nickname was "Maestro" for good reason; he taught me to listen in a different way. Is there any greater praise?
