Scree Magazine volume 2

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Scree in celebration of the scramble volume 2

Journey ON.

Follow us uphill past an indie film company, Johnny Depp’s jeweler, a girl’s love affair with her trash truck, a sensory guide to Hong Kong, 30 days in 3D art, the creative genius behind a literary phenomenon, a rising Nigerian-American poet, and more.

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Ty Kennedy-Bowdoin captured this HDR panorama in Berkeley, CA’s Tilden Park Pacific Rainforest Garden. In this view you are looking at one of the largest California native plant collections in the world.

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Letter from the Editor

When I was fresh off the boat from grad school (having come from Hong Kong University, I mean this literally), I took a job as an office manager of sorts at a start-up tech company.

I say “of sorts” because in actuality what I was doing was everything from tech writing to accounting to filing to washing my boss’s coffee mug, because for better or for worse, I was the company’s very first employee.

Over time, we amassed a small staff (add “HR” to my list of duties), which included an IT guy, a GUI developer, and a software architect...my husband.

Now, to be clear, I have worked with Scott before. Having a rather long history on the dating side, we have managed to land barista, book store clerk, and yes, even fast food jobs together over the years. Working together now as part of the high-tech corporate world would be fine. Of course it would be fine.

Over the next few years, we would drive to work together to branch off to our respective duties as we helped build the company to more than 60 employees. Being in Boulder, we were surrounded by a bodacious rainbow vibe of tech-dom that would later be recognized better as the trailing missile smoke leading up to the dot-bomb era. Blissfully ignorant of our certain demise at that time, however, we spent days with one hand on the keyboard through lunch and our heads on a phone book while we napped under our desks well into the night.

We worked hard and we worked long, throwing ourselves at the future of the company and our virtually guaranteed ability to one day be financially secure with a comfortable house, an international vacation each year and, quite possibly, a robot nanny for our children.

And then it fell apart.

It was at that point that we realized a few things. First, no matter how hard or well you work, there is no such thing as job security. Second, working for “the man” sucks ass. And third,

while those stock options never would manifest themselves in any shade of usable green, we had stamina.

Granted, neither of us came from highly privileged families.

We were used to working hard. At school, on the job... wherever. But after having been tested by the white hot fires of high tech-doom, we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we could make it anywhere. What’s more, we could make it on our own.

We dinked around for a bit longer in the corporate world, but all the while with our eyes set on the end goal of starting our own company. And then, we did it. One thing had led to another and the end result was that it was time to sink or swim.

We sank.

And then we swam.

And then we sank again.

And then...well, you get the point.

We worked our asses off for nearly five years. And finally, we started a business that began to grow.

It’s been hard. No, that’s not right. At times it has been excruciating. At the same time, it’s been the most exhilarating thing we could have imagined.

And, although we desperately intend to, the fact is that whether we make it going forward is not the point. Through our training, we have become fighters. “Settling” is not an option. We are fighting for something more integral to ourselves than our livelihood. We are at war with the idea that somebody else should tell us what we do with our lives.

We know who we are.

We know who we wish to become.

The people who we choose to feature in this magazine do, as well. It’s why we are doing this.

And if you’re reading this now, chances are you do, too.

Journey on.

-Erika Rae

SCREE SUBMISSIONS Our goal is to publish submissions by individuals whose work falls somewhere on the continuum between smart and witty. We think the world needs more of you. We love your works in progress, and learning about your inspiration and journey. We welcome non-fiction, creative, and opinion pieces, and invite infographics, drawings, designs, cartoons, and photographs. If you have an idea for a special column or feature page, top ten list, etc., it’s all fair game.

Drop us a line: editors@screemagazine.com

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Contents

visual 2

California natives • Kennedy-Bowdoin photography science

textual 10

Letter from the editor

6

Contributors

You can be anyone in the movies • Belardes scramble film

17 18 22

4

Questionable answers • Foster + Hoyt comedy

Adornment • Smith product design film

A girl and her hydraulic lifter trash truck: a love story • Johnson entrepreneurship transportation

26

25

Cartoon • Rae

28

Photographing performers • Kong

My kampf • Listi scramble writing

38 42

comedy

photography performance

Coarse art: a 30 day experiment • Callaghan self-documentation art

The secret formula of the metal masterpiece • Daly music

52

Curated Hong Kong • Carter design documentary

54

Interview with emerging poet Uche Ogbuji • Rae

60

Horrorscope • DiLullo

scramble poetry interview

comedy

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photo: Anthony Camera

Megan DiLullo Nick Belardes

Emily Callaghan David Foster

ributorscontribu David Sun Kong Brad Listi

photo: Ben Maron

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Uche Ogbuji Jennifer Jesse Smith

Joe Daly Ty Kennedy-Bowdoin

Bridget Johnson Christopher Hoyt

utorscontributor Scott Archer Carissa Carter Erika Rae

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NICK BELARDES is the illustrator of a New York Times best-selling novel by Jonathan Evison, West of Here, author of Random Obsessions, Lords, and the first literary Twitter novel: Small Places. An author, poet, artist and screenwriter/ actor, Belardes’ articles have appeared on news sites across America. Nick has taught art, novel writing, poetry, history and photography at multiple universities. In 2009 he launched the Random Writers Workshop, a low-cost writing critique and discussion group.

Emily Callaghan is a designer, knowledge activist and Innovation Catalyst at Johnson Controls. Her passion is giving voice to the individual experience. Callaghan has experience in design management as a professional, researcher and teacher. A 2009 Marie Curie Fellow, Callaghan studied knowledge sharing communities and creative culture across Europe and the U.S. She holds a MSD in Industrial Design from Arizona State University and a BS in Journalism from the University of Kansas.

Megan DiLullo was born in Boulder, CO and spent the early years of her life between a hippie farm in the Colorado mountains (where she and her eccentric parents lived with a lot of goats) and the Main Line of Philadelphia. DiLullo is an editor for the Arts and Culture section at The Nervous Breakdown and co-producer of its Literary Experience and TNB Spotlight podcasts. She does narration for both. She can often be found with a bottle of wine, a cigarette and her 3 pocket dogs in tow.

DAVID FOSTER fuels his work with beef jerky and chocolate milk. As an industrial designer who dabbles in a little of everything from research to writing, visual to textual, it’s all interesting—it’s all fun. He lives in Holland, MI.

Megan DiLullo Nick Belardes

Emily Callaghan David Foster

ributorscontribu David Sun Kong

David Sun Kong is a biological engineer and artist based out of Cambridge, MA. He received his Ph.D. from the Media Lab of MIT and currently conducts synthetic biology research at MIT’s Lincoln Laboratory. He works actively in the Asian American community as a long-time organizer with Boston Progress Arts Collective. He is also leading the formation of a new arts and community center, East Meets West Bookstore, in Cambridge MA. As a musician, David has performed around the country as a vocalist, beat-boxer, DJ and rapper, and is an award-winning vocal arranger and producer. He recently discovered his love for photography.

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Brad Listi

BRAD LISTI is the founder of The Nervous Breakdown, an online culture magazine and literary community that now includes TNB Books, an independent press specializing in literary fiction and nonfiction.

He is the author of a novel called Attention. Deficit.

Disorder, a Los Angeles Times bestseller, the executive producer of The Nervous Breakdown’s podcast series, and the host of Other People with Brad Listi, a twice-weekly podcast featuring in-depth, inappropriate interviews with today’s leading authors.

Uche Ogbuji Jennifer Jesse Smith

Uche Ogbuji, born in Calabar, Nigeria, has lived, among other places, in Egypt and England, but never anywhere longer than 3 years in his life until he came to Colorado, where he was instantly smitten by the mountain landscape and cultural flavor. He’s now settled near Boulder with his wife and four children. A computer engineer, entrepreneur, technical journal writer, public speaker, editor and poet, Uche’s work fuses Igbo culture, Western classicism and hip-hop style.

JENNIFER JESSE SMITH began her life as an artist at the age of seven when she made her first visit to Paris and the Louvre. From there, she went on to hone her talent earning a BFA in sculpture from The School Of The Art Institute Of Chicago. She has deigned jewelry for large motion pictures, costumed in L.A. and New Mexico and trawled New York’s hippest scenes. A junkie not just for art, but for the way people draw power, myth and meaning from it, Jennifer Jesse Smith designs pieces of power, passion and beauty for those with enough mojo to wear them.

BRIDGET JOHNSON is the owner of award-winning Green Girl & Green Mountain Recycling, offering custom pick-ups in three Colorado counties. Services include data destruction, electronics and hard-to-recycle items, as well as general recycling. Johnson earned her BS in Business & Marketing from the University of North Carolina and is a member of the Boulder County Recycling Authority Board (RCAB) as well as the Colorado Association for Recycling (CAFR).

JOE DALY is a writer who has freelanced pieces for national music publications, major record labels, legal journals and online message boards whose moderators exercise heroic tolerance in regards to his opinions. His experiences playing and enjoying music are the subject of his upcoming book. When Joe is not searching for his next musical obsession, he does yoga, plays guitar, and spends hours in deep conversation with his dogs, Cabo and Lola. Joe is Associate Arts and Culture Editor at The Nervouse Breakdown and lives in San Diego, CA.

CHRISTOPHER HOYT is a designer of anything graphical, as well as a range of objects that people interact with in everyday life. Chris’ furniture projects play with perceptions of physical proximity, and his blown glasswork incorporates layers of color and form.

Christopher has a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Industrial Design from the College for Creative Studies and currently lives in Grand Rapids, MI.

TY KENNEDY-BOWDOIN is a scientist and a photographer.

He spends his days flying in small planes over the rainforests of the world, capturing images beyond the visible spectrum with sensors that help him calculate the amount of carbon stored in this lush vegetation. His interest in imagery extends beyond the top-down view and into photography as an art and practice that allows him to collect an excessive amount of gear in his home in San Francisco, CA.

Joe Daly Ty Kennedy-Bowdoin

Bridget Johnson Christopher Hoyt

utorscontributor Scott Archer Carissa Carter Erika Rae SCOTT ARCHER is a software architect and entrepreneurial thrill-seeker. He is also a boundless dreamer who believes this world is too small and goes too fast. Scott is the lead architect of Glib.net. He is also the founding tech guru of Full Signal Internet, as well as social lending company, IOU Note, named in 2008 as a CSIA Most Innovative Company. He earned his M.Phil in Bioinformatics from The University of Hong Kong.

Currently, he lives near Boulder, CO and, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, is married to Erika Rae. Scott believes there is no such thing as strong coffee, only weak people and speaks cynicism fluently.

CARISSA CARTER designs products and experiences.

She will be a professor someday. Having sampled a range of occupations from science to consulting to tech startups, Carissa currently runs Parallel Design Labs, makes skateboards, and draws maps.

She loves all board sports, coffee, bloody mary’s, and awkwardness. Carissa lives in San Francisco, CA.

ERIKA RAE is a writer, editor and serial entrepreneur. She is nonfiction editor at The Nervous Breakdown and the founding editor of 2CupsofCopy. com. She currently co-runs Full Signal, a wireless ISP in Boulder County. She earned her MA from the University of Hong Kong in Literature and Linguistics. Her irreverent humor memoir, Devangelical, is to be released in December 2012 by Emergency Press

Creative Director, SCREE Editor in Chief, SCREE

Tech Lord, SCREE

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You Can Be Anyone In The Movies A film career by all means should start at the bottom.

No funding. Little equipment (if any). Big dreams. Actors working for free (so they can boost their demo reels and feed their egos). And scripts. Lots of scripts.

Hectic Films, based in Bakersfield, CA (about 110 miles north of Hollywood) has borrowed equipment, lost equipment, and while I’m not totally sure (not even sure they’re totally sure), I don’t think they have ever used stolen equipment while shooting movies on various Canon and Red One cameras.

Nearly seven years after having created endless YouTube videos, commercials, music videos and fake news shows, Hectic Films has honed its craft on full-length features, most

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of which are currently in post-production. The company’s films, half of which are partnered with other film companies, include “The Lackey,” “Phase Two,” “Home Free: The Movie,” and “Border Brothers.”

The brainchild of writer-director-actor Rickey Bird, Hectic Films has been a long work in progress. Since around 2005, Bird has assembled a team of people, all aspiring in the various arts of filmmaking. Cameramen, actors, stuntmen, writers, make-up artists and more (many from Hollywood) have banded together for the sole purpose of making movies.

“We’re going to make this happen, even if I have to work as a pizza guy on the side,” Bird said to me recently. We were watching film clips from the movie “Phase Two.” An actor in

Writer Nick Belardes on Indie Film Company Hectic Films a cow suit was walking slowly in a desert, thirsting for human meat.

“I like pepperoni and mushroom,” I said. “No cheese.”

“No cheese?” Bird said as an actor impaled the diseased cow-man with a pipe. Great special effects.

“Can’t eat the stuff. Makes me ill.”

The post-apocalyptic movie “Phase Two” has the Hectic Films stamp all over it. In an ultra-low-budget version of the movie, I play a zombie who gets an ax in his head. Of course, all that footage, along with my head-splitting acting talent, was trashed when Hectic Films got a small budget for the movie. They upped the stakes, re-shot all the footage, and I got reduced to writing press releases, news articles,

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the occasional screenwriting bit, and a tiny roll as a zombie attempting to run (I pulled a muscle after jumping up from chewing on a corpse and running after a fleet-footed Hollywood starlet).

Bird, who has built mini-sound studios in his apartment (yes, in an apartment), said, “Movies are the only thing I want to do. If I die making them, then at least I was doing what I loved.”

“What if it’s during an air battle scene?” I asked, now watching a scene from “The Lackey.” In the clip, former Mr. Australia, Guy Grundy, pummels one of the characters in the gangster film.

“I’ve shot footage from helicopters. I’m not worried,” Bird said as Grundy kicked an actor about a third of his size.

“Not me. I’m afraid of heights.”

“Good, you can play the guy who falls out of an open airplane. Just act natural,” Bird said.

Pizza was not sounding good at the moment.

Upping my personal stakes in acting, I play Dmitri in the film “The Lackey.” I became a full-fledged actor as a Russian mob boss with an actual speaking roll in the film. Through several grunts and yells—in full accent of course—I yell at one of my henchman who busily saws a body in an adjacent room. Gotta love gangster genre movies.

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While Hectic Films has played a major role in the film’s production, “The Lackey” was written and directed by Spike TV’s Shaun Piccinino. One of the directors of Spike TV’s “Deadliest Warrior,” he is also a stuntman, and has worked on “Robot Chicken.” Piccinino is extremely talented, and the highly stylistic film (thanks to his editing talents) is sure to be a cult classic for gangster film aficionados. And since the film’s foreign rights were sold overseas in January 2012, I’m guessing a sequel might be in the mix.

The chaos of filmmaking, when done guerrilla style as Hectic Films does, is tough business. Stealing locations (because they are poor! Hey, so did Sofia Coppola in “Lost in Translation”), hustling for small investors, spending days on end compiling mountains of footage that must be sifted through and edited is taxing. It’s not easy by any means and often means little sleep for Bird and his crew when on multiple day film shoots.

“What do you prefer as your upper of choice while filmmaking?” I asked Bird.

Bird thought for a moment. “Red Bull. Rock Star. Really, any energy drink followed by McDonalds binging after a

long day on the set.”

“That’s keeping it real,” I said. We were watching another clip, one where a homeless man shoots another during the comedy “Home Free: The Movie.” It just happens that Bird is the trigger man in the film.

Let me illustrate the chaos of indie filmmaking further.

Take the filming of “Border Brothers” for example. I showed up on set in summer 2011. We were filming on the side of a road in the outskirts of Bakersfield, somewhere north of town near the Kern River. The show’s star, Brian Ross, was busy slamming down the lid of a trunk on the heads of two supposed illegal aliens (both actors, one of whom I saw on TV in a commercial during the Alabama-LSU title game).

To the untrained eye, perhaps this scene may have seemed a bit too realistic and inhumane. During the shoot, while looking for cars (Hectic Films can’t afford to have a road closed), a man on a bike, riding along the area’s winding roads and bike paths, saw the scene unfolding as Brian Ross jammed the trunk lid down. The bicyclist looked over and asked, “Is everyone alright?”

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Hectic Films’ Brian Ross on set and in character.

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Right: Rickey Bird, founder of Hectic Films.

Above: watching for cars and shooting helicopters.

Right: the cast and crew of “Border Brothers” searching for fruit stands in Mettler, CA.

I think he also saw a fake gun, but I’m not sure.

“We’re good. Are you OK?” I asked in return.

Maybe the bicyclist couldn’t see the cameras, or was blind to all the crew wearing Hectic Films T-shirts. Either way, he continued along, though with a strange look on his face.

Eventually, we made our way south of the city, to Mettler, CA, where, in Hectic Films’ style, Bird talked his way into allowing a couple of scenes to be filmed behind a gas station at a fruit stand. About two minutes after the go ahead, he took off his plaid shirt and said to me: “Hey, put this on. I need you to be a fruit seller.”

This was also about the time one of the actors needed to use the restroom. There was a frantic search until it was decided the actor would hold all bodily fluids, sacrificing for the good of the film production.

Since I had a straw hat and I’m half Latino. And since many Mexicans are actually white, I figured, why not?

Besides, I would get to act in yet another movie. Who doesn’t want to hear the words: “Action!” “Take 52!” or “Hold more fruit!”

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And who doesn’t want to be affiliated with a film, and all the adventure and wonder that goes along with movie magic?

And who doesn’t want to get captured on the screen, for generations of people to look at and say, “Isn’t that fruit stand worker that one novelist guy?”

What is the old cliché about inspiration and perspiration and percentages? Sure, it was a hot day on the set of “Border Brothers”. And sure, filmmaking is hard work.

Writing a novel is just as difficult as making a film. It takes commitment, follow-through, and most of all, it starts on the bottom rung of a ladder.

Maybe one day Hectic Films will turn one of my screenplays into a feature-length production. In the meantime, I continue to make myself part of the team.

Because, together, we’re all going to make it happen. Just got to look up and see there’s another Hectic Films movie to be made after the next one gets done.

***

Questionable Responses Dear Ann, Help, I’m worried I’m losing my little boy. Last week I was putting away his laundry and came across some pictures that weren’t appropriate for a 15 year old.

He denies they’re his and says they came from his art teacher. If that’s true, I’m not sure what to do. Help.

-Worried in Wyoming Dear Worried, You have every right to be worried. You must confront your son’s art teacher about this. It’s wrong for a teacher of any kind to provide inappropriate materials to their students. I hope you and your son realize the dangers of the arts.

Dear Ann, Thank you. On your advice I spoke to my husband about doing more around the house. It worked! Just the other day, I came home to find him in the kitchen whipping up a surprise. I couldn’t believe it, when we finished. I was stuffed.

-Satisfied in San Francisco Dear Satisfied, Sometimes all you have to do is tell them what you want and they give it to you. You just have to learn to speak up.

Dear Ann, I know that you don’t generally give pet advice, but I don’t know where else to turn. I work full-time and leave my dog alone in my apartment. My neighbors have begun complaining about noise while I’m gone. I can’t afford doggy daycare. How can I correct this behavior?

-Pet Problems in Philly Dear Pet Problems, Sounds like your dog is lonely. If he were a person, I would encourage him to find a hobby. Since that can’t be the case, maybe a neighbor’s dog could stay with him during the day; the two could entertain each other.

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Perhaps because I am of native descent (Lakota) – I somehow felt the need to be able to move around in life and express myself in a more stealth, nomadic fashion.

Once I discovered the body as a traveling altar, I realized adornment is an art that can travel with you: adornment, perhaps the earliest of art forms.

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Set costumer and film jeweler Jennifer Jesse Smith talks through her journey photos: Peter Weidenfeller

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I wear Jennifer’s jewelry because it connects me deeper to my art and passions. Warrior angel, skull-andcrossbones are my touchstones. They signal heart’s arson to set my blood ablaze. Remind me what it feels like to burn wildly, brightly for what I love.

-Rich Ferguson

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I’ve scraped, scrapped, plundered, forged and crafted by my own hand and heart, my art, my journey, my adventure.

Since the very beginning of this life I knew I was an artist, a creator. I’ve insisted on the validity of art and its ability to transcend and it has paid me in kind with a grand adventure.

As a child I was fortunate to grow up surrounded by luminaries, artists, musicians, historians, actors, film makers, antiquity traders and quite literally cowboys and Indians – my signature style is celebrated every day from this list, as an artist, designer and love of all things divinely inspired and exquisitely crafted.

I grew up in the beauty of the Black Hills with my mom – a single parent. She told me the Lakota creation stories, as well as the archetypal fairy tales from around the world. My imagination thrived. (I realized a few years ago that I pull from those stories, archetypes and adventures that come alive in my own work.) The Russian fairy tales had firebirds and skulls with glowing eyes, as well as strong archetypes for women.

The Lakota creation myths spoke to me of sacred birds with powers to shape-shift and medicine men who could make the sun leave the sky.

We didn’t have a TV and for this I am now grateful. I never got on “the collective bus” and was left free to travel my own path. As an only child, art became my friend.

Growing up in my mother’s art studio, I was always making something with my hands. Usually a necklace or bracelet would emerge.

When I was five years old she made me a sacred medicine bag that I wore everyday. The kids at school would plead for me to open it so they could see what was inside. I was told that it contained sacred objects that would protect me on my journey and to only open it in ceremony or when I needed help. I felt it connected me to the things I loved even while being at school. My mom’s studio was a place of wonder and full of interesting characters. I remember hating leaving to go to school. Sometimes I would hide by the railroad tracks so the school bus wouldn’t see me and then tell my mom I missed the bus so I wouldn’t miss something cool happening in her studio.

My young and talented mother nurtured me to create with my whole being. Although we were poor, I never knew it, because she surrounded us with beauty. By living example she taught me: “You can grow your own food, you can make your home beautiful with little money, you can travel if you have great friends, you can sell your art.”

And that’s what we did.

I was seven years old when she took me to the Louvre in Paris. I brought a tiny backpack, a sketchbook and colored pencils. It’s so fun to look at those drawings now because everyone had a chapeau, a mustache and a cup of coffee. I remember standing in front of the giant Leonardo da Vinci

paintings in total awe. She let me pick posters in the museum shop of my favorite painters for my bedroom. The two of us adventured alone all through my childhood.

In art school I majored in sculpture. My studio was in the bowels of the Art Institute of Chicago, the warmest place I could find in the city. I poured my own bronzes in the foundry and would have to move my work back and forth between my studio at school and my flat. The trunk of my Buick Skylark was full of bronze, copper, and various chemical patinas. Soon I found myself making things smaller, and with greater detail so I could carry them more easily on the subway.

Perhaps because I am of native descent (Lakota) – I somehow felt the need to be able to move around in life and express myself in a more stealth, nomadic fashion. Once I discovered the body as a traveling altar, I realized adornment is an art that can travel with you: adornment, perhaps the earliest of art forms.

I was 16 years old when my mom enlisted my help making costumes for a film she was working on: Dances with Wolves. Here was body adornment in all its glory: the bead and quillwork of the Lakota. That film launched my career as a set costumer. Soon actors and directors began to notice my jewelry and commissioned pieces for themselves as well as for the film. My jewelry has been worn by Colin Ferrell, David Tennant, Mickey Rourke, Holly Hunter, Ross McCall, Margaret Cho, Adam Beach, Wes Studi, Eve Ensler, Kelly Cutrone, and Billy Bob Thorton.

I am currently involved in pre-production for Costume Designer Penny Rose and The Lone Ranger film project, starring Johhny Depp.

Even so, there have been times of poverty, isolation and frustration at the collective culture. There have been side jobs that tortured my spirit because they prevented me from creating for a time. Intimate relationships that ended over my desire to make art and not take a backseat. There have been naysayers and jealous friends that have tried to sabotage me from the inside out.

However, clearing the layers and debris is necessary along the way. We are all wounded in some way that is unique to our mystery, our very own movie, and in the long run, our mastery.

Through all of these experiences the joy to create and express would come up and out of my being and insist: it’s not about what you “do” so much as it’s about the integrity, power and love you do it with. My work is about connection, magic, beauty and transcendence – as well as the highest integrity of the materials. The work must have a soul all its own and tell a story.

I’ve found if you keep after your vision it will not mislead you, in fact it will lead you to your center and set you free.

It’s my adventure and I’m not going to waste it.

-Jennifer Jesse Smith

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A Girl and Her Hydraulic Lifter Trash Truck: A Love Story 22 / SCREE v2

When I was a kid, my dad always told me that if I did something in life that I loved, I would make money at it.

What my dad may not have realized at the time is that this advice would one day lead me to drive a trash truck.

I’m a recycler, and pretty much always have been. When people ask me how long I’ve been called the “Green Girl”, I smile and tell them that I’ve been called that most of my life.

I grew up on a farm in upstate New York where people recycled everything from nails to scrap metal. Realizing that I could make a little money, I would collect those things from people and turn them in to the redemption center for the payout. It took a little while, but it’s how I bought my first bike.

After that, I kept going. In college, I would go through the boys’ dorms and collect soda and beer cans so that I could afford to go away for Spring Break. When I moved to the mountains after that, I hauled the recycling after the parties my housemates and I would throw. I was driven by the thought that if I didn’t step up, all of those resources would go into a landfill somewhere. It got under my skin. I would collect Jeep-loads of cans and plastic bottles and piles of paper and take them somewhere I knew they would be broken down and reused. I loved the thought that I could make a difference in our world, however small. It was an exhilarating feeling, and completely addicting.

It wasn’t until I started picking up the recycling in my mountain neighborhood that I seriously considered turning my recycling habit into a business. I had been to business

Eventually, the Jeep acquired a trailer. The trailer turned into a white 1978 Ford. The Ford turned into an ’84 Chevy, and the Chevy turned into a couple of diesels. The diesels gave way to box trucks, and kept going all the way up the line to the 1st trash truck--my trash truck--who I call ‘Betsy’ because I bought her in Arizona where I have a cousin named Betsy.

school and kept thinking that I would do something in the environmental field, not realizing that it was already staring me in the face. I had a strong background in sales. Maybe I would do environmental sales? I thought back to my dad’s advice over and again. What did I love? What did I love?

Blissfully ignorant, I asked my neighbors for nothing more than some gas money to help me drive the materials down the mountain to EcoCyle in Boulder. Feeling guilty that I was dumping such large loads of recycling into the bins, I would wait for the cover of night to make my deposits, hoping desperately the whole time that no one would catch me at it.

up to me. I gave him a busted smile.

“You do know that we will pay you for that?” he said.

I stared at him. Blinked. And then it was on.

I wrote a business plan and Green Girl Recycling was born.

Eventually, the Jeep acquired a trailer. The trailer turned into a white 1978 Ford. The Ford turned into an ’84 Chevy, and the Chevy turned into a couple of diesels. The diesels gave way to box trucks, and kept going all the way up the line to the first trash truck – my trash truck – who I call 'Betsy' because I bought her in Arizona where I have a cousin named Betsy. I love that truck because it allowed me to really compete with the 'big boys' in the recycling world and did I mention it can haul up to 4 tons at a time? Plus the hydraulics are very cool.

All along the way, my husband Matt and I pushed and struggled. Trucks need constant maintenance, so there was always something that needed to be replaced whether it be tires, an alternator, or a timing belt. Matt and I both spent many hours under that Ford on the side of the road. During

Until, of course, they caught me at it.

I was trying to act natural while dumping an obscenely large load that was crammed so hard into my Jeep that I had to actually climb into the back to dislodge the bags from one another when the owner of EcoCycle, Eric Lombardi, walked

–Bridget Johnson Green Girl Recycling

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this time, we barely were able to make ends meet with what we were bringing in. Even so, we bootstrapped through, with him picking up jobs on the side like painting houses or both of us working ski patrol on weekends. Each new customer meant another bill we could pay. It took three long years for all of them to be covered.

At one point, we were offered angel investment. A man we knew offered up to $100K to help us with our trucks and to get us on our feet. It was a generous gesture, but the thought made me panic. I knew that for some relief then, I would have to pay him forever. It was too much. I couldn’t do it.

Because of the Eco Hero Award I won in 2010, as well as the Mercury 100 Fastest Growing Company listing we received, I sometimes get people calling me to ask if I can give them any advice on how to start a recycling company.

It’s flattering, but I often don’t know what to tell people. If they would have seen me 14 years ago, they never would have called me. They would be going the other direction. Working hard and for myself is just in my DNA. I don't know if that can be passed on through any amount of advice.

It was so hard at the beginning. But hard doesn’t scare me and poor doesn’t scare me. Doing something I hate, that I don’t believe in, scares me. Being stuck in a dead-end assembly job that I was handcuffed to…that is my worst fear.

So yes, I drive a trash truck. I realize this may not sound like the cushiest job in the universe, but the truth is, I like it.

Why? Because it’s mine. And I love it.

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photo: Ty Kennedy-Bowdoin

Go ahead.

Count me.

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MY KAMPF

Brad Listi’s lens on the scramble I sometimes joke about Hitler and his deranged memoir, Mein Kampf, which means, in English, My Struggle. As monstrous as the man was, he might have come up with the greatest title in the history of literature. My Struggle could feasibly be the name of every book ever written.

It applies.

Kurt Vonnegut, who spent some time in Hitler's Germany as a prisoner of war, used to say that making art, no matter how "good," no matter how "bad," was a way to make your soul grow. The act itself, he liked to argue, is redemptive. The act itself is its own reward. I think that's true. (It had better be.) To make art, to create something out of thin air, is to revive one's spirit, to exercise it in some way. You exercise something, you strengthen it. We seem to know this much.

And here's what else we know: Exercise isn't always fun.

It's often extremely uncomfortable. But when you're done with it, you tend to feel better.

For me, this is how writing goes. It's a marathon. It's a dead lift. It's like swimming the English Channel in wintertime, or hiking over mountains in a lightning storm.

And afterwards, you feel better.

I'm thirty-six now. The past fifteen years have involved a lot of struggle. (Same goes for the past fifteen minutes.) I've struggled to make ends meet. I've struggled to write well.

I've struggled to get my novel in print. I've struggled to remain disciplined. I've struggled to find time to read. I've struggled to start The Nervous Breakdown, battling against technology and the tedium of web publishing. I've struggled to get people to take me seriously. And now, I'm struggling to get my podcast, Other People, off the ground. An author interview show wherein I talk to other writers about their struggles. Go figure.

More technology. More unexpected twists. More demands on my time. A continuing battle to try to earn a living from my art, to make sense of the tangle, and find a way. None of it has been easy.

First World problems, as my sister would say. Nothing to complain about. You could be bailing hay.

And this is true, this is true, so incredibly true. I hear this kind of logic, and I nod. And then I scold myself for complaining, even though most of my complaints are issued

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silently, in my skull, and nobody really hears them but me.

To complain about an "art problem"—even noiselessly— is, I fear, the height of ridiculousness.

Think about prisoners of war! Think about African children working in diamond mines!

And here I am, struggling with character. And here I am, struggling with plot. Every man should be lucky enough to endure such peril. Every man should have the opportunity to feel dumb in front of a blank page.

Seen in this light, my suffering takes on the air of privilege, mild to the point of laughable insignificance. I can't believe that I would ever complain about it. And yet I do. I do. I hate to say it, but I do. And then, when I recognize that I'm doing it, I feel guilty about it. And then, when I recognize that I'm feeling guilty about it, I feel guilty about feeling guilty.

Because guilt, at its root, is a selfish emotion. And who wants to be a selfish whiner?

What is it that the Buddhists say? That suffering is one of the Four Noble Truths? A reality of all human life? That it forms us, one way or another? That we can even feel grateful for it if we try?

Assuming that this is true, then my struggle would appear to be one of perspective, more than anything else. If the struggle is indeed inevitable, then the challenge is to enjoy the struggle, moment by moment, day by day. To somehow appreciate it, whatever it is. And if not appreciate it, then at least understand it better, and work to find meaning in it, somehow.

I need to remind myself: This part, right here, where I don't know what else to say? This is the fun part. Right here.

This is the good stuff. It's happening right now.

Every morning at 5 a.m. I wake up to an alarm clock and stumble to my office in the dark. I sit down in front of a computer screen with a cup of hot caffeine and stare at a flashing cursor for three hours and try to imagine things.

Most of the time, I fail. Most of what I write is idiotic. And this is normal. This is life. Everybody has a kampf. This one happens to be mine.

Could be worse.

Lucky me.

Listen to Brad Listi’s in-depth, inappropriate interviews with authors at otherpeoplepod.com.

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Brenda Wong Aoki, at the Asian Pacific Islander American Spoken Word Summit, Minneapolis.

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On photographing performers Photographing another artist is unlike any other kind of photography. There is no consciousness of the camera, only complete immersion in the present, in expression, in creation. Each performer exists in a dynamic with their audience, a collage of energy and emotions. Marsha, her voice, distraught and anguished one moment, graceful and sweet the next. Questlove and Q-Tip, hip hop legends, mathematic in their focus on the mix. Brenda, fierce, summoning the spirits of her ancestors. Yalini and Robert, dynamic, exuberant, loud, hilarious. Beau, powerful but composed. The photographer is there too, part of this synergy, creating portals through which these moments can be reexperienced--still fresh, new, and alive.

David Sun Kong

-David Sun Kong, April, 2012

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Q-Tip, Locked in Brooklyn Bowl, Brooklyn 31 / SCREE v2

Q-Tip and Questlove Brooklyn Bowl, Brooklyn

Questlove Underbar, Boston

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Beau Sia, at the Asian Pacific Islander American Spoken Word Summit in Minneapolis.

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Marsha Lubin  The Beehive, Boston

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Yalini Dream and Robert Karimi, at the Asian Pacific Islander American Spoken Word Summit in Minneapolis.

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COARSE ART: A 30 DAY EXPERIMENT

by Emily Callaghan I feel everything but fine – sensational, electric, frustrated, confused – and sometimes all at once. This mix of emotions reminds me, relentlessly, that I am learning.

In awe of my own potential greatness I stand still. I stand unable to move or push through the electric threshold before me that promises discovery, learning, accomplishment, failure. Recognizing my own weaknesses feels embarrassing, emotional, uncontrolled. Intellectually I know this is simply my human beingness and still instinctually I want to hide it, to show to the world I am not afflicted. I am drunk with the possibilities of all of what I am capable. And what I work toward each day is leaning into that threshold, pushing through the uncontrollable experience that is experimenting, failing, growing, learning.

The hesitation to make in 3-D, to build with my hands, is an extension of my own insecurities, a vulnerable experiment in the unknown. The most important part of who I am, who I could be, is less about my confidence and accolades of the past and more about the tension between yesterday and tomorrow – my today. Because of this I leaned in and pushed a little more. I gave myself permission to learn, to be imperfect, because as I do I diffuse the ego bomb of not being the expert.

Each morning for 30 days I built something with my non-expert hands. I spent about three minutes each morning and with found materials that surrounded my desk I made something tangible. Before I turned on my computer I turned on my creativity and made my world a little larger.

This was an experiment in my own creative fluency. For 30 days I did not hesitate, judge nor polish my morning creative output. What I learned is that fluency is impossible with immediate judgment, and is only possible through practice, experimentation, and pulling together all the pieces. Words or ideas or acts alone aren’t elegant, it’s once they have been said or done that the elegant rhythms, patterns and statements can be made. Fluency cannot be achieved without lots and lots of stumbling.

We readily celebrate the brilliance within a child’s first artistic experiments, noting the highly abstract elements and excitement inherent within their expression, though as grown ups we suffer from massive celebration delay. We have fallen into a culture of celebrating the product of successful performance, the end game. I see glimmers of curiosity and interest in celebrating the process of experimentation, but more as steps and stages rather than the emotional experience that it is. The experience along the way, the human beingness of greatness is stumbly, unrefined, glorious and often outright ugly.

Inside, my ambition pushes toward my arrival, the moment when I pause at the top and recognize that my work is complete. At this moment, however, I expect that elation to be quickly followed with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness. I struggle and fight through my journey, in search of my next challenge. But really I am constantly looking for the next thing that pushes me into these familiar throes of angst, hoping to never arrive.

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What I learned is that fluency is impossible with immediate judgment, and is only possible through practice, experimentation, and pulling together all the pieces... Fluency cannot be achieved without lots and lots of stumbling.

Want to do your own 30 day experiment?

What activity could you complete every day? Draw. Write a poem. Write 500 words of fiction. Eat an orange and document the process. Take a photograph of the same person in the same place. Make something out of clay.

Introduce yourself to a stranger and ask to have your photo taken with him or her. Write a ficticious caption for whatever photo happens to be on the front page of THE NEW YORK TIMES. The possibilities are endless, and we’d love to hear about and see what you try. Drop a line to editors@screemagazine.com and tell us about your efforts, or post them online and let us know on twitter @screemagazine.

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The Secret Formula of the Metal Masterpiece

by Joe Daly Metalheads know that the best thing about heavy metal is that the rules don’t apply to it. While classic rock is shackled with commercial measurements that are used to determine if an album is successful or not, metal not only ignores those formulas but its constant shifts make it impossible to measure with any one stick. As soon as rules start to form around a metal genre, three new offshoots emerge and smash the old rules across their knees. Death metal, grindcore and industrial metal are all responses to styles that had become stagnant.

What was extreme yesterday is now “classic.”

Reviewing someone else’s Top 25 Metal Albums of All Time list recently, it struck me that despite the radically different music represented by the bands, there had to be some constants – there had to be certain characteristics shared by most, if not all of the greatest metal albums of all time.

The question arose: if metal is constantly changing, then what makes a great metal album? Without a mold, how do we know when someone breaks one?

So I compiled a list of the 50 greatest metal albums ever and started ripping through their guts to see what I might find.

I know, I know – you just sat up straight when you read the word “list.” Nothing simultaneously delights and enrages a music fan like a list. Even when we want to agree with a list, we are genetically wired to call bullshit, to say it’s incomplete and to fill ourselves with fury and outrage that the compiler

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had the big brass balls to exclude this band or that band from the list, or even worse, to place one band ahead of another, when even my girlfriend knows that the first band is sucky and derivative, and…

Well, you get it.

So listen closely: This is not a list.

I repeat: This is not a list. It is a group of great albums.

My goal was to lump together a representation of the most influential metal albums of all time and see what these albums shared.

But first I had to set some guidelines: • I compiled my own list of top metal albums and then scoured the Internet for other lists to account for different tastes and opinions. The final group contains 53 albums, all of which I will include at the end of the article. Don’t be offended if you feel that an album is unjustly missing – remember, I’m looking for trends, not making a definitive list. One or two albums won’t alter my findings by any measurable amount. And “why not 50,” you ask? Because I wasn’t prepared to eliminate essential albums merely to end with an “even” number.

• For the purposes of this list, AC/DC counts as metal, even though today most would understandably classify them as “hard rock.” AC/DC, like Black Sabbath, rolled out a

sound that was mind-blowingly heavy at the time and their contribution to metal should not be ignored simply because harder bands have since taken metal to greater extremes. AC/ DC appeared in about half of the Top Metal Album lists that I found. • Where I looked at chart positions, I only looked at the US and UK charts. While it was tempting to factor in European and South American charts, the significant majority of music sales occur in the US and UK, so for expedience I focused on those two countries. • I only looked at original releases. A staggering percentage of legendary albums have been re-released with extra tracks as bonus material. An album makes its mark on the day it is

released and it lives or dies from that point. • To waste space telling you that a metal masterpiece is full of gravity sized-guitars, explosive choruses and themes of rage and rebellion would be as enlightening as telling you that what makes a triumphant pizza is sauce, cheese and crust. I am avoiding discussions of the more obvious properties of heavy metal as these properties can be found on any metal record in some measure and are not unique to the great ones.

Having rolled up my sleeves and pored through nearly 40 hours of metal albums, I found that it is actually far easier to illustrate what is not essential to a classic metal record.

Here we go.

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A great metal album does not need a flashy producer Sure, Rick Rubin produced Slayer’s Reign in Blood, which tops many lists as the greatest metal album of all time. But can you guess what other album gets a lot of number one votes? You got it – Metallica’s Master of Puppets, produced by Denmark’s Flemming Rasmussen.

Who? Exactly.

Rasmussen was the 26-year-old co-owner of a studio in Copenhagen when the boys from Metallica rolled through to record what would be the Ride the Lightning album.

Rasmussen had produced Rainbow’s 1981 Difficult to Cure record, so this was not his first rodeo. However, he had never heard Metallica until they arrived at his studio, which makes his effort all the more horns-worthy, because he took four guys whom he had never met and from them coaxed one of humanity’s greatest heavy metal assaults.

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The band (and the record buyers of planet Earth) liked the results so much that they brought him in for the next two albums, Master of Puppets and …And Justice for All, both of which appear in the list.

So you don’t need a Rick Rubin, a Bob Rock or even a Mutt Lange – you just need a cat who gets where you’re coming from and who’s got the balls to stand up to the band when they’re bringing anything less than their best.

A classic metal album does not have to come from the 80s The 80s was the greatest decade that heavy metal and hard rock have ever seen. Oh sure, Culture Club and Michael Jackson were laughing all the way to the bank as the dance clubs of the world were stuffed with coked-out yuppies marveling at how affordable the new $6/minute cell phone rates were. But that was the commercial side of music – the most timeless and groundbreaking metal that the world had

Nothing simultaneously delights and enrages a music fan like a list. Even when we want to agree with a list, we are genetically wired to call bullshit, to say it’s incomplete and to fill ourselves with fury and outrage that the compiler had the big brass balls to exclude this band or that band from the list, or even worse, to place one band ahead of another, when even my girlfriend knows that the first band is sucky and derivative, and… ever heard was being churned out on the fringes. And we’re not talking about the hair band craze – we’re talking about Iron Maiden, Metallica, Dio, Helloween, King Diamond, Overkill, Saxon and Megadeth. In fact, nearly 70% of the albums in my list were released in the 80s.

However, it would be easy and grotesquely unfair to write off the music before the 80s as classic rock precursors to metal, just as it would be nothing short of criminal to write off the metal of the past 20 years as derivative. People who complain that non-80s metal is sub-par are probably the same cats who used to pay $6/minute for their lunchbox-sized cell phone.

Metal was born in 1968 with Blue Cheer’s Vincebus Eruptum. In the 70s, Black Sabbath took the Cheer’s sound all the way up to 11 and became metal’s pioneers with a trio of albums that changed heavy music more profoundly than anything to date (Black Sabbath, Paranoid, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath). The 70s also saw essential releases from Judas Priest, Rainbow and Deep Purple that stand up astonishingly well even amid today’s digital production technologies.

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Pantera kept metal’s flag flying in the 90s, with one middle finger extended to the shoegazing grunge crowd and another towards the “alternative” revolution (which was about as alternative as the Banana Republic).

The new millennium has seen bands like Mastodon, Opeth and Trivium contribute essential advancements to metal that not only continue what Blue Cheer started over 40 years ago, but that suggest mind-blowing possibilities for the bands to come.

A band doesn’t need an image to release a metal album for the ages Dave Mustaine, with his ginger curls and perma-sneer can hardly get to his car in the morning without being recognized. Same with Kerry King and his tattooed dome.

There are some metal musicians who, intentionally or not, have acquired notoriety that extends beyond metal – through their looks or dirty deeds, their personae have extended out into pop culture and they are therefore recognizable to people who couldn’t tell the difference between an Ozzy-era Sabbath song or one off of the Mob Rules.

Whether it’s leather-clad Rob Halford on his motorcycle or Lemmy’s Confederate hat and handlebar mustache, some metal guys are irreversibly part of mainstream awareness.

Then there are the guys in bands like Testament, who could wear stickers that say “HELLO! My name is…

Chuck… and I’m in Testament” and they’d still have to wait in line to get a drink. Same with bands like Venom, Helloween, Accept, and Fate’s Warning – they are generally unrecognizable to anyone but their families and most ardent fans, yet they anonymously released spectacularly brutal metal epics that continue to attract attention even though 99% of music fans wouldn’t recognize the bands if they were throwing up on their front lawn.

Critically, these bands show that explosive new music will stand on its own, apart from the trappings of looks or image.

A timeless heavy metal masterpiece need not come from a major label Iron Maiden’s run with EMI has been one for the ages.

EMI released their debut, Iron Maiden, in 1980 and thirty years later, Maiden released their 15th studio album with EMI, for a total of 28 albums together.

But while most of the albums in the list have been released by a major record label, many of the genre’s most definitive releases have come from indie labels run by people who simply loved metal as much as the bands playing it.

Brian Slagel was a guy who ran around Orange County back in the 80s, grooving to NWOBHM tapes with his

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buddy Lars Ulrich and a small group of ferociously dedicated metalheads. They would drive halfway across the county to find rare bootlegs from UK bands like Angel Witch and Saxon. In 1982, Slagel decided to start his own label to help promote some of the genre’s underrated diamonds, like Metallica (and Ratt). In 1983, this upstart label released Slayer’s Show No Mercy album, and then Hell Awaits two years later. These dispatches set the stage for Slayer’s subsequent releases on Def Jam (Reign in Blood, South of Heaven), but without the faith of Slagel and the investment of Metal Blade, one is left to wonder how far Slayer might have gone.

New York’s Megaforce records had an even more unlikely beginning, signing up acts like Metallica and Anthrax while co-founder Jonny Zazula was finishing up a jail sentence in a halfway house. Megaforce was built on the savings account and dwindling credit line of Zazula and his wife, eventually releasing classic albums from bands like Overkill, Testament, Anthrax, Metallica and Ministry. From the Zazula’s modest basement sprung the roots of one of music’s most titanic revolutions.

Sure, the deep pockets and marketing machinery of a big label are the preferred resources for any band, metal or otherwise, but our list of classic metal albums establishes that to roll out a tour de force, all you need is a small label with lots of heart and a briefcase full of guts, and the music will lead the way.

A groundbreaking metal album does not require great vocals Of the list, this is perhaps the most obvious. Sure, guys like Bruce Dickinson, Ronnie James Dio and Rob Halford have informed the definition of metal with voices strong enough to float container ships. But for every Dio there’s a Lemmy and for every Dickinson, an Ozzy. Simply put, a traditionally strong voice is negotiable when it comes to releasing a supreme metal record.

The key to the success of a sub-par vocalist is that the music must serve the singing, and not the other way around.

Motörhead’s speed metal frenzy and playful, often disposable lyrics make Lemmy’s voice not just listenable, but iconic.

Same with Ozzy, who couldn’t carry a tune if it had handles on each side, which is why he double tracked his vocals on his solo albums – to beef up a glaring weakness. But the band, led by Randy Rhoads and Bob Daisley, wrote songs in Ozzy-friendly keys and with an overall sound that made Ozzy shine, lumbering vocals and all.

Ozzy is one of the greatest examples of someone who has brought minimal raw talent to the table, but who has more than compensated for his shortcomings with a mixture of hard work and a supporting cast of audaciously talented musicians.

A landmark metal album need not contain offensive, closeminded lyrics “It’s loud and stupid.”

That’s what you hear when people who don’t like metal attempt to justify their position. We can gladly concede the loud part – metal is best enjoyed at towering volumes that tend to push back the fuzz on your eardrums. Fine.

The “stupid” part, however, is a grossly inaccurate stereotype propagated by people outside of the know – people

whose idea of heavy metal is the image of poufy-haired Bret Michaels and his zippy little band of crossdressers singing about nothing but good times and obese women and whose deepest song was a straight-faced ballad about the irony of roses having thorns.

Sure, my list of metal albums contains plenty of songs that extol the sublime pleasures of wine, women and song (and quite often, heroin). But those themes are squarely in the minority amid an ocean of truly eloquent and unflinchingly candid lyrics that speak of rebellion, rage and freedom.

Queensryche’s Operation Mindcrime is only one of the many examples of thought-provoking, creative ideas

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presented though the medium of hard charging melodic metal. Oppression, insurrection, truth and deep human emotions are explored as effectively as they are in some of the twentieth century’s most enduring books.

Other albums such as Maiden’s The Number of the Beast and Slayer’s Reign in Blood confront historical atrocities through shotgun blast anthems that are as bruising as they are poetic.

Nor does a great metal album require intellectually-rich themes or lyrics Having established that influential heavy metal need not involve dumbed-down odes to buffoonery, we must also point out that metal isn’t exactly curing cancer, either. AC/DC, Motörhead, Black Sabbath and Judas Priest are all examples of bands that have released profoundly influential metal albums that unapologetically praise the exquisite joys of sex, drugs and rock and roll.

This isn’t to say that lyrics aren’t important to a metal album – as long as the lyrics reflect the band’s integrity and serve the music, heavy metal can talk about whatever it damn well wants.

A classic metal masterpiece does not require radio play There are a thousand reasons why commercial radio hates metal, from the scary album covers that freak out parents to the seven minute songs that eat up valuable advertising minutes. Yet without the benefit of friendly DJs and prime time programming slots, metal’s most celebrated albums have sold millions. While word of mouth has been critical to the success of albums by King Diamond and Saxon, these albums have ultimately risen to critical heights on the backs of long, hard, ass-breaking tours.

With the commercialization of the Internet came an onslaught of streaming radio stations that were no longer advertiser dependent. From the leviathans of Sirius and XM to independent mainstays like HardRadio, metal is finally receiving more airplay than ever. Guys like Eddie Trunk are leading the charge for the next generation, preaching metal to the masses from his radio pulpit to his notoriously popular television show That Metal Show, on VH1 Classic.

Admittedly, the people tuning into these specialty stations and programs have already been converted – they are metalheads looking for more metal. But true metal has no place in the mainstream, anyway. There are too many rules

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to follow to get a precious slice of commercial radio and it’s a given that any album that has been crafted to appeal to mainstream radio is by definition, not metal.

A great metal record does not need bass From Geezer Butler’s monolithic bass lines to John Myung’s unrivaled technical proficiency, the bass has evolved in the field of heavy metal much in the same way that the stone wheel has evolved in the field of transportation. The bass adds more than rhythm now – it contributes melody and compositional complexity that goes far beyond anything that was happening in metal’s early days.

That being said, if there’s one thing that we learned from Metallica’s …And Justice for All, it’s that a great metal album doesn’t need bass.

Flemming Rasmussen, who produced that album, watched Jason Newsted record all of his bass parts for that release, describing his efforts as nothing short of “brilliant.” Yet as we all know by now, egos and circumstances (the still-recent death of Cliff Burton), conspired against Newsted’s efforts, with the band directing that his parts be mixed so low that they are barely detectable. Yet the album continues to stand among that band’s top efforts and rests comfortably in my list below.

That being said, I doubt there will ever be a great metal record released from here on in without a strong bass presence.

Having covered what a great album is not, here are my five key findings after sorting through mankind’s most hallowed heavy metal releases. Bands that are looking to record the next metal masterpiece should pay close attention to these:

Great metal albums don’t show the band in the cover art With a small handful of exceptions, almost every classic metal album in my list has a graphic for the cover instead of a picture of the band. The graphics are anything from paintings to logos to simple graphic designs. Musicians age quickly and even metal fashion can be fickle, but a good graphic, like Iron Maiden’s Eddie or Megadeth’s Vic Rattlehead, are timeless.

40 of the 53 albums featured graphics as cover art. Of the remaining 13, many were photographs that were manipulated to the point of looking like paintings. Three, the two Ozzy albums and Motörhead, were nothing but campy pictures of the musicians.

Joe Daly’s Metal Sauce RaNK 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

Band

Album

Metallica Iron Maiden Metallica AC/DC Slayer Iron Maiden Iron Maiden Dio Slayer Judas Priest Queensryche Judas Priest Megadeth Black Sabbath AC/DC Ozzy Osbourne Metallica Judas Priest W.A.S.P. Slayer Black Sabbath Megadeth Iron Maiden Dio Helloween Judas Priest Iron Maiden Ozzy Osbourne Slayer Black Sabbath Motorhead Judas Priest Anthrax Rainbow Megadeth Megadeth Testament Deep Purpl Scorpions Venom Mercyful Fate Metallica King Diamond Overkill Testament Opantera Accept Saxon Mastadon Trivium Fate’s Warning Opeth Megadeth

Master of Puppets Number of the Beast Ride the Lightning Back in Black Reign in Blood Powerslave Piece of Mind Holy Diver Seasons in the Abyss Screaming for Vengeance Operation Mindcrime Painkiller Rust in Peace Black Sabbath Highway to Hell Blizzard of Ozz Kill ‘Em All British Steel W.A.S.P. South of Heaven Paranoid Peace Sells…

Somewhere in Time Last in Line Keeper of the 7 Keys Pt. 2 Hell Bent for Leather Killers Diary of a Madman Show No Mercy Sabbath Bloody Sabbath Ace of Spades Stained Glass Among the Living Long Live Rock and Roll So Far So Good So What Countdown to Extinction The Legacy Machine Head Blackout Black Metal Don’t Break the Oath …And Justice for All Them The Years of Decay The Gathering Cowboys from hell Restless and Wild Wheels of Steel Blood Mountain The Crusade No Exit Blackwater Park Killing Is My Business

*Want all the data? It’s available online.

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The best metal in the world comes from either the US or the UK I can hear the black metal crowd cursing me already, but a review of the top albums shows that just over ten percent of the top metal albums have been released outside of the US and UK. Australia, Germany, Denmark and Sweden are the remaining countries.

Somewhere in Iceland, a Dimmu Borgir fan is shaking his fist in my general direction…

Timeless metal albums are meaty The average album length was 45 minutes. Most albums fell in between 40 and 45 minutes. Bands like Slayer and Motörhead came in well under the mean, while Mastodon’s Blood Mountain took the crown for longest classic metal album, ticking off over 68 minutes of brain-melting prog metal.

So if you’re a band looking to enter the Valhalla of Metal Greatness, be prepared to give your fans their money’s worth.

Metal by numbers (Cookie, cookie, cookie!)

40 of the 53 albums had between 8 and 10 songs. Ten albums contained more songs and only three contained fewer.

It stands to reason that if you want to make a statement with your album, the sweet spot is between 8 and 10 great songs.

Anything less isn’t a statement, it’s an EP, and anything more runs the risk of diluting the quality. Avoid increasing the total with filler and you might just have the next monster release.

The US might represent success for artists in other genres but if you’re a metal band, the UK is where it’s at. Not all of the albums in the list made the charts (only 8 albums failed to chart in either the US or the UK), but out of the ones that did, only 18% charted higher in the US than in the UK. Of the 72% that charted higher in the UK, most of them didn’t just chart higher in Europe, but they charted significantly higher in the UK. You’re dying to know which 8 albums triumphed in the US, aren’t you? Fine – here they are: Metallica – Master of Puppets, Queensryche – Operation Mindcrime, W.A.S.P. – W.A.S.P., Megadeth – Peace Sells But Who’s Buying and Countdown to Extinction, Scorpions – Blackout, Overkill – The Years of Decay, Mastodon – Blood Mountain.

Alright all you up-and-coming metal bands. You’ve seen the new rules – now get out there and shatter them.

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photo: Ty Kennedy-Bowdoin

The US will like you, but the UK will love you.

Shine on, tiny dancer.

Shine on.

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curated

Hong Kong

by Carissa Carter I’m sick of bloated travel guides that offer page after page of listings for hotels and restaurants in cities I won’t visit but need to carry because 20 of the book’s 200 pages are relevant to my trip.

As a lover of sensory experiences, I decided to create a guide that would allow others to stimulate all six of them: sight, taste, smell, sound, touch, and overall emotional feel.

As an American ex-pat living in Hong Kong in 2010-2011, I had plenty of time to absorb my surroundings and am now proud to announce the release the regurgitated results in the form of Curated Hong Kong.

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Each spread includes an experience that stimulates one or more of your senses, and they are tagged as such. Want to smell the most potent odor imaginable? Want to feel overwhelmed and enveloped? Want to see a rush of color? Taste an explosion?

Check it out at sixsensestravel.com

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Mango Flesh

by Uche Ogbuji I’d also forgotten—what crackling recall!— The many shades of mango flesh, The many textures of mango flesh, The tumescences of varied fruit, Sacred arrays upon seasonal trays, Indiscreet colors ablush, all orange, Formulae told at the tongue, all sweet.

Come like a mist the recollections Of fluid drawn through a knife-slit hole, Or cubicly opulent serving bowl, Of the white-fibered stone with its clinging pulp, Stripped white seed of drupe occult; When I slurp the saffron from mangoid dawn, I remember the chords to my birthing song.

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Uche Ogbuji reading at the Anthill in Nsukka, Nigeria as a university student.

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If there is one thing we at Scree admire, it is the following of one’s passion even beyond the borders of one’s preestablished discipline. While it may be true that Uche Ogbuji has been following the narrow, high mountain passes of uber-technical geek-dom, there is another route in his life, so foreign to the other that it might as well be in a different range of peaks altogether: poetry. And he’s gaining notice quickly.

SCREE You have made a name for yourself as one of the top XML experts in the world. How is it you’ve managed to transcend that reputation into the world of poetry? I mean, you’re a software geek, aren’t you?

UCHE OGBUJI Yeah, I was early to XML and wrote a lot of software to use XML. I started writing articles on how to apply the technology from a pragmatic perspective and that is what drove my

well as a large family including four children at home. You also seem to find the time for actual soccer during the week, as well as kempo karate. At the same time you’re poetry editor for a large online literary collective and seem to be publishing something new about as frequently as most people check their FaceBook. I guess what I’m asking is this: where do you find the time?

UO I try to snatch half an hour to 45 minutes between the time the kids go to school to eat breakfast and read a poem.

I might try to memorize one because I’ve always believed memorizing poetry is so important for craft and every now and then I’ll be in a place where I write one. And then I’m into work mode from 9-noon. I often try to play soccer at noon, twice a week. By afternoon I’m back to work. By 4-5 I’m switching into editorial mode. Evenings are when I do my own creative stuff. The weekend is similar with more time spent on literature. It’s difficult to balance with family, but it

Presenting NigerianAmerican Poet, Uche Ogbuji reputation because I’ve probably written 200 articles on XML alone. Having a literary background makes it almost too easy. If I know my stuff technically and I have a literary background, I know how to deal with writer’s block. So getting started is really easy and getting the words out is something I’ve practiced forever because I had a literary side.

So part of what motivates me to get to that literary side is that I need a relief from that. I have all this sort of almost automatic writing going on in terms of getting words down for these articles and I want to go beyond the automatic. I want to challenge my writing as well. It’s like recreation that leavens menial chores. You know, laborers are always the first ones to have a soccer game or baseball game or whatever even after they’ve been working in the quarry all day. Because it’s one thing to have that sort of repetitive required work and it’s another thing to use those same muscles but to use them in a recreational, creative sense.

SCREE So if poetry is your game of choice, what are your field rules? You have a successful start-up tech company, as

helps that I work from home. So, I’m writing most of the day on the computer and then in my free time, sure, I’m playing soccer and I’m snowboarding when I can and I’m going to kempo, but I’m also writing poems.

SCREE What are you drawn to write about the most?

UO There is a lot to say about bringing multiple, global perspectives – especially in this world of ours right now – into the craft of poetry. I feel like so much poetry has turned internal and there’s so much of an opportunity with cultures melding and merging and coexisting and I like to do that a lot in my work. To me it’s important to bring out that I’m very Nigerian; I’m very American. I’m very both. And to me, that’s what gives my poetry a spark.

SCREE Where did you first grow your poetic legs?

UO In Nigeria with the young Nsukka group. It was that waking up every day, even at the expense of classes

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and frankly speaking literature and writing and reading and reciting and going to the literary clubs on campus and basically having rival literary cliques….

SCREE “Rival literary cliques” – it sounds so West Side Story. Can you describe the literary scene you were a part of at the university in Nsukka?

UO First of all, it’s important to know I got into university far too early. I started when I was 15, and I wasn’t mature at all. At this time, I was actually homeless because I was so careless that I didn’t get my dormitory allotment…so I ended up making friends with people on whatever basis, and then I would squat with them until they got sick of me. One of these was an engineer who had a literary side. We would wake up and we would immediately get into an argument over brushing our teeth. He was a fan of Yeats and I was a fan of Pound, and my good friend Victor Okigbo, who is the nephew of the great Nigerian poet Christopher Okigbo, was a big fan of Eliot. So we would have big debates over them and the Nigerian poets who very often were associated with them.

So, our café was a salon called “A Touch of Class”. It was lovely and fairly expensive for students like us, but of course we quickly made friends with the proprietor, which was a good way to every now and then get a freebie. You were encouraged to bring something to the table that supported the name “A Touch of Class”. For example, if you weren’t speaking in proper English, the proprietor would come out and say, “You’re bothering the other patrons with your bad grammar.”

SCREE Oh, you mean like they do at Starbucks. *eye roll*

UO The level of sophistication in Nigerian University is just something I have never seen anywhere else, and this Touch of Class place was trying to be at the tip-top of the pinnacle. So, my only saving grace was my literary wit, because I didn’t have money to dress well. Even though I consider myself intelligent and urbane and certainly did back then, again I was young. So, people would order their tea, and then very often there would be debate from table to table. Debate is such an important part of Nigerian social culture. But I would always get trounced in debate because my brain wasn’t always quite fast enough on the debate points, however, people seemed to recognize that I had talent in terms of the actual wit in expressing myself. I could come up with a turn of phrase or something like that. So the proprietors loved me, you know. They would always complain about what I was wearing when I came in, but they would put an arm around me and give me a free cup of tea. So, we would enter into debate and then do a little homework.

But most of what we did would be geared toward Saturday night at The Anthill. And The Anthill was the place. It was a literary Mecca. And this wasn’t just a bunch of students with ideas of grandeur, The Anthill attracted scholars from South

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Africa to the UK to America. They would come by because anyone who kind of knew of a literary scene in Nigeria would hear of this oasis of literary, cultural, artistic, musical, drama excellence out in the bush of Nsukka. We would get all sorts of folks coming by, so you can imagine, for students with literary ambition, this was our excitement. So, we would write poems specifically for an occasion or dust off a poem that the late Uli Beier, or one of the great collectors of African postcolonial poetry would like.

SCREE And these collectors and well-known poets and authors would be coming, so you would actually be performing for them?

UO Exactly. And again, all these rival cliques I was talking about would be there. So Victor Okigbo or I might recite a poem and then the next open mic would be a musician, playing some beautiful folk ballad but with his own lyrics, then right after that the drama students would do a five minute vignette from Stendhall or Wole Soyinka or somebody like that, but with their own pin on it – maybe a science fiction take or something like that. So it was really a jumble, an absolute hodgepodge, but it was absolutely glorious, too, in a way I could never appreciate fully while I was there. I mean, obviously we were excited. We would always look at the flier and see who was coming and what was the order of the day for the next Anthill session, but that’s where it all circled around and of course those little rivalries would play out, who got the greatest applause and everything else like that – whether it was us or rival poets, the prose, the novelists, the drama students, the musicians....

SCREE So, it was quite rowdy in there.

UO Oh yeah. I remember one time when we got into it with the drama students and afterwards we all had words backstage.

SCREE And then you became an engineer?

UO Ha! Yes. My parents thought it was important for me to have a practical career.

SCREE You seem to have done all right with that being the current founding engineer at your latest venture, Zepheira. So what brought you back around to poetry after all these years?

UO It was through getting involved in TheNervousBreakdown.com. This gave me a sense of a community among writers, which I knew was important because of the Nsukka group and was something that had been absent for so long. I started to be introduced around and met people like Lewis Turco and Catherine Tufariello and all of a sudden I was like, frankly, holy shit – I’ve got people! I didn’t know I had people.

So, it got me writing again, got me submitting things

Mysteries of Harvest II

by Uche Ogbuji Ahiajioku was our erstwhile pursuit Of knobbly yams thatched into barns to mark Well-honored compounds, our pride set in stark Display of plenty, faith in toil and fruit, And conquest in the flight of matchet blades Flecked with powdered sap and slivered rind Or mulch of ugu (bean stalks left behind).

Our New Yam fêtes were triumphal parades.

Then Christians came: Ijaw and Aro thrust Through Abriba then Ohafia a cult Of chains and blood, so Ala in her rage Blighted yam crop yields; Where these wars were waged Cassava’s landlordship was the dark result, And loam gave way to mocking, red, bare dust.

Notes: Ahiajioku - The Igbo goddess who personifies yam cultivation—true Discorea yams, not sweet potatoes—the bedrock of Igbo culture. ugu - Nigerian pumpkin leaves used for rich soups, often planted alongside yams for Nitrogen fixation Ijaw, Arochukwu, Abriba, Ohafia - Southern Nigerian peoples and towns which became involved with the trans-Atlantic slave trade Ala - The great Igbo mother goddess who personifies the earth.

Shares elements with Gaia and Demeter

again, because I started to see that there were people out there who have the same attitude toward poetry as I have.

SCREE You’ve recently been published in a whole slew of journals and magazines. Are you working on a chapbook right now?

UO I’m working on a chapbook and a volume. My philosophy has been that I want to publish in places where I really can be in touch with the editor and the editorial community. Frankly, I want to publish in places where there is a general connection and where that connection can grow.

SCREE Where are you headed?

UO Writing is my passion, of course. Public health is very important to me, as well, which is what I’m working on through my company, Zepheira (zepheira.com), But looking just at writing, I want to inspire people to look at traditions—whether they be western traditions, local, neighborhoods, ancient Greece—and to be more comfortable bringing these traditions with themselves as a vessel. There are people who do that, but there should be more.

SCREE Thank you, Uche Ogbuji, and good luck to you on your climb!

UO Thank you!

***

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Aries

Being the first sign of the zodiac, you’re ahead of the curve, or at least at the beginning of it, a creator, an innovator; like that time you cut Coco Puffs in half and glued them to your face when you were going as Lemmy for Halloween. People laughed at you, and not in a that-is-so-fucking-brilliantyou-the-(wo)man kind of way. However, you did win first prize for best tragic aging hipster costume at the Shady Pines Retirement Home Halloween Barn-Burner and Pfizer Ice Cream Social. Look at it this way, just because there hasn’t been a mad dash to purchase stock in Coco Puffs, doesn’t mean that there won’t be.

Taurus

You do realize that the story is called The Little Engine That Could, not The Little Engine That Drinks in Bed Because He or She is Having a Shit Week.

Gemini

One minute you’re all snuggly wuggly Care Bears sliding down rainbows and shit and the next there are angry venomous snakes bursting from your cranium trying to eat a baby’s face off. This is in no way unusual for you, my dear Gemini, in fact, everyone around you has gotten used to the pendulum you call a personality, but that doesn’t mean that they always like it. In order to keep peace during this period you’re going to have to share your valium, with your head snakes AND with your friends.

Cancer

I once knew a man who took copious amounts of mushrooms and rode a unicycle, very successfully I might add. He was having the time of his life, peddling around a park in the August sunshine, watching the trails from the cool mountain breeze whizzing past his manhole-like pupils, laughing without a care in the world. Just a man, hallucinogenics and a hijacked unicycle. The next day I asked him where in the hell he had learned to ride a unicycle.

He started laughing and said, “I don’t know. I never rode a unicycle before yesterday.” The lesson here is that if something seems insurmountable, take mushrooms.

Leo

You’re the Magnum P.I. of the jungle, baby. You’re roaming the kingdom with a girth-y lubed up Arnold-in-his-wayearlier-days-like chest and a stride so confident that even your manty lines become appealing (or get overlooked). Think of that thick bristle that gracefully rides your upper lip like the mane of a lion. RAAAAAAWR. Remember, Leo, not only is it in the presentation, it’s in the investigation.

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Virgo

The virgin... Yeah right! This is the best joke EVER! It’s a cosmic conundrum that I totally don’t get. Especially for you.

You know who you are, “virgin.”

Libra

You love luxury and the finer things in life so let me ask you this, what is up with that hair? Girlfriend, your ends are as dubious as 78% of my neighborhood’s immigration status.

I know that you’re busy clinging to the glorious remains of your ping-pong champion tiara, frying donuts, and retaking the three credit hours in Balloon Animals Artistry you desperately need to graduate clown college and finally move forward with your slapstick career, but for the love of all that is holy, take some time for yourself. Breathing every now and again does wonders. As does deep conditioning.

Scorpio

Well, aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine wrapped in bacon with a side of Frito Pie these days. Don’t worry, this softer, more exuberant side in no way detracts from your prowess between the sheets. Let me be the first to say, some people find Frito Pie sexy. I mean very. Like a lot. Yeah, I just equated Frito Pie with The Nasty. So enjoy the crispy gooeyness the universe has provided you with during this period, because next month looks like a big dark hole surrounded by ass.

HORRORSCOPE photo:

by Megan DiLullo Chaos in Orion, NASA

Sagittarius

I was recently introduced to Chick-O-Stick. The first question that I asked was, “Is it like Chicken In a Biskit, but in the shape of an orange log?” The reply I got was, “No, it’s like a white trash Butterfinger.” And so it is. I Googled it whilst chomping away, salty-sweet orange shards raining down upon my keyboard, and discovered that it was created during the Great Depression and originally they had a chicken wearing a cowboy hat as a logo and apparently many people were confused, thinking it was a chicken flavored biscuit. So, no matter how off the mark you may be, Sagittarius, if you use Google you can find like minds.

Capricorn

Sometimes you just have to yell fire in the theater so you can watch the movie in peace.

Pisces

When I was young, after getting my allowance, I would always ride my awesome banana seat bike to the corner store to get candy. I would buy one Laffy Taffy (sour apple flavored), one Lik-M-Aid Fun Dip, and one piece of Bazooka Bubble Gum for the fortune that was almost always the same, “Don’t take rides from three-legged camels.” I didn’t understand it and it pissed me off, but every week I would ride back and buy another piece, only to feel the same disappointment and anger that I felt the week before. So I guess my advice to you is, “Don’t take rides from three-legged camels.”

Aquarius

Always double down on 11. As the visionary eleventh sign of the zodiac you should inherently know this. If you don’t already know this, you: a) shouldn’t play Blackjack; and b) are probably not an Aquarius. If the answer is b, question your parents thoroughly and check your birth certificate for discrepancies.

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The accu­mu­la­tion of loose stones one has to walk through on the way to the top of the mountain.

Join with us as we fol­low artists, film­mak­ers, entre­pre­neurs, design­ers, writ­ers, poets, come­di­ans, builders, and sci­en­tists through their tri­umphs, fail­ures and freak-outs on their uphill scram­ble to the top.

SCREE is a magazine celebrating the creative process in all disciplines. Visit us online at screemagazine.com.

Publishing sort-of quarterly, SCREE accepts proposals on a rolling basis. We look for smart work from contributors that highlights process and/or shows projects in progress. To pitch an idea, send an email to editors@screemagazine.com with a short description of your work.

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photo: Ty Kennedy-Bowdoin

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Available now on Amazon

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