HAVMAT June 2015

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HAVMAT

THE NIGHTCAP

Vol. II — June 2015

Above left: James Carden signs a poster after opening for Lucas Seeley in Chinook, which is a town that is not Havre.

Above right: The participants of HAVMAT's first organized human bonding expirement event — the Highway 2 West Brawl Crawl — pose for a photo: John Paul Schmidt, from left, James Carden, Amber Lee Wells, Rosie Goldich and Carly Huffman.

Below right: Carly Huffman waxes wistfully upon her life goals.

Below left: Dave Martens and Carol Kerr play at an open mic night at Triple Dog Brewing.

Left: A bad photo of China Water Symbol crooning to ladies and gents at Bullhook Bottoms.

Photos by drunken bystanders

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HAVMAT

Vol. II — June 2015

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HAVMAT The Alchemist's Messenger

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

Well, the first issue of HAVMAT was a mild success. Especially if we're going by what our mother said. That makes us the most handsome and smart of all her children as well, if we were to go down that route. But that's for her and you all to say, not us.

Within these pages, you'll find Havre's thinkers in a variety of mediums — through paintings, tales, columns and photographs. We at HAVMAT believe the people who help form the hidden-in-plain-sight cultures in these small Montana towns need to be held accountable for their actions. They stood up to create something among many who simply entertain the idea of creating. They're screwing things up. Whatever you do, don't buy these people beers.

A hardy group of contributors has arisen from the chaos of the first issue's scramble. James Carden, a crowd favorite, is back with his expert advise about romance and life. Caleb Hutchins (who created the first issue's poster and was not credited due to our lack of experience and shortsightedness in such matters) is back with an uplifting message about half-assing it in Havre and

fanboys about 'Mad Max.' Emily Mayer explains the history and soul of buildings you long-since begun ignoring. Rick Linie continues to serve up the hottest jams du jour. And so forth.

There are also shiny newcomers gracing these pages. All are welcome in HAVMAT. If you missed the artist's statement in the last issue, HAVMAT is created by Havreites, for Havreites and jealous others. If you want to share your words, images, ideas, whatnots — won't you do so? These animals need your help and even the smallest gifts make a difference. Send your two cents to havmatmagazine@gmail.com.

More importantly, enjoy HAVMAT. Thank the business owners who excitedly gave you an issue of HAVMAT instead of what you ordered, especially the ones who paid for ads in this magazine (SPONSORED CONTENT).

This issue was made for you. You're a pretty people and we think you're cooler than your friends made you out to be. You're our friend now.

— They

STANDING ACCUSED Editor John Paul Schmidt Cover photo Lindsay Brown Poster A.J. Ruzinsky Photographers James Carden John Paul Schmidt Amber Lee Wells Rick’s picks Rick Linie

Heavier Hearts

with James Carden

I'm going on a hot date next weekend with the cute waitress from that sandwich shop. What should I wear and where should I take her?

Me personally, I wouldn't overdress if she's a waitress. A shirt with sleeves will surpass her expectations, but a friend once told me the better you dress, the better you'll feel. I knew it was time to change my ratty clothes when, on my way to work, I was attacked by a pack of wild dogs and when I got to work, nobody noticed. A nicely dressed man can really light up a room, but the only time you would ever see me illuminating a room would be if I walked in during self-immolation. I know I might be getting ahead of myself, but clean your apartment before you go out, because if she wants to come up for a cup of coffee later you don't want her to instantly know how gross and sloppy you live. Once you have locked down a relationship, then let her get to know the true you. Women love surprises. For a first date, I ask the girl to meet me at the public library when they show independent movies, because it says "I'm cultured and I support community events," but the truth is it's free and I live a block away. It's too hard to drive places when your car has broken down. Now, you might be asking yourself "How much eye contact is too much?" You can never have too much eye contact!

If you decide to take her out to dinner and you want to seem adventurous, when the server comes out to take your order say "Surprise me!" But then, when your meal is presented to you, cross your arms, shake your head and say "Why am I not surprised?"

My parents wont let me date the boy of my dreams because they say he's a bad influence. I love him so much and he says if he can't be with me, he will never love again! How do I make them see this is what I need?

First, you need to check out a song by Will Smith — "Parents Don't Understand." That should answer some of your questions. I think your parents are just looking out for you. Unfortunately, when I was young, my mom and pop were constantly trying to find me a girlfriend.

They really wanted another couple to hang out with, but I feel like nepotism makes double dates uncomfortable.

My folks didn't have the best relationship. My mother would tell her friends that my father had narcolepsy, but the truth is he was just addicted to Lunesta.

I was still really young when they got divorced, but I was lucky they didn't make me choose who to live with because they kicked me out of the house a year before.

"Nobody likes a third wheel," they said as the door slammed behind me. As I walked away from the house I grew up in, I had nowhere to go. It began to rain, which was perfect for masking the tears that started to form on my face.

My boyfriend has been spending a lot of time away from me, with friends or just by himself. I asked him what was wrong after a couple weeks of this and he told me he just needed some time for himself and some space. How much space should I give him? Is this even about space? Do you think he wants to leave me? I'm at a loss.

One important aspect of a relationship is making sure that you have time to yourself. Just because someone wants space doesn't necessarily mean they're going to break up with you, but that is a phrase people commonly use when they are planning on breaking up with someone later. I think the secret to longevity in a relationship is to find someone who also feels like they also ran out of options and you are the best they can do.

Lately, it seems like every time I'm in a relationship, my girlfriend will break up with me after a couple weeks. So I've decided to have a serious relationship with a pretend girlfriend. I love her because she is the type of girl who doesn't think that listening to Radiohead for eight hours a day is depressing. She works at a shelter for stray cats and never brings her work home with her. We were the hippest couple in town, but after a couple weeks she also broke up with me. I'm so lonely when I go to a restaurant I purposely choke on my food in the hopes that somebody will wrap their arms around me.

(James Carden is an aspiring marriage counselor who makes gourmet sandwiches at Grateful Bread to pay for his license. If you want to ask him for his expert advice, you can reach him at havmatmagazine@gmail.

www.facebook.com/havmatmagazine

by Pam Burke

I had been more than a little nettled that The Alchemist sent his message in the form of a fireball crashing through my fields and into my yard, rending to splinters and gray ash my oldest elm. Even though I ducked in time, my hair was singed. He could’ve written a letter, I had thought.

The fiery orb came to rest on the highest point of my rock wall and transformed itself into a remarkable likeness of me before flaming out and leaving a pitted, oily, black mess on the carefully layered granite that I had hauled, shaped and stacked myself.

My likeness on the wall, in full travel gear, golden, peering east through a looking glass, was the message — the rest of the chaos was just to raise my ire.

I know that now.

Standing here, at the precipice of the Wall of the World from whence my own wall came, one rock at a time, I survey the Great Basin through my looking glass — the first tool of magic The Alchemist taught me to build — and I see, Yes, he had been right to send the message as he did.

Earth Elementalist, I think in seasons at best, the lifespan of trees as a norm and the ages of rock comfortably.

I would have waited until after planting to act in urgency, maybe after harvest or winter’s ice, or waited for next year’s spring sap to draw more news up from loam and rock, for returning birds to give me word of happenings, for summer storms to erode tales into hard-packed earth.

I would have been too late.

Only anger could have brought me here, to this moment, to see what needs seeing in the haze of the farthest horizon. An army, a vast and terrifying army, marching toward me, toward peaceful Westrening, trampling and tainting all in its passing. The army crackles with lightning bolts of blue, green and red — a magic that I do not understand, like shards of northern lights tearing through the aether. It smells like ozone, even from half a continent away. This I understand.

The Fifth Element is coming.

And The Alchemist has called me to do his bidding, but I do not know what he thinks I am supposed to do. I am Earth; I am biology and geology. I am slow by nature. Fire rains down on my head to move me and still I don’t read the danger until it fills my looking glass.

"Earth being blunt, dense, immobile ... ," the texts all say. I am not the Element for this task.

What is The Alchemist thinking.

I pray to the gods of my mother’s people – because it is all I can think to do first, not because it is what The Alchemist wants done.

Such pious reflexes are more apt for a life in Theurgy, I can hear The Alchemist say.

But I am not of The Alchemist’s era, when wizards were gods of wondermaking. I came after the Great Battle, after people discovered wizards are only human after all, after people made other gods, better gods — ones not of this world, who are all-powerful, truer, more believable, requiring only faith, not proof.

I stand alone, without The Alchemist — teacher, leader, father — and without my three other

THE TYPECAST Elementals to back me. I see in that haze such full-scale destruction, pain and death marching across the world to my homeland.

I do not care if I am not supposed to need the solace of prayer, the rhythmic chant of the catechisms I uttered at the divinity services of my youth; I pray on through the verses. An ill-shadowed part of me wishes desperately for the prayer to work.

From here on top of the Wall, with that malicefilled haze spreading my way, I fear the day is nigh when I will not care where my aid comes from.

Fear or no, The Alchemist called me to this moment. Even armed with the tools he showed me to bring, and reinforced with other tools of my own devising made in the past many decades on my own, I feel under prepared and over whelmed.

I raise my glass one more time to stare at the deathly army, letting the final catechism whisper forth from my dry lips.

I suspect this despair is what the army intends all who witness its raw and foreign power to feel.

But blight, in whatever form, must be stopped. I inhale deeply enough to feel a stretch through my ribcage and cuss at The Alchemist on the exhale.

Holding my arm high, I call for the nearest bird to attend me and a blue-gray arrowhead of falcon spears its way down from the skies to my arm.

Falco columbarius — a good omen. I know both my mother and The Alchemist would say I am not supposed to believe in omens, but I’ve learned more than toolmaking out on my own.

I whisper my own message to the falcon and send it forth to call Water, Air and Fire to this place. Fleet and nimble and fierce, the falcon will deliver my point to them and drive it home cleanly — and quite literally should they not understand my urgency.

Mine, the more precise messenger, is no less lethal, Alchemist.

I pull from my satchel a handful of fine, iridescent powder, ground from the rare golden pearls of the Mirone Desert and, ironically, the last magic The Alchemist taught me to concoct. I scrub the powder over my face, through my hair.

Fine clumps of it splatter my clothes, while motes and particles whirl through the air around me and in my next breath fill my lungs. I feel its power fill me, spread over me. My skin and clothes glow golden in sunlight.

Gildshield, he had called it, and I hope it offers the protection he claimed.

Kneeling to the rock underfoot, I place my golden palms on a faint crack in the cliff top. I feel its path down and down into the bedrock and out and out across ten thousand leagues to the horde of feet pounding my way.

I think not of the thousand years of water expanding and contracting and eroding away at a crack in a boulder, but rather of the moment it splits asunder. I think, too, of temblors, landslides and seismic shifts.

As quick as Earth can move, I hurl myself into my Element to find the enemy, to tell those forces and whomever is wielding this aethereal magic that they will not proceed thus unopposed, not even the Fifth Element.

And if I find that damnable Alchemist along the way, so much the better. I have a message or two for him as well.

Creative Freedom and Lowered Expectations

by Caleb Hutchins

Some years ago when I was pursuing my bachelor’s degree at Northern, I took a class that required me to develop a volunteer-based community service. One of the optional areas of service to choose from was cultural enrichment, so I decided that I wanted to have a free, outdoor movie night for members of the community. I was soon approached by a few members of the Northern administration with some practical concerns — you can’t show movies to the public without a copyright license, and you can’t have a public event without insurance coverage.

I talked to some helpful members of the campus and did some research, and found ways to solve those problems. We were able to get the outdoor movie classified as a student activity, which covered the insurance liability. The campus media center loaned us a projector, and Creative Leisure loaned us a sound system.

We acquired copies of some old films that had entered the public domain, making them free of copyright limitations. We even found some old newsreel clips and Superman cartoons to screen before the feature.

In 2008, Northern Cinema After Dark screened about a dozen movies on the lawn behind Pershing Hall, on a twenty-foot screen sewn out of bed-sheets and draped from the roof of the building. The first movie had five people attend. By our final movie that September, we had about 50 people showing up, bringing their own blankets and chairs to sit in the mosquito-bitten summer heat and watch old black and white movies that nobody had ever heard of. It was simple, and half-assed, and beautiful.

Because in Havre, people don’t expect much.

Everything is just a little half-hearted and halfassed, run with no budget and made out of bedsheets and donated equipment. Some might say that this is a sorry state of affairs, but I say that it offers members of Havre’s community a great opportunity. In a larger city, creative projects and events require planning committees and financial backing. If you want to do something, you’ve got to do it just right, or be drowned in a sea of criticism. Failure and shoddiness is punished by the court of public opinion.

But not in Havre! We expect a certain level of amateurism. We’re willing to overlook the seams in the bed-sheets and see the movie screen it was meant to be. Just in the last year, Havre has seen some really cool projects. A guy decided to build a brewery in an abandoned veterinarian's office. A couple of girls decided that they wanted to start a roller derby league. John Paul Schmidt decided to launch this alternative newspaper so that people could have an outlet for their creative ideas. A handful of people decided to start doing stand-up comedy at the local bars.

They’re all a bunch of half-assed amateurs who don’t know what they’re doing, and they’re making it work because nobody told them they couldn’t. Some of them may just be flashes in a pan, brief moments of fun that fizzle out and never return, like the outdoor movies. Some of them may become permanent local institutions like the Montana Actors’ Theatre, where many individuals come and go, with uneven levels of

Vol. II — June 2015 talent but with the same level of passion.

If you wish Havre had something it doesn’t, get out there and make it happen! You don’t have to be a professional, you can half-ass it like everyone else around here. Keep trying, and people will start showing up. This town has low expectations, use that to your advantage. Try making something okay, and the community can help make it great. ***

Paradise

by John Paul Schmidt

The spiraling staircase twisted under her perch on the balcony like a four-story iron tail.

I watched her leaning against the guardrail. The smoke from the cigarette she smoked plumed above her head in the night and, momentarily, she appeared to me as a black peacock of metal and shadows. I saw a bird of paradise fit for the city and the lack of visible color was contained within her, I was sure.

Though in the night I could not see her face clearly, inside her I vividly saw a world of pastels and bright flashes of life and enlightenment. The thought of climbing her iron coattail to her filled me with anticipation of the place I could invade and infect if she permitted me.

I saw myself in a poem of the city and the night wrapped in her limbs. Together, we could pen countless stanzas of pastels and cloudy, infectious haze with each other, whispering and exclaiming every other line.

This world was a drug. It was the closest to religion I could get and there was no difference between the means. In the end, a calm suppression of the panic of an atheist reality was the result of both.

In my world, I accepted death as the harbinger of the end of the haze and, in our world, saw the days made calm.

Whether a drug designed to sedate or a god to enlighten, this paradisiac bird of metal and flesh—of shadows masking pastels—beckoned me unto death. By what road it would take me filled me with possibility. Dread, in bed with enlightenment, toured every facet of my mind.

I took the last drag of my cigarette before the filter burned and snubbed it with the bottom of my boot. An apt poem for an apartment I could not, or would not, be privy to.

Inside my own home, I saw shadows within shadows. The unfamiliarity of a world I was led to consider familiar saturated my mind with fiery thoughts of paradise dulled down by my own lack of kindle.

If it was desperation that led me to her or the back seat calling of a tour of America, I could not decide. However, I knew the escape of my own devices into hers like a rodent caught between the sprockets of a machine built by ethereal engineers was a destiny deterred by free will. It was machine to produce unknown realities unattainable without the components of higher form. The cogs and gears of an endless clock were a river unto each other, and the machine was flawless.

As I laid my head upon a pillow, I couldn’t help but notice the dust clinging to the ceiling of my six feet of black clay. Thoughts of pastels and paradise lulled me to sleep. As my eyes closed, she came, and I truly knew religion.

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HAVMAT

GRAB BAG

Vol II — June 2015

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HAVMAT

Bloodbourne — Lovecraftian horror you emotionally pay to play

By Kevin Zoren

The torchlight creates menacing shadows that form and flicker on the stone walls of the alleyway. I wince with every step as the echo of boots on cobblestone fills the night. Then I see it, and everything else fades away. At first it looks to be a simple beggar, dressed in rags and covered in the filth and offal of the city. Its gangly frame is somehow wrong though; something less than human, something more. It squats over its most recent victim, slurping and crunching as it feasts.

It shifts, cocking its head slightly, listening.

Tentacles reach out searchingly and hollow black eyes widen as its body twists to face me. I tighten my grip on the saw blade, this was a mistake; let’s find out whose.

Bloodbourne is the latest offering of From Software, and an evolution of the formula they started with the Demon Souls/Dark Souls series.

Continuing in the tradition of its forbearers, Bloodbourne is a third person action role-playing game noted for its unforgiving difficulty and grandiose boss battles. In the game, you’ll take on the role of a hunter, whose gender, features, and background are all determined by the player. You awake in a clinic after receiving a blood transfusion to cure an undefined affliction, the doctor’s gone but there’s a nasty beast waiting for you in

his stead. After facing this creature you’ll likely retire to the Hunter’s dream which serves as a sort of safe house where you’ll rest, resupply, and meet a living doll who will alternately creep you out and advance your statistics.

The bulk of the game takes place in the city of Yharnam, an always dark and bizarrely ever moist urban landscape with breathtaking gothic architecture and a serious corruption problem.

The town itself is a twisting labyrinth that begs you to explore every nook and cranny, and it’s this sense of curiosity and wanting to see around

the next corner that is one of the game’s biggest draws. There’s a price to tourism in Yharnam though, as the town is filled with ghouls, werewolves, and twisted aberrations that are truly the stuff of nightmares, all of whom are waiting to eat your lunch. The mechanics of advancement in the game turn that desire to explore and conquer into one of its biggest sources of tension. In place of an experience system, you gain blood echoes through killing, and can turn these in for advancements. If you die, you lose unspent echoes. If you go back to cash them in, everything you’ve killed

respawns. So you’re face with a conundrum: Do I press forward and risk losing everything I’ve earned, or do I go back, cash in, and face everything again?

Like the aforementioned disease, there’s a lot in Bloodbourne that goes unsaid, and the plot is mostly left for the player to decipher. That’s not to say there isn’t a rich story; you’ll just have to use your detective skills to suss it out through reading item descriptions, knocking on doors, and paying attention during the usually wordless cut scenes. What you’ll come to find, without spoiling anything, is a sad and twisted tale of Lovecraftian horror, complete with elder gods.

The only major criticism I have about the game is the constant loading screens; they recently patched the loading to include item descriptions rather than a blank title screen, but the loads can be long and frequent as they’ll come at you whenever you die or travel. With that in mind, is Bloodbourne for you? First of all, it’s a Playstation 4 exclusive so you’ll need to be on the Sony train to ride. It also requires a great deal of determination and patience as you will die frequently, I promise.

If you enjoy the subtle horror of H.P. Lovecraft and challenging third-person combat, and don’t mind having the plot unfold as a mystery rather than cinema, I highly recommend Bloodbourne.

‘Mad Max: Fury Road’ — the greatest action movie since ‘Aliens’

By Caleb Hutchins

I’m an action movie fanatic, but for a while now — let’s say the last ten years or so — I’ve been unsatisfied. When CGI first started getting popular in the late ’90s and early ’00s, it was amazing. Space ships and dinosaurs and impossibly giant armies could be created with computer graphics that would be impossible to do in real-life, or unrealistic and cheesy with models or stop-motion animation.

But over time, the CGI shine wore off. Some of those movies — “Jurassic Park,” the first “Matrix” — have aged well, but most of them make me wonder what I ever enjoyed about them. Once you get over the initial novelty of CGI, you start to realize that all of those computer-generated heroes and explosions have no weight or reality, like a puff of perfume in a sweaty locker room.

When actor and action doesn’t really exist in the same space, the sense of danger and excitement drains out like an unwilling blood donor.

That’s one of two reasons “Mad Max: Fury Road” is the greatest action movie of at least the last ten years. The explosions are real gasoline.

The car crashes are real crunching metal. The post-apocalyptic maniac riffing on a ramshackle electric guitar to whip his mutant albino compa-

triots into a battle frenzy like a deranged military drummer boy is a real guy, strapped with bungee cords to a real truck racing through the desert.

CGI is there, but it’s used judiciously, to enhance the practical effects and hide the safety harnesses that separate stunt actors pretending to be chrome-huffing kamikaze lunatics from actual chrome-huffing kamikaze lunatics.

There’s very little exposition or explanation, but that doesn’t mean Max’s world is underde-

veloped — every character and object looks like it has a story, a reason for being there. Backstory and motivation is left as an exercise for the viewer, in a way that is satisfying rather than frustrating — you’ll find yourself imagining the unspoken lives of those bit players and weird vehicles days later.

The core of this intentionally simple story is the second amazing thing about “Fury Road” — its portrayal of women, and subversion of the ugly, unspoken gender tropes that almost always accompany action movies.

The movie’s plot can be described in a single sentence. Max (Tom Hardy), a post-apocalyptic drifter, inadvertently ends up helping a female cyborg road warrior named Furiosa (Charlize Theron), who is trying to lead a group of women, the “Five Wives,” newly escaped from the harem of a psychotic warlord and his army of mutants.

When Max first meets the Five Wives, he blurrily wakes up after one of the movie’s many car wrecks to a surreal scene of young, beautiful,

barely-dressed women bathing in a fire hose. But what initially looks like a male fantasy is quickly turned on its head when the women try to subdue Max in a clever fight scene involving a bolt cutter — a bolt cutter which plays more than one important role throughout the course of the film.

Throughout Fury Road, characters — especially female characters — that would be treated like props in a lesser movie are treated like, well, people. Furiosa is just as battle-hardened and competent as Max, the most bad-ass heroine since Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley in the “Alien” movies of thirty-odd years ago. The Wives are naive and unprepared for the harsh world of the Wasteland, but they are far from simple damsels in distress.

Even the villains and minions are portrayed with sympathy and humor — yes, they’re deranged monsters, but they have recognizable thoughts and goals.

Just as important as how “Fury Road” portrays women — how it doesn’t portray them. The camera doesn’t linger on the sex slavery of the warlord’s harem, the wives have already escaped by the time the movie begins. When a woman is killed during the course of the chase, there’s no horror movie objectification or torture-porn money-shot. For an R-rated movie, the violence is almost always shown in wide frame or just offscreen, not brutal and up close.

“Mad Max: Fury Road” is playing at Cottonwood Cinema 4 in Havre through Thursday, June 11. It boasts some of the most impressive practical effects and stunts that have ever been filmed.

It’s also a fully realized world that sticks in your head long after the credits, and a deconstruction of gender tropes you may not have even realized existed. This is a movie that will still be talked about thirty years from now, a new bar that every future action movie will be measured against.

THE METRONOME

Vol. II — June 2015

RICK'S PICKS

THE SONICS 'This Is The Sonics'

One of the original '60s garage rock legends reunite for their first album in 49 years! Picking up seemingly right where they left off, the ferocious energy of new originals like "Bad Betty" collide with covers of "Sugaree" and "I Don't Need No Doctor." No greatgrandfather should be able to shred a microphone like Jerry Roslie. A comeback for the ages recorded in glorious mono.

Now that school's out, many slots have been opened up at the radio station. There is still a core, quality schedule of programming for listeners to enjoy, and now is the best time to begin your own show before slots are taken up once the college year starts back up again.

KNMC is open to all varieties of radio personalities and genres from sportscasts to acid beebop grunge country-funk. It is super easy to learn how to host your own show and, as long as you don't cuss, be drunk or drink soda in the studio, you can do whatever you want!

Support your local college radio! Tune in to KNMC 90.1 FM for a variety of music tastes and a break from the rigamarole of corporate stations that play one song thrice an hour. Want to become a KNMC deejay? Student or not, anyone can sign up to play in available slots. Call 265-3709 to talk to a deejay or leave a message to begin sharing your music with Havre.

RAY WYLIE HUBBARD 'The Ruffian's Misfortune'

CHRIS STAPLETON 'Traveller'

Grizzled purveyor of the greasy groove, Ray and his band (The Masterless Samurai) continue his remarkable streak of rockin' albums. Telling David Letterman he "didn't want to peak too soon," I'm not sure any musician rioting all original material has ever been this vital into his 70s! Blast "Hey Mama My Time Ain't Long" or "Down by the River" at yer next BBQ and you may not need the hot sauce … .

Finally making his own record after writing in Nashville for the last decade, Chris wears the '70s outlaw country leathers much better than the pleather chaps of current CMT turns. "Whiskey and You," "Daddy Doesn't Pray Anymore," and "The Devil Named Music" bleed a little while "Might as Well Get Stoned" and "Outlaw State of Mind" would probably make Waylon and Billy Joe proud. A whole album experience, not a damn sound bite and quite possibly the best country debut since Sturgill Simpson.

KNMC JUNE SCHEDULE THURSDAY 12-3 p.m. — Craig – Classic Rock

5-6 p.m. — Becca — Electronic Dance Music 7-9 p.m. — Dave — Indie Alternative

MONDAY

6-8 p.m. — Steve — Hard Rock & Metal

TUESDAY

9 a.m.-1 p.m. — Rick — Roots Rock 6-8 p.m. — Dan — Eclectic 8-10 p.m. — Jay & Isabelle — Punk Pop

WEDNESDAY

5-7 p.m. — Johnny & James — The Mix Tape 7-10 p.m. — Rick — Rock & Roll

FRIDAY

12-3 p.m. — Spike — Hard Rock and Blues 4-6 p.m. — A.J. — Indie

SATURDAY

12-3 p.m. — China Water Symbol Radio

SUNDAY

12-3 p.m. — Jay & Isabelle — Pop Punk 6-8 p.m. — Mary — Contemporary Christian

Visit Triple Dog Brewing Co. from 5 to 8 p.m. every Sunday for the KNMC-sponsored open mic night. Bring your instruments and words to share with others, or just come to enjoy the sounds and conversation. The open mic nights are kid-friendly.

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THE FEATURE

HAVMAT

Vol. II — June 2015

The Highway 2 West Brawl Crawl John Paul Schmidt Photos by drunken bystanders

An epic journey of stamina and fortitude, the Highway 2 West Brawl Crawl stretched from Havre to Joplin for a road trip/bar hopping hybrid.

The Brawl Crawl spanned about 50 miles west of Havre and stopped at four bars. That doesn't sound like much, but I assure you, it was enough. Maybe I'm a baby. But we started at 6 o'clock and turned tail back to Havre soon after midnight. Even I don't like bars enough to stay there for the equivalent of a nearfull workday.

And before you ask, mothers — yes, there was a designated driver. The ever gentlemanly James Carden took the position with grace.

The first ever HAVMAT event took five brave argonauts traveling west to their first stop — The Walleye Tavern.

The Walleye Tavern is the kind of bar you look for on a camping trip. Jim, mixologist and master rib chef, hails from London, England, and came to Montana in the late 1980s. He opened his bar outside of any town, but directly in front of the turnoff for Fresno Lake, a hot walleye fishing spot about 12 to 13 miles west of Havre.

Jim's quick with a terrible joke and isn't afraid to poke fun at clientel — a breath of real air in a world of overcleaned bars. He said his famous "Jim's Sloppy Ribs" are the best thing on the Hi-Line, but we were too early for them.

He should be smoking them now as you

read this.

After a few drinks at the Tavern, the next stop was Spencer's Hi-Way Bar and Grill in Hingham, around 36 miles from Havre. There was pizza to be had to strengthen our willpowers for the trip ahead us. The bar was alright.

Moving on.

The town of Rudyard, about 40 miles from Havre, boasts the K-Lines Bar & Bowling, in which a friendly and fun group of patrons mill. A bar by night and bowling alley by day, the institution is a fix-all for boring times. The drinks are cheap and the people are rich.

Next up, Nancy's Bar and Grill in Joplin, about 51 miles away. I know we skipped Inverness. Nothing against Inverness. Rudyardites have something

against it, apparently, but we don't.

Nancy's Bar and Grill was a quiet and small bar, but clean and welllighted. The karaoke is set up by request and the people were long-lost relatives, laughing and singing to our selections on the jukebox. This bar is cut from a cloth from the back of your parents' closet and feels like home.

At this point, our very sober driver ran out of fuel. We thought about pushing forward to Rudyard, but we had grown sluggish. Six hours of drinking and road-tripping will do that to you. We gathered ourselves, piled back into the Subaru and bedways was rightways.

If you have stories about these HiLine bars you're willing to share, tell us on our Facebook page at www.facebook.

Stop No. 1 — The Walleye Tavern. Jim the Proprietor, or Purveyor of Rack of Ribs and Bad Jokes, serves a mean can of beer.

Stop No. 2 — Spencer's Hi-Way Bar and Grill. Pizza aboound.

Stop No. 3 — K-Lines Bar & Bowling Alley. Awesome people, heavy balls.

Stop No. 4 — Nancy's Bar and Grill. Karaoke and brassiers to satisfy all tastes

9

HAVMAT

INK AND INTEREST

Havre's Gothic architecture Emily Mayer

The Gothic style of architecture has stood the test of time. Massive and impressive, this style of architecture started in Europe, mainly in France, in the 12th century.

Many examples of this style built during that time can be found today, among them Notre Dame, Cartres and Riems cathedrals.

The style was incredibly popular for more than 400 years. With the tastes of the Victorians obviously tilted toward opulent architecture and furnishings, Gothic architecture enjoyed a revival during that era.

The Gothic style of architecture is noted for its steep roof, flying buttresses, stained glass, lacy stonework, pointed arches and doorways. Overall, the visual expression is nothing short of magnificent.

The Gothic Revival architecture during the Victorian era incorporated many of those defining elements. Havre had, at one time, several churches featuring Gothic Revival elements. One such church is the current First Baptist Church, located at 625 Fourth Avenue. It was originally the

St. Mark's Episcopal Church

First Presbyterian Church and was located at the northwest corner of 4th Avenue and 3rd Street. Constructed in 1901-1902, all windows had the classic pointed arch, complete with stained glass in every one, and a very steep roof. While not containing any lacy stonework or flying buttresses, the style nonetheless is a good example of how the Victorians adapted this style to suit their tastes. The First Presbyterian Church building was later sold to the First Baptist Church, whose members moved it to its current location in either late June or July, 1920.

The first Methodist Church, then located on the northeast corner of 3rd Street and 1st Avenue, and the second Methodist Church, located on the west side of the 400 Block of Fifth Avenue also were in the Gothic Revival style. At this time, I do not know what happened to the first Methodist Church building, but the second burned in a spectacular fire December 6, 1957. The second Catholic Church, then located where the Hill County Courthouse is today, was also Gothic Revival, though in a much more vernacular manner. Existing examples of buildings that feature Gothic Revival elements are St. Mark’s Episcopal Church located at 539 Third Avenue and First Lutheran Church located at 303 Sixth Avenue. Cowan Hall and Donaldson Hall located on MSU-Northern’s campus also boasts a few elements of the Gothic Revival style.

Homeowners also attempted to adapt these elements in their homes. One such style is referred to as the Steamboat Gothic, because it looked very similar to the old river steamboats popular at the time for transportation and commercial purposes. There are no examples of this style in Havre, but one that is very close to this style is the Collins Mansion in Great Falls. Owners of these homes tended to be Courtesy photo well-off financially.

Vol. II – June 2015

However, Gothic Revival was not exclusive to only the church or the wealthy.

People of more modest means made successful attempts at their own version, referred to as Carpenter Gothic. This was achieved by milling scrollwork, either by the town carpenter or themselves, or ordering prefabricated scrollwork from a

catalog. These were placed on gable ends, roof eaves or on corners where posts meet the roof on the front porch. There are no examples in Havre, but a good one that is close can be found in Fort Benton. It was formerly one of the Conrad brother’s homes and is a simple brick structure with the added scrollwork.

Mindfulness born source.

Michelle Skaletski-Boyd The Perspectives on Psychological Tips for Practicing Mindfulness Science journal wrote “mindfulness — a 1. Plug Yourself In: Stay centered by technique often recognized for its positive effects on mental health — involves focusing on your breath and using it as an anchor for meditation paying attention to your current experi 2. Keep a Current State of Mind: ence (e.g., thoughts, feelings) and obRemain in the moment, fully letting go serving it in a non-judgmental manner.” of all else Mindfulness is a 3. Be an Open Contrue connection to duit: Create a pathway source, many times reto your 'now' by remainferred to as Universe, ing open to receive (this God, Creator and/or means learning tools and Infinite Intelligence. It techniques for removis noticing the present ing all resistance and moment and remainnegativity) ing fully grounded Michelle Skaletski-Boyd —— while relaxing the Author, hypnotherapist Best-selling author, body and the mind.

Michelle Skaletski My first memory of Boyd, The Corporate Woo-Woo™ is a being mindful was at the age of 6 when certified hypnotherapist, inspirational I was fully engrossed in an electrical speaker and world-renown intuitive with outlet and wondered what it was all offices in the Flathead and the Hi-line about. My quiet observation caused me of Montana. She works with professionto crouch to my knees and lick my lips als all around the globe teaching them as I held a steady hand and pretended how to fully connect to their Higher Self to be playing Milton Bradley’s skill in order to live more in balance and on game of Operation. As I slowly inserted purpose. Learn more at www.soulfeltthe butter knife into the receptacle, I words.com. instantly felt jolting current steadily rushing through my arm. The burning stream of electricity connected me fully to generative force.

Yes, this was a positive effect on my mental health; though please DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME!! I am sharing this electrifying experience because if you are stuck in a pattern of resistance or wish to become more spiritually aware, then be less like a 60 watt bulb and more like a 100 watt one.

This means, the amount of current that you transmit always determines your flow, so be sure to ground into the ‘now’ while enjoying your natural-

Be less like a 60 watt bulb and more like a 100 watt one

6

HAVMAT

CREATE AND CAPTURE

Vol. II — June 2015

7

HAVMAT

CREATE AND CAPTURE

Vol. II — June 2015

My name is AMBER LEE WELLS.

My name is LINDSEY MANUEL-MCINERNEY.

I've been interested in photography since I was 8. We always toured the national parks when I was a young girl, and I would watch my grandmother with her 35mm Canon. I wondered how to get a camera like that some day, as much as how to get a picture of sunset reflection. She was a photographic magician to me. I took an avid interest in photography after graduating high school and moving to the Midwest. As a new mom, I practiced as much as I could. I knew most out-of-state colleges were out of the question, even though I had been accepted to a handful of them. Finally moving to Oregon in 2010 I pursued photography heavily with an art and design major with emphasis on photography. I took every class I could, absorbed everything I learned, and challenged myself daily. Live shows and bands were my first paid photos, which was my dream at the time. I've since moved on to portraiture of all kinds, and in 2013 I opened a small photography business in Havre. I've tried everything from underwater images to capturing the arm of our galaxy, but my favorite style to date is whimsical portraiture.

I come from a long line of creative minds. My grandmother was a wellknown Great Falls-area potter who let me play in her studio as a kid. Her mother was an avid painter of watercolors. I grew up in an environment that promoted the arts as well as supplying me with everything from art sets, paper, pastels and “How To Draw” books. I began my love for drawing at an early age. I loved to draw Montana landscapes and people as a kid, and won a few ribbons back in the 4-H days. As I ventured off to college and earned a minor in Studio- Art, I began to develop a love for oil painting. I could stand in the studio for hours, ear pods drowning out the stresses of life, with only a blank canvas and palate of opportunity, and feel completely rejuvenated. Art is therapy for me. Achieving that perfect shadow, texture, or shape feels like how a runner might feel after completing a successful marathon or when a lawyer wins an important case. The following works are ones that I feel best represent my personality and style of painting, as well as my broad range of interests.

"Battery Point"

"Best Friends"

Art and Pugs

"Alice"

"Lost Boy"

"Left Behind"

Rocky Mountain Front and barley fields

6

HAVMAT

CREATE AND CAPTURE

Vol. II — June 2015

7

HAVMAT

CREATE AND CAPTURE

Vol. II — June 2015

My name is AMBER LEE WELLS.

My name is LINDSEY MANUEL-MCINERNEY.

I've been interested in photography since I was 8. We always toured the national parks when I was a young girl, and I would watch my grandmother with her 35mm Canon. I wondered how to get a camera like that some day, as much as how to get a picture of sunset reflection. She was a photographic magician to me. I took an avid interest in photography after graduating high school and moving to the Midwest. As a new mom, I practiced as much as I could. I knew most out-of-state colleges were out of the question, even though I had been accepted to a handful of them. Finally moving to Oregon in 2010 I pursued photography heavily with an art and design major with emphasis on photography. I took every class I could, absorbed everything I learned, and challenged myself daily. Live shows and bands were my first paid photos, which was my dream at the time. I've since moved on to portraiture of all kinds, and in 2013 I opened a small photography business in Havre. I've tried everything from underwater images to capturing the arm of our galaxy, but my favorite style to date is whimsical portraiture.

I come from a long line of creative minds. My grandmother was a wellknown Great Falls-area potter who let me play in her studio as a kid. Her mother was an avid painter of watercolors. I grew up in an environment that promoted the arts as well as supplying me with everything from art sets, paper, pastels and “How To Draw” books. I began my love for drawing at an early age. I loved to draw Montana landscapes and people as a kid, and won a few ribbons back in the 4-H days. As I ventured off to college and earned a minor in Studio- Art, I began to develop a love for oil painting. I could stand in the studio for hours, ear pods drowning out the stresses of life, with only a blank canvas and palate of opportunity, and feel completely rejuvenated. Art is therapy for me. Achieving that perfect shadow, texture, or shape feels like how a runner might feel after completing a successful marathon or when a lawyer wins an important case. The following works are ones that I feel best represent my personality and style of painting, as well as my broad range of interests.

"Battery Point"

"Best Friends"

Art and Pugs

"Alice"

"Lost Boy"

"Left Behind"

Rocky Mountain Front and barley fields

4

THE FEATURE

HAVMAT

Vol. II — June 2015

The Highway 2 West Brawl Crawl John Paul Schmidt Photos by drunken bystanders

An epic journey of stamina and fortitude, the Highway 2 West Brawl Crawl stretched from Havre to Joplin for a road trip/bar hopping hybrid.

The Brawl Crawl spanned about 50 miles west of Havre and stopped at four bars. That doesn't sound like much, but I assure you, it was enough. Maybe I'm a baby. But we started at 6 o'clock and turned tail back to Havre soon after midnight. Even I don't like bars enough to stay there for the equivalent of a nearfull workday.

And before you ask, mothers — yes, there was a designated driver. The ever gentlemanly James Carden took the position with grace.

The first ever HAVMAT event took five brave argonauts traveling west to their first stop — The Walleye Tavern.

The Walleye Tavern is the kind of bar you look for on a camping trip. Jim, mixologist and master rib chef, hails from London, England, and came to Montana in the late 1980s. He opened his bar outside of any town, but directly in front of the turnoff for Fresno Lake, a hot walleye fishing spot about 12 to 13 miles west of Havre.

Jim's quick with a terrible joke and isn't afraid to poke fun at clientel — a breath of real air in a world of overcleaned bars. He said his famous "Jim's Sloppy Ribs" are the best thing on the Hi-Line, but we were too early for them.

He should be smoking them now as you

read this.

After a few drinks at the Tavern, the next stop was Spencer's Hi-Way Bar and Grill in Hingham, around 36 miles from Havre. There was pizza to be had to strengthen our willpowers for the trip ahead us. The bar was alright.

Moving on.

The town of Rudyard, about 40 miles from Havre, boasts the K-Lines Bar & Bowling, in which a friendly and fun group of patrons mill. A bar by night and bowling alley by day, the institution is a fix-all for boring times. The drinks are cheap and the people are rich.

Next up, Nancy's Bar and Grill in Joplin, about 51 miles away. I know we skipped Inverness. Nothing against Inverness. Rudyardites have something

against it, apparently, but we don't.

Nancy's Bar and Grill was a quiet and small bar, but clean and welllighted. The karaoke is set up by request and the people were long-lost relatives, laughing and singing to our selections on the jukebox. This bar is cut from a cloth from the back of your parents' closet and feels like home.

At this point, our very sober driver ran out of fuel. We thought about pushing forward to Rudyard, but we had grown sluggish. Six hours of drinking and road-tripping will do that to you. We gathered ourselves, piled back into the Subaru and bedways was rightways.

If you have stories about these HiLine bars you're willing to share, tell us on our Facebook page at www.facebook.

Stop No. 1 — The Walleye Tavern. Jim the Proprietor, or Purveyor of Rack of Ribs and Bad Jokes, serves a mean can of beer.

Stop No. 2 — Spencer's Hi-Way Bar and Grill. Pizza aboound.

Stop No. 3 — K-Lines Bar & Bowling Alley. Awesome people, heavy balls.

Stop No. 4 — Nancy's Bar and Grill. Karaoke and brassiers to satisfy all tastes

9

HAVMAT

INK AND INTEREST

Havre's Gothic architecture Emily Mayer

The Gothic style of architecture has stood the test of time. Massive and impressive, this style of architecture started in Europe, mainly in France, in the 12th century.

Many examples of this style built during that time can be found today, among them Notre Dame, Cartres and Riems cathedrals.

The style was incredibly popular for more than 400 years. With the tastes of the Victorians obviously tilted toward opulent architecture and furnishings, Gothic architecture enjoyed a revival during that era.

The Gothic style of architecture is noted for its steep roof, flying buttresses, stained glass, lacy stonework, pointed arches and doorways. Overall, the visual expression is nothing short of magnificent.

The Gothic Revival architecture during the Victorian era incorporated many of those defining elements. Havre had, at one time, several churches featuring Gothic Revival elements. One such church is the current First Baptist Church, located at 625 Fourth Avenue. It was originally the

St. Mark's Episcopal Church

First Presbyterian Church and was located at the northwest corner of 4th Avenue and 3rd Street. Constructed in 1901-1902, all windows had the classic pointed arch, complete with stained glass in every one, and a very steep roof. While not containing any lacy stonework or flying buttresses, the style nonetheless is a good example of how the Victorians adapted this style to suit their tastes. The First Presbyterian Church building was later sold to the First Baptist Church, whose members moved it to its current location in either late June or July, 1920.

The first Methodist Church, then located on the northeast corner of 3rd Street and 1st Avenue, and the second Methodist Church, located on the west side of the 400 Block of Fifth Avenue also were in the Gothic Revival style. At this time, I do not know what happened to the first Methodist Church building, but the second burned in a spectacular fire December 6, 1957. The second Catholic Church, then located where the Hill County Courthouse is today, was also Gothic Revival, though in a much more vernacular manner. Existing examples of buildings that feature Gothic Revival elements are St. Mark’s Episcopal Church located at 539 Third Avenue and First Lutheran Church located at 303 Sixth Avenue. Cowan Hall and Donaldson Hall located on MSU-Northern’s campus also boasts a few elements of the Gothic Revival style.

Homeowners also attempted to adapt these elements in their homes. One such style is referred to as the Steamboat Gothic, because it looked very similar to the old river steamboats popular at the time for transportation and commercial purposes. There are no examples of this style in Havre, but one that is very close to this style is the Collins Mansion in Great Falls. Owners of these homes tended to be Courtesy photo well-off financially.

Vol. II – June 2015

However, Gothic Revival was not exclusive to only the church or the wealthy.

People of more modest means made successful attempts at their own version, referred to as Carpenter Gothic. This was achieved by milling scrollwork, either by the town carpenter or themselves, or ordering prefabricated scrollwork from a

catalog. These were placed on gable ends, roof eaves or on corners where posts meet the roof on the front porch. There are no examples in Havre, but a good one that is close can be found in Fort Benton. It was formerly one of the Conrad brother’s homes and is a simple brick structure with the added scrollwork.

Mindfulness born source.

Michelle Skaletski-Boyd The Perspectives on Psychological Tips for Practicing Mindfulness Science journal wrote “mindfulness — a 1. Plug Yourself In: Stay centered by technique often recognized for its positive effects on mental health — involves focusing on your breath and using it as an anchor for meditation paying attention to your current experi 2. Keep a Current State of Mind: ence (e.g., thoughts, feelings) and obRemain in the moment, fully letting go serving it in a non-judgmental manner.” of all else Mindfulness is a 3. Be an Open Contrue connection to duit: Create a pathway source, many times reto your 'now' by remainferred to as Universe, ing open to receive (this God, Creator and/or means learning tools and Infinite Intelligence. It techniques for removis noticing the present ing all resistance and moment and remainnegativity) ing fully grounded Michelle Skaletski-Boyd —— while relaxing the Author, hypnotherapist Best-selling author, body and the mind.

Michelle Skaletski My first memory of Boyd, The Corporate Woo-Woo™ is a being mindful was at the age of 6 when certified hypnotherapist, inspirational I was fully engrossed in an electrical speaker and world-renown intuitive with outlet and wondered what it was all offices in the Flathead and the Hi-line about. My quiet observation caused me of Montana. She works with professionto crouch to my knees and lick my lips als all around the globe teaching them as I held a steady hand and pretended how to fully connect to their Higher Self to be playing Milton Bradley’s skill in order to live more in balance and on game of Operation. As I slowly inserted purpose. Learn more at www.soulfeltthe butter knife into the receptacle, I words.com. instantly felt jolting current steadily rushing through my arm. The burning stream of electricity connected me fully to generative force.

Yes, this was a positive effect on my mental health; though please DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME!! I am sharing this electrifying experience because if you are stuck in a pattern of resistance or wish to become more spiritually aware, then be less like a 60 watt bulb and more like a 100 watt one.

This means, the amount of current that you transmit always determines your flow, so be sure to ground into the ‘now’ while enjoying your natural-

Be less like a 60 watt bulb and more like a 100 watt one

10

HAVMAT

GRAB BAG

Vol II — June 2015

3

HAVMAT

Bloodbourne — Lovecraftian horror you emotionally pay to play

By Kevin Zoren

The torchlight creates menacing shadows that form and flicker on the stone walls of the alleyway. I wince with every step as the echo of boots on cobblestone fills the night. Then I see it, and everything else fades away. At first it looks to be a simple beggar, dressed in rags and covered in the filth and offal of the city. Its gangly frame is somehow wrong though; something less than human, something more. It squats over its most recent victim, slurping and crunching as it feasts.

It shifts, cocking its head slightly, listening.

Tentacles reach out searchingly and hollow black eyes widen as its body twists to face me. I tighten my grip on the saw blade, this was a mistake; let’s find out whose.

Bloodbourne is the latest offering of From Software, and an evolution of the formula they started with the Demon Souls/Dark Souls series.

Continuing in the tradition of its forbearers, Bloodbourne is a third person action role-playing game noted for its unforgiving difficulty and grandiose boss battles. In the game, you’ll take on the role of a hunter, whose gender, features, and background are all determined by the player. You awake in a clinic after receiving a blood transfusion to cure an undefined affliction, the doctor’s gone but there’s a nasty beast waiting for you in

his stead. After facing this creature you’ll likely retire to the Hunter’s dream which serves as a sort of safe house where you’ll rest, resupply, and meet a living doll who will alternately creep you out and advance your statistics.

The bulk of the game takes place in the city of Yharnam, an always dark and bizarrely ever moist urban landscape with breathtaking gothic architecture and a serious corruption problem.

The town itself is a twisting labyrinth that begs you to explore every nook and cranny, and it’s this sense of curiosity and wanting to see around

the next corner that is one of the game’s biggest draws. There’s a price to tourism in Yharnam though, as the town is filled with ghouls, werewolves, and twisted aberrations that are truly the stuff of nightmares, all of whom are waiting to eat your lunch. The mechanics of advancement in the game turn that desire to explore and conquer into one of its biggest sources of tension. In place of an experience system, you gain blood echoes through killing, and can turn these in for advancements. If you die, you lose unspent echoes. If you go back to cash them in, everything you’ve killed

respawns. So you’re face with a conundrum: Do I press forward and risk losing everything I’ve earned, or do I go back, cash in, and face everything again?

Like the aforementioned disease, there’s a lot in Bloodbourne that goes unsaid, and the plot is mostly left for the player to decipher. That’s not to say there isn’t a rich story; you’ll just have to use your detective skills to suss it out through reading item descriptions, knocking on doors, and paying attention during the usually wordless cut scenes. What you’ll come to find, without spoiling anything, is a sad and twisted tale of Lovecraftian horror, complete with elder gods.

The only major criticism I have about the game is the constant loading screens; they recently patched the loading to include item descriptions rather than a blank title screen, but the loads can be long and frequent as they’ll come at you whenever you die or travel. With that in mind, is Bloodbourne for you? First of all, it’s a Playstation 4 exclusive so you’ll need to be on the Sony train to ride. It also requires a great deal of determination and patience as you will die frequently, I promise.

If you enjoy the subtle horror of H.P. Lovecraft and challenging third-person combat, and don’t mind having the plot unfold as a mystery rather than cinema, I highly recommend Bloodbourne.

‘Mad Max: Fury Road’ — the greatest action movie since ‘Aliens’

By Caleb Hutchins

I’m an action movie fanatic, but for a while now — let’s say the last ten years or so — I’ve been unsatisfied. When CGI first started getting popular in the late ’90s and early ’00s, it was amazing. Space ships and dinosaurs and impossibly giant armies could be created with computer graphics that would be impossible to do in real-life, or unrealistic and cheesy with models or stop-motion animation.

But over time, the CGI shine wore off. Some of those movies — “Jurassic Park,” the first “Matrix” — have aged well, but most of them make me wonder what I ever enjoyed about them. Once you get over the initial novelty of CGI, you start to realize that all of those computer-generated heroes and explosions have no weight or reality, like a puff of perfume in a sweaty locker room.

When actor and action doesn’t really exist in the same space, the sense of danger and excitement drains out like an unwilling blood donor.

That’s one of two reasons “Mad Max: Fury Road” is the greatest action movie of at least the last ten years. The explosions are real gasoline.

The car crashes are real crunching metal. The post-apocalyptic maniac riffing on a ramshackle electric guitar to whip his mutant albino compa-

triots into a battle frenzy like a deranged military drummer boy is a real guy, strapped with bungee cords to a real truck racing through the desert.

CGI is there, but it’s used judiciously, to enhance the practical effects and hide the safety harnesses that separate stunt actors pretending to be chrome-huffing kamikaze lunatics from actual chrome-huffing kamikaze lunatics.

There’s very little exposition or explanation, but that doesn’t mean Max’s world is underde-

veloped — every character and object looks like it has a story, a reason for being there. Backstory and motivation is left as an exercise for the viewer, in a way that is satisfying rather than frustrating — you’ll find yourself imagining the unspoken lives of those bit players and weird vehicles days later.

The core of this intentionally simple story is the second amazing thing about “Fury Road” — its portrayal of women, and subversion of the ugly, unspoken gender tropes that almost always accompany action movies.

The movie’s plot can be described in a single sentence. Max (Tom Hardy), a post-apocalyptic drifter, inadvertently ends up helping a female cyborg road warrior named Furiosa (Charlize Theron), who is trying to lead a group of women, the “Five Wives,” newly escaped from the harem of a psychotic warlord and his army of mutants.

When Max first meets the Five Wives, he blurrily wakes up after one of the movie’s many car wrecks to a surreal scene of young, beautiful,

barely-dressed women bathing in a fire hose. But what initially looks like a male fantasy is quickly turned on its head when the women try to subdue Max in a clever fight scene involving a bolt cutter — a bolt cutter which plays more than one important role throughout the course of the film.

Throughout Fury Road, characters — especially female characters — that would be treated like props in a lesser movie are treated like, well, people. Furiosa is just as battle-hardened and competent as Max, the most bad-ass heroine since Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley in the “Alien” movies of thirty-odd years ago. The Wives are naive and unprepared for the harsh world of the Wasteland, but they are far from simple damsels in distress.

Even the villains and minions are portrayed with sympathy and humor — yes, they’re deranged monsters, but they have recognizable thoughts and goals.

Just as important as how “Fury Road” portrays women — how it doesn’t portray them. The camera doesn’t linger on the sex slavery of the warlord’s harem, the wives have already escaped by the time the movie begins. When a woman is killed during the course of the chase, there’s no horror movie objectification or torture-porn money-shot. For an R-rated movie, the violence is almost always shown in wide frame or just offscreen, not brutal and up close.

“Mad Max: Fury Road” is playing at Cottonwood Cinema 4 in Havre through Thursday, June 11. It boasts some of the most impressive practical effects and stunts that have ever been filmed.

It’s also a fully realized world that sticks in your head long after the credits, and a deconstruction of gender tropes you may not have even realized existed. This is a movie that will still be talked about thirty years from now, a new bar that every future action movie will be measured against.

THE METRONOME

Vol. II — June 2015

RICK'S PICKS

THE SONICS 'This Is The Sonics'

One of the original '60s garage rock legends reunite for their first album in 49 years! Picking up seemingly right where they left off, the ferocious energy of new originals like "Bad Betty" collide with covers of "Sugaree" and "I Don't Need No Doctor." No greatgrandfather should be able to shred a microphone like Jerry Roslie. A comeback for the ages recorded in glorious mono.

Now that school's out, many slots have been opened up at the radio station. There is still a core, quality schedule of programming for listeners to enjoy, and now is the best time to begin your own show before slots are taken up once the college year starts back up again.

KNMC is open to all varieties of radio personalities and genres from sportscasts to acid beebop grunge country-funk. It is super easy to learn how to host your own show and, as long as you don't cuss, be drunk or drink soda in the studio, you can do whatever you want!

Support your local college radio! Tune in to KNMC 90.1 FM for a variety of music tastes and a break from the rigamarole of corporate stations that play one song thrice an hour. Want to become a KNMC deejay? Student or not, anyone can sign up to play in available slots. Call 265-3709 to talk to a deejay or leave a message to begin sharing your music with Havre.

RAY WYLIE HUBBARD 'The Ruffian's Misfortune'

CHRIS STAPLETON 'Traveller'

Grizzled purveyor of the greasy groove, Ray and his band (The Masterless Samurai) continue his remarkable streak of rockin' albums. Telling David Letterman he "didn't want to peak too soon," I'm not sure any musician rioting all original material has ever been this vital into his 70s! Blast "Hey Mama My Time Ain't Long" or "Down by the River" at yer next BBQ and you may not need the hot sauce … .

Finally making his own record after writing in Nashville for the last decade, Chris wears the '70s outlaw country leathers much better than the pleather chaps of current CMT turns. "Whiskey and You," "Daddy Doesn't Pray Anymore," and "The Devil Named Music" bleed a little while "Might as Well Get Stoned" and "Outlaw State of Mind" would probably make Waylon and Billy Joe proud. A whole album experience, not a damn sound bite and quite possibly the best country debut since Sturgill Simpson.

KNMC JUNE SCHEDULE THURSDAY 12-3 p.m. — Craig – Classic Rock

5-6 p.m. — Becca — Electronic Dance Music 7-9 p.m. — Dave — Indie Alternative

MONDAY

6-8 p.m. — Steve — Hard Rock & Metal

TUESDAY

9 a.m.-1 p.m. — Rick — Roots Rock 6-8 p.m. — Dan — Eclectic 8-10 p.m. — Jay & Isabelle — Punk Pop

WEDNESDAY

5-7 p.m. — Johnny & James — The Mix Tape 7-10 p.m. — Rick — Rock & Roll

FRIDAY

12-3 p.m. — Spike — Hard Rock and Blues 4-6 p.m. — A.J. — Indie

SATURDAY

12-3 p.m. — China Water Symbol Radio

SUNDAY

12-3 p.m. — Jay & Isabelle — Pop Punk 6-8 p.m. — Mary — Contemporary Christian

Visit Triple Dog Brewing Co. from 5 to 8 p.m. every Sunday for the KNMC-sponsored open mic night. Bring your instruments and words to share with others, or just come to enjoy the sounds and conversation. The open mic nights are kid-friendly.

2

HAVMAT

Vol. II — June 2015

11

HAVMAT The Alchemist's Messenger

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

Well, the first issue of HAVMAT was a mild success. Especially if we're going by what our mother said. That makes us the most handsome and smart of all her children as well, if we were to go down that route. But that's for her and you all to say, not us.

Within these pages, you'll find Havre's thinkers in a variety of mediums — through paintings, tales, columns and photographs. We at HAVMAT believe the people who help form the hidden-in-plain-sight cultures in these small Montana towns need to be held accountable for their actions. They stood up to create something among many who simply entertain the idea of creating. They're screwing things up. Whatever you do, don't buy these people beers.

A hardy group of contributors has arisen from the chaos of the first issue's scramble. James Carden, a crowd favorite, is back with his expert advise about romance and life. Caleb Hutchins (who created the first issue's poster and was not credited due to our lack of experience and shortsightedness in such matters) is back with an uplifting message about half-assing it in Havre and

fanboys about 'Mad Max.' Emily Mayer explains the history and soul of buildings you long-since begun ignoring. Rick Linie continues to serve up the hottest jams du jour. And so forth.

There are also shiny newcomers gracing these pages. All are welcome in HAVMAT. If you missed the artist's statement in the last issue, HAVMAT is created by Havreites, for Havreites and jealous others. If you want to share your words, images, ideas, whatnots — won't you do so? These animals need your help and even the smallest gifts make a difference. Send your two cents to havmatmagazine@gmail.com.

More importantly, enjoy HAVMAT. Thank the business owners who excitedly gave you an issue of HAVMAT instead of what you ordered, especially the ones who paid for ads in this magazine (SPONSORED CONTENT).

This issue was made for you. You're a pretty people and we think you're cooler than your friends made you out to be. You're our friend now.

— They

STANDING ACCUSED Editor John Paul Schmidt Cover photo Lindsay Brown Poster A.J. Ruzinsky Photographers James Carden John Paul Schmidt Amber Lee Wells Rick’s picks Rick Linie

Heavier Hearts

with James Carden

I'm going on a hot date next weekend with the cute waitress from that sandwich shop. What should I wear and where should I take her?

Me personally, I wouldn't overdress if she's a waitress. A shirt with sleeves will surpass her expectations, but a friend once told me the better you dress, the better you'll feel. I knew it was time to change my ratty clothes when, on my way to work, I was attacked by a pack of wild dogs and when I got to work, nobody noticed. A nicely dressed man can really light up a room, but the only time you would ever see me illuminating a room would be if I walked in during self-immolation. I know I might be getting ahead of myself, but clean your apartment before you go out, because if she wants to come up for a cup of coffee later you don't want her to instantly know how gross and sloppy you live. Once you have locked down a relationship, then let her get to know the true you. Women love surprises. For a first date, I ask the girl to meet me at the public library when they show independent movies, because it says "I'm cultured and I support community events," but the truth is it's free and I live a block away. It's too hard to drive places when your car has broken down. Now, you might be asking yourself "How much eye contact is too much?" You can never have too much eye contact!

If you decide to take her out to dinner and you want to seem adventurous, when the server comes out to take your order say "Surprise me!" But then, when your meal is presented to you, cross your arms, shake your head and say "Why am I not surprised?"

My parents wont let me date the boy of my dreams because they say he's a bad influence. I love him so much and he says if he can't be with me, he will never love again! How do I make them see this is what I need?

First, you need to check out a song by Will Smith — "Parents Don't Understand." That should answer some of your questions. I think your parents are just looking out for you. Unfortunately, when I was young, my mom and pop were constantly trying to find me a girlfriend.

They really wanted another couple to hang out with, but I feel like nepotism makes double dates uncomfortable.

My folks didn't have the best relationship. My mother would tell her friends that my father had narcolepsy, but the truth is he was just addicted to Lunesta.

I was still really young when they got divorced, but I was lucky they didn't make me choose who to live with because they kicked me out of the house a year before.

"Nobody likes a third wheel," they said as the door slammed behind me. As I walked away from the house I grew up in, I had nowhere to go. It began to rain, which was perfect for masking the tears that started to form on my face.

My boyfriend has been spending a lot of time away from me, with friends or just by himself. I asked him what was wrong after a couple weeks of this and he told me he just needed some time for himself and some space. How much space should I give him? Is this even about space? Do you think he wants to leave me? I'm at a loss.

One important aspect of a relationship is making sure that you have time to yourself. Just because someone wants space doesn't necessarily mean they're going to break up with you, but that is a phrase people commonly use when they are planning on breaking up with someone later. I think the secret to longevity in a relationship is to find someone who also feels like they also ran out of options and you are the best they can do.

Lately, it seems like every time I'm in a relationship, my girlfriend will break up with me after a couple weeks. So I've decided to have a serious relationship with a pretend girlfriend. I love her because she is the type of girl who doesn't think that listening to Radiohead for eight hours a day is depressing. She works at a shelter for stray cats and never brings her work home with her. We were the hippest couple in town, but after a couple weeks she also broke up with me. I'm so lonely when I go to a restaurant I purposely choke on my food in the hopes that somebody will wrap their arms around me.

(James Carden is an aspiring marriage counselor who makes gourmet sandwiches at Grateful Bread to pay for his license. If you want to ask him for his expert advice, you can reach him at havmatmagazine@gmail.

www.facebook.com/havmatmagazine

by Pam Burke

I had been more than a little nettled that The Alchemist sent his message in the form of a fireball crashing through my fields and into my yard, rending to splinters and gray ash my oldest elm. Even though I ducked in time, my hair was singed. He could’ve written a letter, I had thought.

The fiery orb came to rest on the highest point of my rock wall and transformed itself into a remarkable likeness of me before flaming out and leaving a pitted, oily, black mess on the carefully layered granite that I had hauled, shaped and stacked myself.

My likeness on the wall, in full travel gear, golden, peering east through a looking glass, was the message — the rest of the chaos was just to raise my ire.

I know that now.

Standing here, at the precipice of the Wall of the World from whence my own wall came, one rock at a time, I survey the Great Basin through my looking glass — the first tool of magic The Alchemist taught me to build — and I see, Yes, he had been right to send the message as he did.

Earth Elementalist, I think in seasons at best, the lifespan of trees as a norm and the ages of rock comfortably.

I would have waited until after planting to act in urgency, maybe after harvest or winter’s ice, or waited for next year’s spring sap to draw more news up from loam and rock, for returning birds to give me word of happenings, for summer storms to erode tales into hard-packed earth.

I would have been too late.

Only anger could have brought me here, to this moment, to see what needs seeing in the haze of the farthest horizon. An army, a vast and terrifying army, marching toward me, toward peaceful Westrening, trampling and tainting all in its passing. The army crackles with lightning bolts of blue, green and red — a magic that I do not understand, like shards of northern lights tearing through the aether. It smells like ozone, even from half a continent away. This I understand.

The Fifth Element is coming.

And The Alchemist has called me to do his bidding, but I do not know what he thinks I am supposed to do. I am Earth; I am biology and geology. I am slow by nature. Fire rains down on my head to move me and still I don’t read the danger until it fills my looking glass.

"Earth being blunt, dense, immobile ... ," the texts all say. I am not the Element for this task.

What is The Alchemist thinking.

I pray to the gods of my mother’s people – because it is all I can think to do first, not because it is what The Alchemist wants done.

Such pious reflexes are more apt for a life in Theurgy, I can hear The Alchemist say.

But I am not of The Alchemist’s era, when wizards were gods of wondermaking. I came after the Great Battle, after people discovered wizards are only human after all, after people made other gods, better gods — ones not of this world, who are all-powerful, truer, more believable, requiring only faith, not proof.

I stand alone, without The Alchemist — teacher, leader, father — and without my three other

THE TYPECAST Elementals to back me. I see in that haze such full-scale destruction, pain and death marching across the world to my homeland.

I do not care if I am not supposed to need the solace of prayer, the rhythmic chant of the catechisms I uttered at the divinity services of my youth; I pray on through the verses. An ill-shadowed part of me wishes desperately for the prayer to work.

From here on top of the Wall, with that malicefilled haze spreading my way, I fear the day is nigh when I will not care where my aid comes from.

Fear or no, The Alchemist called me to this moment. Even armed with the tools he showed me to bring, and reinforced with other tools of my own devising made in the past many decades on my own, I feel under prepared and over whelmed.

I raise my glass one more time to stare at the deathly army, letting the final catechism whisper forth from my dry lips.

I suspect this despair is what the army intends all who witness its raw and foreign power to feel.

But blight, in whatever form, must be stopped. I inhale deeply enough to feel a stretch through my ribcage and cuss at The Alchemist on the exhale.

Holding my arm high, I call for the nearest bird to attend me and a blue-gray arrowhead of falcon spears its way down from the skies to my arm.

Falco columbarius — a good omen. I know both my mother and The Alchemist would say I am not supposed to believe in omens, but I’ve learned more than toolmaking out on my own.

I whisper my own message to the falcon and send it forth to call Water, Air and Fire to this place. Fleet and nimble and fierce, the falcon will deliver my point to them and drive it home cleanly — and quite literally should they not understand my urgency.

Mine, the more precise messenger, is no less lethal, Alchemist.

I pull from my satchel a handful of fine, iridescent powder, ground from the rare golden pearls of the Mirone Desert and, ironically, the last magic The Alchemist taught me to concoct. I scrub the powder over my face, through my hair.

Fine clumps of it splatter my clothes, while motes and particles whirl through the air around me and in my next breath fill my lungs. I feel its power fill me, spread over me. My skin and clothes glow golden in sunlight.

Gildshield, he had called it, and I hope it offers the protection he claimed.

Kneeling to the rock underfoot, I place my golden palms on a faint crack in the cliff top. I feel its path down and down into the bedrock and out and out across ten thousand leagues to the horde of feet pounding my way.

I think not of the thousand years of water expanding and contracting and eroding away at a crack in a boulder, but rather of the moment it splits asunder. I think, too, of temblors, landslides and seismic shifts.

As quick as Earth can move, I hurl myself into my Element to find the enemy, to tell those forces and whomever is wielding this aethereal magic that they will not proceed thus unopposed, not even the Fifth Element.

And if I find that damnable Alchemist along the way, so much the better. I have a message or two for him as well.

Creative Freedom and Lowered Expectations

by Caleb Hutchins

Some years ago when I was pursuing my bachelor’s degree at Northern, I took a class that required me to develop a volunteer-based community service. One of the optional areas of service to choose from was cultural enrichment, so I decided that I wanted to have a free, outdoor movie night for members of the community. I was soon approached by a few members of the Northern administration with some practical concerns — you can’t show movies to the public without a copyright license, and you can’t have a public event without insurance coverage.

I talked to some helpful members of the campus and did some research, and found ways to solve those problems. We were able to get the outdoor movie classified as a student activity, which covered the insurance liability. The campus media center loaned us a projector, and Creative Leisure loaned us a sound system.

We acquired copies of some old films that had entered the public domain, making them free of copyright limitations. We even found some old newsreel clips and Superman cartoons to screen before the feature.

In 2008, Northern Cinema After Dark screened about a dozen movies on the lawn behind Pershing Hall, on a twenty-foot screen sewn out of bed-sheets and draped from the roof of the building. The first movie had five people attend. By our final movie that September, we had about 50 people showing up, bringing their own blankets and chairs to sit in the mosquito-bitten summer heat and watch old black and white movies that nobody had ever heard of. It was simple, and half-assed, and beautiful.

Because in Havre, people don’t expect much.

Everything is just a little half-hearted and halfassed, run with no budget and made out of bedsheets and donated equipment. Some might say that this is a sorry state of affairs, but I say that it offers members of Havre’s community a great opportunity. In a larger city, creative projects and events require planning committees and financial backing. If you want to do something, you’ve got to do it just right, or be drowned in a sea of criticism. Failure and shoddiness is punished by the court of public opinion.

But not in Havre! We expect a certain level of amateurism. We’re willing to overlook the seams in the bed-sheets and see the movie screen it was meant to be. Just in the last year, Havre has seen some really cool projects. A guy decided to build a brewery in an abandoned veterinarian's office. A couple of girls decided that they wanted to start a roller derby league. John Paul Schmidt decided to launch this alternative newspaper so that people could have an outlet for their creative ideas. A handful of people decided to start doing stand-up comedy at the local bars.

They’re all a bunch of half-assed amateurs who don’t know what they’re doing, and they’re making it work because nobody told them they couldn’t. Some of them may just be flashes in a pan, brief moments of fun that fizzle out and never return, like the outdoor movies. Some of them may become permanent local institutions like the Montana Actors’ Theatre, where many individuals come and go, with uneven levels of

Vol. II — June 2015 talent but with the same level of passion.

If you wish Havre had something it doesn’t, get out there and make it happen! You don’t have to be a professional, you can half-ass it like everyone else around here. Keep trying, and people will start showing up. This town has low expectations, use that to your advantage. Try making something okay, and the community can help make it great. ***

Paradise

by John Paul Schmidt

The spiraling staircase twisted under her perch on the balcony like a four-story iron tail.

I watched her leaning against the guardrail. The smoke from the cigarette she smoked plumed above her head in the night and, momentarily, she appeared to me as a black peacock of metal and shadows. I saw a bird of paradise fit for the city and the lack of visible color was contained within her, I was sure.

Though in the night I could not see her face clearly, inside her I vividly saw a world of pastels and bright flashes of life and enlightenment. The thought of climbing her iron coattail to her filled me with anticipation of the place I could invade and infect if she permitted me.

I saw myself in a poem of the city and the night wrapped in her limbs. Together, we could pen countless stanzas of pastels and cloudy, infectious haze with each other, whispering and exclaiming every other line.

This world was a drug. It was the closest to religion I could get and there was no difference between the means. In the end, a calm suppression of the panic of an atheist reality was the result of both.

In my world, I accepted death as the harbinger of the end of the haze and, in our world, saw the days made calm.

Whether a drug designed to sedate or a god to enlighten, this paradisiac bird of metal and flesh—of shadows masking pastels—beckoned me unto death. By what road it would take me filled me with possibility. Dread, in bed with enlightenment, toured every facet of my mind.

I took the last drag of my cigarette before the filter burned and snubbed it with the bottom of my boot. An apt poem for an apartment I could not, or would not, be privy to.

Inside my own home, I saw shadows within shadows. The unfamiliarity of a world I was led to consider familiar saturated my mind with fiery thoughts of paradise dulled down by my own lack of kindle.

If it was desperation that led me to her or the back seat calling of a tour of America, I could not decide. However, I knew the escape of my own devices into hers like a rodent caught between the sprockets of a machine built by ethereal engineers was a destiny deterred by free will. It was machine to produce unknown realities unattainable without the components of higher form. The cogs and gears of an endless clock were a river unto each other, and the machine was flawless.

As I laid my head upon a pillow, I couldn’t help but notice the dust clinging to the ceiling of my six feet of black clay. Thoughts of pastels and paradise lulled me to sleep. As my eyes closed, she came, and I truly knew religion.

12

HAVMAT

THE NIGHTCAP

Vol. II — June 2015

Above left: James Carden signs a poster after opening for Lucas Seeley in Chinook, which is a town that is not Havre.

Above right: The participants of HAVMAT's first organized human bonding expirement event — the Highway 2 West Brawl Crawl — pose for a photo: John Paul Schmidt, from left, James Carden, Amber Lee Wells, Rosie Goldich and Carly Huffman.

Below right: Carly Huffman waxes wistfully upon her life goals.

Below left: Dave Martens and Carol Kerr play at an open mic night at Triple Dog Brewing.

Left: A bad photo of China Water Symbol crooning to ladies and gents at Bullhook Bottoms.

Photos by drunken bystanders