The Nerve Magazine - May/June 2002

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Editor’s Burp I’d just like to get this one little thing out of the way... YES, you perverts, the next issue IS the annual Sex Issue and NO I don’t know the girl in the ad.

Fuck off, already.

Employee of the Month!

Jason “Everywhere” Ainsworth

So, as is Nerve standard, we are about 14 hours past print deadline and my main computer caught a VD that has reduced the screen to the size of a postcard but it can still get it up and I’ve decided that y’all can find what page number the rest of the shit’s on.

Don’t ever get into publishing, you will regret it... if I had it all to do over again I would have stayed in school and got my doctorate is bio-molecular engineering. Ah, well.

THE NERVE HIT SQUAD! King Pin (a/k/a Editor-In-Chief) Bradley C. Damsgaard The Getaway Driver (a/k/a Production Manager) Pierre Lortie Right Hand (a/k/a Contributing Editor) Heather Watson Map and Details (a/k/a Art Director) Saturnin Father (a/k/a Visual Arts Editor) Jason Ainsworth Shotgun (a/k/a Film Editor) Elizabeth Nolan The Henchmen (a/k/a Design & Graphics) Pierre Lortie, Saturnin Wise Guy (a/k/a Illustrator) Mike O The Enforcer (a/k/a Copyeditor) Grace Chin The Muscle (a/k/a Staff Writers) Atomick Pete, A.D. MADGRAS, Mike O, Jeff Oliver, Elizabeth Nolan, addict, Casey Bourque, Sinister Sam, Jason Ainsworth, Leather Twatson, Adler Floyd, Aaronoid, Dmidtrui Otis, Jason Wertman Friends of the Family (a/k/a Contributing Writers) Tara MacDonald, Dave Crusty, Sean Diamond, Harold Septic, T.V. Mama, frickinjordan, Bjorn Olson The Cleaner (a/k/a Cover) Saturnin Advertising (a/k/a Fire Insurance) Brad Damage The Nerve is published monthly by The Nerve Magazine Ltd. The opinions expressed by the writers and artists do not necessarily reflect those of The Nerve Magazine or its editors.

First publishing rights only are property of the Nerve Magazine. The Nerve does not accept responsibility for content in advertisements. The Nerve reserves the right to refuse any advertisement or submission and accepts no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or artwork.

Copyright 2002 The Nerve Magazine Ltd. Box 88042, China Town PO, Vancouver BC, V6A 4A4

www.thenerveonline.com editor@thenerveonline.com advertise@thenerveonline.com 604-734-1611

Ainsworth has been with The Nerve longer than anyone who knows claims to remember and we’d like to recognize his outstanding contributions to the art of art evaluation and especially his recent astute observations about children’s book writers. Two devil hands, ma’ man.

The Nerve would like to take this chunk of wasted space to thank:

Jason and wendythirteen at The Cobalt, the Spitfires, Mr. Underhill, The Old Ripper, Tara at New Music West, Myk (formerly) of the Pic for years of good mixin’ and hospitality, Reece at the Marine Club, Slow Nerve Action (watch for them in the Sex Issue) and Willma’s Barnyard Fiasco, the dirtiest cowboy duo in town.

Nervous Response

Letters, rants, raves, cussin’

LETTER #1 Holy shit, what a great fucking article, this just might be a harbinger of good taste...

Doug Donut has a point, YES they are fucking with the “demographic” and we’re really sick of it!

Beverly Penny

LETTER #2 Dear Nerve, Ha-ha-ha. Jason Ainsworth. Ha-ha-ha.

Sincerely, Chris Walter

UNCENSORED

viewer discretion advised, enjoy.

WHOLE LOTTA ZERO IV

A note to management: Employees are like circus animals- usually they’ll do what they’re supposed to do, but if injured, cornered or spooked they can be a threat to the whole operation.

Cowboy Zero

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The Art of Visual Companies:

Vancouver’s Underground Stars Light up the Night Virtua Tennis

Developer: Strangelite Publisher: Empire Interactive Platform: PC Rating: Everyone Web: Empireinteractive.com

SEGA has always been on top of their sports games and this one is no exception. Virtua Tennis has some history behind it: first released as a coin-op, then on the very underrated Dreamcast (VT-2 DC version is out), and finally for the PC. 90% of the time a console-to-PC port is a waste of time and money, but this sports title is in the 10% that make it worthwhile. Strangelite has made a very close conversion — there are few things missing from the original Dreamcast version, but there’s not much to complain about since the overall feel is there.

There are 7 characters to choose from; Thomas Johansson, Yevgeny Kafelnikov and Jim Courier, to name a few.

Unfortunately the game doesn’t have any female players… I would have loved to pick Kournikova (is it me or do all the Russian athletes look the same? I mean, just look at Bure and Bauil… the resemblance is scary) and kick Courier’s fucking ass all over the clay.

A variety of different game modes spice things up a bit: arcade, tournament, and championship. You can even play over LAN with up to 4 computers hooked up… but, sorry bitches, no internet play! Championship mode takes you through a series of training and practice courts, as you earn prize money which buys you better equipment, new shirts and even different doubles partners. Unlocking different tennis superstars also allows you to use them in the each of the different modes of play. For your controls, all you need is one button and the directional pad, and trust me, the shit works great.

Virtua Tennis is a damn good game. The graphics, game physics and the controls are fucking mint. I’m not a tennis fan by any means, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying this one.

Eye Candy: 4.5 Tunes: 3 Gameplay: 4 Chill Factor: 4.5 Verdict: Finally, a great tennis game for the PC.

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F

or quite some time now, Vancouver has enjoyed referring to itself as “Hollywood North.” Even though David Duchovny dissed us and ran away from the rain, taking “The X Files” with him, there’s been enough filming going on here to incite the wrath of Americans who claim we are unfairly stealing their production jobs, and doing a bad job at that. However, film plays an important role in another industry that is growing in our city, one that has most likely already altered your mood on at least a couple of nights.

Vancouver’s visuals companies are now active at many of our clubs, parties and even restaurants, bringing our city into the company of metropolises such as London, San Francisco and Tokyo. This underground industry is already moving into the mainstream, and Vancouver’s creative talent is helping lead the way.

Visual shows are familiar to most of us who have seen big rock concerts, but this media first became popular in the ‘60s with the work of psychedelic experimentalists such as Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead. Many people today associate visuals with the rave scene, and those computer-generated morphing images designed to help you trip out are the direct descendants of the psychedelic age. Today’s parties offer a lot more visual stimulation than ever before, with slide, video and film projectors throwing visual art off walls, screens and any other available surface. Smart lights flash in time to the beat, and even the ceilings become part of the canvas. And this phenomenon isn’t just restricted to raves… it’s even been known to visit The Brickyard on occasion. Where did this wealth of visual expression come from, and how did it blossom in No Fun City, of all places?

Konstantinos Mavromichalis of Urban Visuals is one of Vancouver’s original visual innovators.

Mavromichalis came here from Victoria in ’93 with an arts degree in painting and philosophy, and was first exposed to DJ culture at a friend’s warehouse party. Seeing what passed for visuals then – one guy and his slide projector – totally inspired him in a way that the

standard gallery go-round did not.

Mavromichalis saw an opportunity to join a progressive, growing culture and develop his own artistic style along with it. For him, creating visuals was at first “a vehicle of experimentation where someone else was footing the bill,” and since then he has worked around the world spending an extensive period working in London’s club scene, acquiring the knowledge that helped create the visuals industry in Vancouver as we know it today. Urban Visuals now occupies a huge studio space (a former brothel) complete with a screening room, music studio, editing suite, dedicated web server, and video archive.

Since Urban Visuals and other early pioneers began 10 years ago, visual companies have proliferated in Vancouver, making our city somewhat unique.

As Tim Hill of Elastic Visuals puts it, there are now so many out there, “you can’t swing a dead projector without hitting one.” Laird Salton of Light Year adds that all you need these days is “a few thousand bucks, the will and the interest, and you’re off and running.”

Most attribute this phenomenon to two factors: first, editing programs and equipment like video projectors have suddenly become much more affordable, and second, Vancouver is inherently focused toward the image.

Although these visual craftsmen use a lot of video, slides and 16mm film, they usually come from art or music backgrounds and pick up their technical knowledge along the way. Elastic Visuals’ Tim Hill learned the job in one night from a guy called Triptomine Beacon in Eugene, Oregon, and then jumped in on tour with the band Downlow when its own visuals guy was unexpectedly hospitalized. “Cable rape is one of my main sources of visual fun. The other would be taking the video camera out… for me patterns crop up, then I grab them and manipulate them and try to extend them.”

Elastic Visuals is rare in that they work extensively in partnership with their own lighting professional, Sean Conner, of the firm xzyzx.

Light Year is another “second wave” company, which began as an artistic collaboration between four friends

about two years ago. Light Year’s members found that what was being produced didn’t meet their own needs for work that was “stylish, soft, and classy,” so they started producing their own. Salton notes that besides technical skills, visual companies need a range of strengths, from people skills to business aptitude to garden variety old physical strength – those projectors can get heavy. You also need “the ability to envision what you want to see and then to go through the process of making that footage happen.”

While visuals may have been born from the rave scene, established companies like Urban and Light Year are moving out of the warehouse into clubs and other events. Mavromichalis calls raves “a production nightmare… so unprofessional, so dodgy.” And though the larger market for visuals and accompanying competition has brought out much creativity, it’s also led to much copying and undercutting. Being among the first on the scene, Mavromichalis and Urban have had to deal with these problems often. “I once said to one of our competitors, ‘Just once, could you take a look at what we’re not doing and do that?’” Mavromichalis sees a real need for innovation rather than emulation, and a broadening of the spectrum of what’s being created. What he would like to see happen now in Vancouver is for visual companies to voluntarily organize a sort of artistic guild, with accent placed firmly on the craft. “I hope that people recognize that it is a craft and keep honing it, not trying to emulate but finding their own identity, take pride, and don’t do work for cheap.”

Check out the following web sites for images and more info: www.urbanvisuals.com www.elasticvisuals.com www.mediumevents.com

by Elizabeth Nolan

50 Ways to Spoil a Ballot

H

ey kids! Don’t restrict yourself to using these versatile techniques just for the Native Land Claims Referendum Ballot. KEY TIP: sign the ballot before you begin, and wear protective gear when stuffing the envelope (you’ll soon see why)!

Wipe your ass with it.

Wipe your friend’s ass with it.

Go to a convalescent home and wipe the elderly and infirm asses you find there with it.

Lay it across a puddle to prevent a lady from getting her feet wet.

Use it to mop up a molasses spill.

Use it to mop up a napalm spill.

Use it to blow noses at daycare.

Use it to put blow up noses.

Pin it up on one of the many fine dartboards at pubs and bars around BC. Line your bird’s cage with it.

Wrap fish with it.

Spit your old gum in it.

Poke pinholes in it, hold it over your eyes and watch a solar eclipse with it.

Kill bugs with it.

Scoop out your kitty’s litter box with it.

Housetrain your new puppy by teaching him to pee on it.

Housetrain your drunk friend by teaching him to pee on it.

Drive to your nearest reserve and invite large groups of native people to pee on it.

Back your car over it. (Repeat as desired.)

Drive to your nearest reserve and invite native people to back their cars over it.

Go to the gym and wipe off the sweaty equipment with it.

Go into a public restroom and wipe off the wet toilet seat with it.

Go into an airline restroom and wipe off the wet floor with it.

Go to a triple X movie theatre and wipe off the sticky floor with it.

Watch a sappy movie and wipe your tears on it.

Watch a triple X movie and wipe your intimate fluids on it. (Ladies, we know you have fluids to share as well!)

Line a baking sheet with it and make a nice strudel.

Line a baking sheet with it and make some nice baklava.

Line a baking sheet with it and make some nice shortbread for the holidays.

Line a baking sheet with it and make some nice macaroons for Passover. (Or anytime — they’re kosher!)

Police Auction!

S

pring is finally here and soon garage sale season will be in full swing. There’s nothing like getting useful stuff for a good price. Then again, there’s nothing better than getting it for free.

That’s why I always keep an eye out whenever strolling down the street or any back alley. It’s great to score junk you’d never in a million years pay money for.

That’s why I was a bit skeptical when Derek, my roommate, came home all excited about a Police Auction up the street at our local community centre. He’d heard that these “cop auctions” were a good way to get cheap stuff, so being a cheap bastard himself, and in the market for a bicycle, he figured he’d check it out.

He plunked down an enormous 100 page brick of foolscap (double-sided) on the kitchen table, cataloguing every item to be sold the following day.

Organized into ‘lots,’ the catalogue contained a tremendously long list of stuff. The lots were haphazardly assembled into rag-tag combinations of merchandise that offered an ugly glimpse into the world of police search and seizure. Lot 856 consisted of a wet suit, a rain jacket, a Nikon camera and a golf bag. Lot 573 was 2 statues, a printer, 3 figurines, a camera with lens, and a wallet. Our favourite, however, was the captivating combination that was Lot 335. It contained three VCRs, a telephone, 20 movies, a drill bit set, a component stereo and one stuffed duck. By the time we finished perusing all hundred and ten pages, we were convinced – we had to go.

At 7 am the next morning, Derek trooped down to eyeball the merchandise at the pre-auction viewing. By the time the rest of us got our sorry asses out of bed it was too late to pre-inspect the cops’ collection of fine stuff. (I would later pinpoint this as our first error).

Over coffee, we each assessed our needs. I was in the market for a functioning VCR. My buddy Nathan had his eye out for a cordless phone. Rob wanted an amp.

Breakfast and fifteen cups of coffee later, we were stoked and ready to do some bidding.

The auction was being held in the hockey arena half of the

facility. The arena floor was covered in folding chairs, with barely an empty one in sight. It was obvious this was a hot Saturday afternoon ticket. We tried to get as close to the front as possible, hoping to catch a glimpse of the merchandise as it came up for bid. We hooted and hollered over lots containing 500 pairs of sunglasses, ten perfume gift sets and dozens of men’s tennis shoes. We checked our catalogue in anticipation of the next great bargain. Sadly, we were out-bid in our attempt to procure the stuffed duck of Lot 335.

Ultimately, I landed a bid and captured Lot 432. It promised a 19 inch TV, three VCRs and two ghetto blaster/CD players. My roommate Derek got his bike (well, actually three of them), Nathan scored an extra TV/VCR with his cordless phone, and I picked up an SLR camera for good measure. Rob bid on and won a very exciting “box of stuff”.

We were all having a great time. Looking back, I recall it being a beautiful spring day as we nattered on like a bunch of old ladies bargain hunting at the Saturday flea market. I also recall the ominous undertone that began to set in just after the bidding frenzy subsided. I think it had to do with the strange nature of the police auction. Common sense would indicate that all this stuff was just unclaimed stolen items and seized possessions from busted drug dealers and car thieves. What I couldn’t understand was how it felt more like a Gestapo-style garage sale where they demanded your Visa number at gun-point and stationed cops at every pick-up window. This was a police auction! Police are the good guys!

What was there to worry about?

At the cash-out, we began to realize the severity of the situation. With a 15% service charge, our bill came to well over $1500. Fifteen hundred bucks and we hadn’t even seen the stuff yet! We dutifully paid up. After all, it was going to be worth it, right?

At the pick-up counter, we began to resent the reality.

Buttons were broken and plastic casings were cracked. The bikes had no gears or brake cables, and not one single electrical appliance had a power cord. After getting everything home, we discovered that 2 of my 3 VCRs didn’t work, the CD players all skipped, and Nathan’s TV went from green to blue to black. The “box of stuff” (an object of so much anticipation) contained odd parts from three broken video games, some ugly pink key-chains and thirty-five bad CDs. The merchandise was downright shit! I’d found better junk abandoned in the middle of the sidewalk. The

Line a baking sheet with it and make some nice pot cookies.

Use it in place of a funnel when mixing chemicals in your meth lab.

Lightly scorch the edges of it to simulate the look of ancient document.

Use it to apply a unique faux finish to newly painted walls.

Tear it in strips, apply papier maché glue and wrap it around a balloon to make a spooky mask for dressing up. (Don’t forget the eye holes!)

Fold it to shim a wobbly table.

Fold it into an origami crane.

Crumple it into a ball and make an origami ball.

Rip it in half and fold it into an origami replica of the World Trade Centre.

Fold it into a Concorde.

Glue it to a balsa wood frame, attach string and fly it as a box kite.

Use it to write a list of all the sex partners you’ve ever had.

Use it to write the story of when you lost your cherry.

Use it to write a list of all the nicknames your partners have had for their genitalia.

Use it to tally up your weekly/monthly/yearly alcohol and drug consumption. (Guesstimate!)

Use it to write a short story or poem with graphic sexual content and/or mature themes.

Use it to write a short story about poo and pee.

(Unlike #46, this story may involve children).

Use it to write a short story about an evil premier who steals from the poor and gives to the rich and tries to make all his constituents unwilling co- conspirators in his racist agenda by forcing an unconstitutional referendum ballot on them, thus cleaving the population into two opposing camps for all eternity.

Use it to write a short story about an evil premier who dies and receives his karmic comeuppance when he is reincarnated as a Caucasian mime working in Harlem whose repertoire consists only of the “Macarena”. He endures senseless beatings every day from morning till night. (Since this is such a happy story, it would also make good bedtime reading for the kids).

Hock a big honkin’ loogie in it.

And now that you’ve thoroughly wrecked the motherfucker, don’t forget the final step! It can only be counted as a “spoiled” ballot if it you sign it and mail it, so do your part to fuck with shit, people…it’s your solemn duty as citizens of Nerveland! You know you want to, so in keeping with the theme of this issue, just imagine the ballot is a hotel room and you’re a coked-up, out-of-control metal band… need I say more? civixen@thenerveonline.com

A True Story (May it Serve as a Warning for Others)

truth began to slowly dawn on us: we’d just been ripped off by the cops!

What a piss-off!

Not only did none of us like cops to begin with (who does?), but we had just been taken to the cleaners by them! In addition, I’m sure thousands (if not millions) of people get suckered in by police auctions every week-end without so much as a “get out of your next speeding ticket free” card.

But what were we going to do? They’re fucking cops! All we could do was laugh at ourselves. We laughed long and hard. We laughed so much at our stupidity that the only thing left to do was take a picture of ourselves joyously celebrating our newly acquired king’s ransom worth of junk.

It was at the apex of our disenchantment when the gracious Lord threw us a bone. A close inspection of Nathan’s cordless phone (to determine how severely it was beyond repair) revealed a hidden compartment, out of which fell six tiny Chiclet-sized paper envelopes. Befuddled, we thought it odd that someone would hide such well-crafted origami. It took a couple of seconds, but slowly it began to dawn on us what those little envelopes might contain.

nap in the car. It wasn’t how cocaine is supposed to feel. Eventually I couldn’t even keep my eyes open. It became obvious to all that it hadn’t been cocaine we had snorted back home on the coffee table.

We had been snorting something else... I think it might have been heroin.

Well, talk about a downer. No longer in a party mood, we left the neighbourhood past a puddle of Rob’s puke still fresh on the front lawn. Back at home, we mulled over the day’s ups and downs. It seemed like that Saturday we had thrown every ounce of common sense out the window in order to ride a rollercoaster of extreme highs and lows.

And because of it, God came down and spoke to us through a cheap plastic telephone.

His revelation went like this: “boys, it’s important to be

calm at an auction, so think twice before that bidding adrenaline kicks in and turns your savvy bargain-hunting self into a card-flashing, hand-raising idiot with more money than sense.” We all agreed.

God continued, “you should all realize by now that under no circumstances should you ever, EVER trust the police.” This was evident by now.

Finally, he added, “and about the taking drugs about which you know nothing? Well, let me add that in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.”

Sean Diamond

Carefully, as if avoiding the probing eye of the law, I took one and unwrapped it. Everyone in the room was silent. My hand was shaking.

Out onto a book cascaded a soft, white powder… it was drugs. What kind of drugs, we wondered? Who the fuck cared!

All that mattered was that we had gone to a police auction and they had sold us drugs! What a red-letter day! I couldn’t wait to tell my parents!

Rob hooted and hollered and did a silly jig around the living room. It was payback time! We were about to get good and high on cocaine, compliments of the Vancouver Police Department!

By this time, nobody was going to stop us. We were primed and ready (not to mention deserving) of a wild and crazy Saturday night… and where better to go than to Bart Simpson’s birthday party! So, out we headed on police-sponsored coke to attend a birthday party for Bart Simpson. It’s hard to imagine a more perfect ending to the day.

Crammed into the car, I started to get the shivers halfway across town. The lines we snorted at home were beginning to kick in, and everyone was getting a little jumpy. We hit the party raging. The entire house appeared to be in a fog. It was difficult to see anybody’s face. After a circuit or two, I was feeling a little sleepy. Rob had gone out to have a

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The War on drugs

What About Better Ideas?

On May 1st, 2002, Vancouver will host the IDEA (International Drug Education and Awarness) Symposium Against Drug Liberalization. They intend to ‘examine’ Canada’s permissive drug policies. David Malmo Levine is a prominent activist, Marijuana Party candidate and local organizer of Good Ideas – Bad Ideas, a counter conference that will held on that same day.

“Basically, the Ideas group, which is a front for Partnership for Drug Free America and Drug Free America Inc. (DFA), these big ‘treatment’ corporations in the US, are pushing their anti-autonomy, pro-prohibition ideas into the media using this conference,” explains Levine. “Their treatment programs are very abusive. Instead of saying O.K. you have a drug problem, maybe you should try abstinence or moderation… instead of common sense things like that, they have humiliation programs.”

DFA is the reincarnation of Straight Incorporated, a youth mind control program that used emotional and physical abuse of the worst kind and left behind a trail of survivors that are now fighting back. Here’s what one of them says about Straight Inc.’s ‘tough love’: “I was forced to hold an enema in my hand and stand for about an hour and a half, the attention being focused on me, and about every ten minutes I was told how I was full of crap, how I needed to be flushed out” says Lucy Moore. This is far from an isolated case. Levine adds, “it seems more like a torture chamber kind of S&M thing for people who are drug supremacists. They like their coffee, alcohol and tobacco and think that’s fine but if people choose a safer, cheaper, more effective herb, they have to be beaten and tortured and humiliated out of it.” When Straight Inc.’s practices came under fire in the late 80s, most of their treatment centers closed down but simply reopened under different names with all the same executives involved. Although some survivors got cash settlements, no Straight executives ever got busted and, to this day, they refuse to apologize.

“They should get a life. I am proud of everything we have done. There’s nothing to apologize for,” states Betty Sembler, founder of Straight and DFA. Today, DFA receives government money and assistance, although the humiliation programs are still the norm rather then the exception.

“The DFA are mostly large companies such as alcohol, tobacco, pharmaceutical, caffeine and sugar, and are funding a lot of these programs and pushing and manipulating politicians into doing nasty things. Basically you have all these drug companies combining with justice and defense industries and the industrial hemp substitute industries – energy and oil, petrochemicals, building, construction, timber, cotton – they all get together and oppress

6

everyone else; the farmers, the gardeners, the happy, relaxed people, which are most of us,” continues Levine. “They are against new technologies that would challenge their industries. They are against evolution.

It’s a monopoly and a protection racket.”

And these people with such illustrious backgrounds are coming to Vansterdam to spread their prohibitionist propaganda. “So we’re using their occasion to spread the accurate information. We don’t fight them with hate, we fight them with information,” exclaims Levine.

With recent drug war events such as the Drug Enforcement Agency’s disregard of med-pot propositions passed by democratic vote in seven U.S. states (i.e. California’s Prop. 215), the DEA’s increased collaboration with the RCMP in Canada, the growing harassment of activists and medpot users, and particularly the new “drugs finance terrorism” mantra since 9-11, the future might look pretty grim. But there are a growing number of positive events that shine a brighter light on the future. People are speaking out, exposing hypocrisy using hard evidence. The CIA is under pressure as mounting evidence shows their involvement in drug smuggling. Levine thinks that the drugs/terror scam is over. “The cartoons are already coming out against it by the truckload, such as one depicting a little granny gardening and saying ‘if you wanna fight terrorism, grow your own’.”

David Malmo Levine is definitely optimistic. “Well, you don’t last too long as an activist pessimist, so I generally try to focus on the positive possibilities. I’d like to see the whole world turning into Amsterdam or Denmark rather then Washington D.C. or Singapore. More cafés. I’d like to see cafés do for democracy what coffee houses did in Europe in the 1600s for change from monarchy to representative democracy.”

May 4th is Liberation Day, the Million Marijuana March. This annual event has been steadily growing over its ten years of existence to the point where this year, people around the globe are taking part in to march against intolerance. In total, a million people are expected to participate. “In Vancouver, it starts at the Art Gallery at 2 pm and then we march down to the U.S. Consulate and have a rock concert on their doorstep, puff big joints, dance around and write slogans with chalk all over the place. We’ll have fun”.

Levine concludes, “this war has been going on for a long time, and the more people chip in now and try to fight it and end it, the sooner humans will evolve to a species that doesn’t monopolize, that doesn’t scapegoat.”

David Malmo Levine is the host of the show “High Society” on Pot TV. www.pot-tv.net For further reading/viewing/surfing: Crack the CIA (a five-minute movie on the Guerilla News Network, exposing CIA involvement in drug smuggling) www.ideas-canada.ca, www.cannabisculture.com www.straightinc.homestead.com.

Bomb Voyage!

A Going Away Party To Afghanistan

“Perhaps you’ve missed a news flash,” I inform Karen, my old friend from college, over the phone, “but Americans aren’t exactly the toast of the town over there in Afghanistan. You could get hurt kidnapped or killed!”

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen,” she chides, brushing my concerns aside. “Kabul is totally Disneyland for the UN right now. They even have an Olympic-sized swimming pool at headquarters, which, I might add, I bought the perfect bikini for!”

“Hope it has a clip-on chador.”

“Borrrrring,” she says. “Look, I assure you that I’ll be perfectly safe. And if Osama happens to crawl out of his cave to catch an eyeful, then I’ll be a national hero too.”

Or national tragedy, I’m about to say, but manage to hold my tongue.

“Anyways, hon – love to sit here and massage your paranoia, but I do have a going away party to attend, and it happens to be in my honour.”

“Just tell me again - why are you really going to Afghanistan? Why?” “I’ve told you a million times: Afghan men.”

Karen is the consummate party girl. She’s the dance-on-the-barstool drunk, the outrageous cigarette-smoking prankster, the raunchy sex storyteller. Even at her “very serious” job, where she successfully raises money for anti-poverty organizations in the New York area, she manages to put the good times first, using advanced flirting techniques and martini lunches to cajole millionaires into throwing cash at worthy causes. Karen is wholly committed to the philosophy that “people just want a good time,” and with her fiery red hair, wild green eyes and high-octane sense of humour, she gives prospective donors exactly what they want, and gets the job done in the process.

But Karen seems to have done her job a bit too well this time. See, she’s been promoted —- to Afghanistan.

The United Nations is “borrowing” her for a six month stint in Kabul, where Karen’s well-known powers of persuasion will be put to use trying to convince Hamid Karzai and his interim Afghan government to put social issues like healthcare, education, and poverty-alleviation at the top of their political agenda. Now, stop, ‘cause I know what you’re thinking: ‘oh, like some lefty white girl with good social skills is going to save Afghanistan – that’s sooo Hideous Kinky… ’ Fair enough. And, given America’s history of “helping” developing countries, Karen is probably just a cog in some larger U.S. machine scheming to put a Starbucks in every mosque. Karen, however, is the first to acknowledge this. “I don’t even speak the language, let alone know the customs,” she says, “how am I supposed to accomplish anything real in only six months?”

So I ask her again, over and over again because she is usually so thorough with her responses about serious issues: “Why do you have to go?

Especially when things are going so well for you here in New York. Why go? Why?” But this time, instead of a joke, she offers me a promise: “just show up tonight early and I’ll explain the whole thing,” she says.

The place is called Sugar.

Located in a yuppified-slum in Lower Manhattan, with all the steaming potholes, dark graffiti’d alleys and eerily abandoned warehouses of a post-apocalyptic war movie, Sugar is what you might call a bomb shelter for bombshells. Its secret entrance is found through a back alleyway that opens into a long empty hallway, which leads to a hidden elevator that carries you to the basement and into a small room where, instead of wartime provisions, there is a full bar, red disco lights and dozens of model-hot women in tight outfits splayed out on white leather couches, smoking over lip-shaped ashtrays, and bopping

and grinding to Barry White’s “Baby Make Love To Me” on the makeshift dance floor. I am in the process of wiping the drool off my chin when I hear a familiar voice that owes me a few answers.

“You’re late, Oliver,” says Karen, planting a kiss on my cheek.

“It looks like I’m just in time – helloooooo ladies!”

“Keep your pants on, big guy. I’ve got some people that I want you to meet” “Just remember,” I remind her. “You promised to answer my question seriously.”

“Just shut up and walk.”

Karen leads me across the dance floor towards a group of women poised in a tight circle. I recognize only one of them, Melanie Rudnick, an Elvira look-alike with pale skin, jet-black hair and melon-esque boobs that I’ve been trying to get my hands on forever. Amazingly, she seems excited to see me.

“Jeffrey Oliver!” she cries, landing a boob-heavy hug in my face. “I can’t believe it’s really you!

Where have you been? I’ve totally been meaning to call you.”

“You have?” I’m shocked. She never showed the slightest interest in me before.

“Of course!” she says, with a toothy grin, “I was just thinking about you!”

“Well I’ve been pretty busy lately,” I lie, playing it cool.

“I bet you have. And so have I…” she lifts her arm, and, convinced that she’s leaning in for another boob-hug I lean in too, but am blocked, Heismann-style, by her hand. On her finger, I notice belatedly, is a huge diamond ring.

“I got married!” she exclaims.

“You did what?” I say, exasperated.

“I got married! Meet my husband, Fred.”

“Hey dude,” a fat bald guy in plaid slaps me on the back. “Whass’up?”

“Uh, hi – um- you’re, um, Melanie’s husband?”

“Eight months today!” Melanie exclaims, and flashes her ring again. “We’re part of the September 11th marriages.”

“September 11th marriages?”

“Yes. September 11th marriages,” Karen repeats emphatically, as if I should take note.

“Sure,” Fred explains. “The government was cracking down on citizenship after nine-eleven and Melanie’s visa was expiring. So we ran off to city hall and eloped.”

“Sherry did the exact same thing!” Melanie bubbles. “Hey Sherry, meet Jeff.”

A plump woman in horned rimmed glasses and a brooch turns in unison with her pencil-necked husband Mitch, to greet me. “Hi.” “Hi.” “Jeff is my single friend,” Karen introduces me.

“Oh,” the couple says curtly, like ‘single’ is some rare disease. “Well, you should find someone!”

Sherry suggests, squeezing her husband’s Twizzler bicep.

“Yeah,” agrees Mitch, “I couldn’t be happier being out of the game.”

“Unless?” Sherry jabs him in the ribs. “Continue, honey.”

Mitch does: “Unless… we were a September 11th pregnancy.”

“Very good!” his wife actually says. Then she leans forwards and whispers to me, “his doctor told him to ‘think baby’. Osmosis is the newest thing in male fertility, as you may know.”

“I wasn’t aware,” I admit, and trade squeamish glances with Mitch the Bitch.

“The real September 11th pregnancies are over there,” Karen injects and with a sweeping gesture points out five very pregnant women standing next to the air conditioner. “Come meet them!”

She takes me by the elbow. “Ladies, this is Single Jeff,” she introduces me. “Jeff - this is Linda, Sari, Monica, Fran, and Cheryl - all September 11th pregnancies!”

“Um. Hi, er… congratulations?” They seem pleased by this starter, and take it as a prompt to begin some kind of group testimonial about the joys of pregnancy.

“Arnold and I just felt that it was the right time,” the first woman, Linda, says.

“We wanted a family, and blammo! I’m preggo!” brags Sari, the second.

“We couldn’t be happier,” informs the third, rubbing her tummy. “Baby time!”

“Wow— I think I need a drink,” I say.

“You do?” Preggo Lori says. “You know, I stopped drinking altogether since the baby, and I haven’t even craved one since.”

“Me neither!” informs an elated Preggo Fran.

“Even Todd stopped drinking – it was his big September 11th resolution.”

“September 11th resolution?” I’m baffled.

“Of course! Surely you’ve made one. I mean, when something as big as September 11th happens, it gets you to think about your priorities.

Commitments. I realized that I wanted to have kids. Melanie and Fred realized that they wanted to get married. I know that you’re single, Jeff, but I’m sure that you’ve intensified your search for that special someone in the last eight months.

Maybe Internet dating? Or classified ads?”

“I assure you that I never…”

“It’s nothing to feel ashamed about!” Preggo Sari chimes in. “Ronald and I met on jdate.com. It’s totally natural. When the threat of war comes to us, we are genetically programmed to couple and reproduce. And if we have fun along the way, then it’s to our advantage, too. Right girls?”

“Right Sari,” they all sing.

“So, Single Jeff, why don’t you let us find you a nice girl tonight?” They giggle and scheme.

“Yeah! I know plenty of single girls who would be perfect…”

“Thanks,” I say, defensively, “but I’m only here to ask Karen some questions…”

“SORRY LADIES,” Karen bursts in, saving my life, “but I gotta borrow this guy for a brief moment. I’ll send him back.” She grabs my arm and wrestles me away from Preggo Lori, whom I hear over my shoulder saying “maybe he’s gay?”

“Whew,” I say. “That was scary stuff.”

“It’s only the beginning my friend,” Karen says.

“Only the beginning. I hope you don’t mind if I’m playing a bit of ‘Ghost Of Christmas Future’ with you, but I wanted you to see for yourself what I’m surrounded by all day at work. All those crazy women – all they talk about is their marriages and their babies and how it coincides with September 11th. They almost had me convinced that I was infertile the other day because of the attacks. I mean, I almost became one of them.”

“A September 11th pregnancy?”

“A September 11th pregnancy,” Karen says soberly. “But not only that; we’re talking full-blown

September 11th addiction. I mean, maybe this is unique to people working in Manhattan, but everyone here has attached their personality to the terrorist attacks in some way – literally defining their life’s identity though nine-eleven.”

“You can’t be serious…”

“Oh, I am! Take a look over there, for instance, on the far couch. See that group of sad-asses in corduroy pants, smoking American Spirits?”

“Yeah.”

“September 11th layoffs. All of those people are unemployed because the economy crashed after the attacks. Now they sit around and commiserate about what those nasty terrorists did to them. Like it’s Osama’s fault that they suck.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m not done. See that pair in the black suits?

Stocks crashed September 11th – they’re both broke. See that nerdy girl in the pink sweater?

Parents got divorced because her dad had a post-September 11th affair. And that guy – with the goatee? He was this close to selling a major screenplay about an attack on the World Trade Center before it actually happened – when it did, the buyers pulled out and he hasn’t written a word since.”

“Jesus.”

“I could go on – I mean there’s at least two women here who got VD from September 11th firemen.

Do you want to meet them?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“What I’m trying to say is that everyone here is feeling sorry for themselves, ignoring the larger picture, and I’m afraid that I’m getting sucked into that too. I mean, those married duds are the lucky ones - although they’re still victims of their supposed ‘genetic programming’.”

“So what you’re telling me is…?”

“What I’m trying to say, moron,” she says, “is that going to Afghanistan is at least something.”

“I see it!” I say, epiphany achieved. “I mean, I think I understand! You’re going to Afghanistan because you want to be part of some kind of healing process that most New Yorkers haven’t yet been selfless enough to take part in. September 11th was supposed to have made Americans more soulful but all you see is more pettiness and self-centredness and you’re sick of it so you need to take a step back from your own culture and take a sober look within. Is that it? Is that the answer?

Is that why you’re going to Afghanistan, Karen, is that really why?!”

“Nope,” she says, turning her back to me, “I’m going for the Afghan men.”

7

Unearthing Vancouver’s Live Scene, Nerve Style For Bands and Fans

The Cobalt 917 Main St. 604-255-2088 Vancouver’s only full-time hardcore bar.

Celebrating their 2nd Anniversary as a live venue in May, we’re all looking forward to another year of kick ass punk rock. With $1.75 highballs for punk rock bingo Thursdays and all drinks under $5 on a regular basis, it is the cheapest place to grab a drink and see a band.

Rumours of a Cobalt patio this summer have the kids excited. Contact Fullbore Hardcore (Wendy) 255-2088 for info and bookings.

Live music Wench Wednesdays (ladies free) through to Sat. Hotrod Scaryoke on Sun, Man of Death movies on Monday 8pm - no cover, FREE Popcorn - and Tuesdays are an open jam. Cover generally $5.

Purple Onion 15 Water St. 604-602-9442 A handful of people have been trying (and still are) to make a go at successful live music promoting at the Purple Onion. At last gander, Juleika Mathe was doing most of the booking.

The Onion is really two bars in one, the lounge and the big room, which is actually, sound-wise, a great live room with good sightlines. Live bands play in both rooms. The bleed can be annoying at times, but for the most part, it works. However, when you run a coochie bar on weekends and try to have people take you seriously as a live venue the other half of the time, in my experience, it don’t work. But then again, not all clubs who try this have the unique set-up that the Onion has. Drinks are dance club prices (a Caucasian weighs in at over $7) but they got some tasty martinis going on. Oh yeah, leave your weapons at home, chances of packing heat up those stairs before the bouncer with the headset radios the top floor are pretty close to nil.

The Railway Club 579 Dunsmuir 604-681-1625 Another staple of the Vancouver live scene.

The Railway Club, another oddly shaped Vancouver live venue, is a great place to go for an afternoon pint or catch a wide variety of bands. Real friendly folk too. Contact Janet Forsyth for the skinny on the ninny.

Membership is $10 a year, if you didn’t already know.

The Marine Club 573 Homer 604-683-1720 A long-standing venue dedicated to live music and local talent. Highly recommended for rockabilly and good times. Booking a gig here is fairly straightforward: call Reece and ask him. If you sell some booze, well, maybe you can play there again. Promoting of the shows falls mostly on the band’s shoulders and cover is generally five bones. A long and cozy room with that rare old basement bar feel that you can’t find in too many places anymore. I’ve found myself there a lot these days. Keep an eye on the listings, the place seems to be picking up more action these days. I mean, hell,

8

Deadbolt is playing there in May. The Piccadilly Pub 620 Pender St. 604-682-3221 I can only say great things about this place these days. This year a lot of the shows that would have been destined for the Starfish Room, you will now see packed into The Piccadilly (the most misspelled bar in Vancouver).

Steve Chase of Fireball Productions has consistently brought us great out-of-town an acts and is friendly to local talent both known and otherwise. The club recently won an extension to their liquor license which allows them to serve till 1 a.m. ( I say ‘won’ because getting that kind of thing approved in this city is literally like going to war) Another long, narrow bar, but what it lacks in space it sure as fuck makes up for in vibe. You can’t help but be involved in the action at the Pic because, hell, you gotta walk right past the guitar player to take a piss.

Longtime soundman Myk Shaflik, who brought us Sound by Volume Fridays recently quit the gig to pursue his music career with his band Catapult. He will be missed. Sound By Volume will continue showcasing new talent on Indy Tuesdays. Contact soundbyvolume@ shaw.ca The Croatian Cultural Centre 3250 Commercial Dr. 604-879-0154 croatianculturalcentrevancouver.com The Croatian Cultural Centre is the biggest ‘all-ages optional’ show spot in Vancouver.

You can still buy drinks at most of the larger shows, but the bar is in a separate room where you can’t see the band. It is a self-booking deal and there are many variations and prices depending on who you are and the type of show you want to do. They’ve recently installed a complete in-house sound (by Rocky Mountain Sound) and lighting systems in the two main rooms. Auditorium 1 has a standing capacity of 1300 people, 300 more than the Commodore (so we ain’t talkin’ cramped space), and Room 2 can hold 400 standing. Both rooms come with optional sound guy and have full stages and full bar options. They have set up beer gardens for all-ages shows, but, according to management, it’s only worth doing for the larger shows. It’s not available Wednesdays because they got bingo going on. Joe Vukelic is the manager and the guy to talk to. He’s a very flexible and accommodating fella, but the auditoriums ain’t cheap, so don’t waste their time unless you’ve got your shit together.

Grandview Legion/Auditorium 2205 Commercial Dr. 604-377-1394 Things have been pretty quiet around this all-ages venue so far this year. Bitchy neighbors complained enough about noisy kids running around and pissing on their flowers to have the management decide that it wasn’t worth the hassle and the heat. Now, apparently, you’ll need a business license if you want to rent the hall. Chad Norman and The Nerve

are trying again with Death Sentence and friends on May 18th. Let’s hope this means things have cooled down some and we can see the kids getting’ more of that rock n’ roll action.

The Wise Hall Adanac St. 604-254-5858 A good size hall for rent. 250 people capacity.

Deposit is required to secure a date and there is the usual contract to sign. Shows pretty much end at 1 am. You don’t have to be a member to rent the hall, but it is cheaper if you are. For a small extra charge, they’ve got 2 sound systems to pick from, priced accordingly. Non-member prices are $240 for weekday evenings, weekends $320. They offer deals like rent rebates on decent bar sales. Contact Megan for specifics.

The Main 4210 Main St. 604-709-8555 Floating just under the radar, The Main is another small venue new to the live scene with some good eats as well. Catering mostly to solo acts, lit. events, duos (musical, that is), folky stuff but also some full size acts, there are things going on Wednesday thru Sunday.

For booking contact Amy Honey at amyhunny@hotmail.com.

The Sugar Refinery 1115 Granville St. 604-331-1184 (new number) This place does the best job at being impossible to categorize. I’ve seen everything from experimental noise/jazz bands to hard ass punk acts play there. There’s somethin’ a brewin’ pretty much every night at the Refinery. Open late. Great veg. food, great perogies, no two chairs alike and Storm beer on tap. One of the few cool places left on Granville. Contact Ida for booking. Made for the art bone in your body.

Brickyard 315 Carrall St. 604-685-3922 If there was ever a sad fucking story for a formerly great venue… anybody living in this town for more than 3 years has some great memories of some amazing shows: Supersuckers, The Makers, Gaza Strippers, Deadbolt… that was, of course, before the Russians took over. It is the opinion of this writer that they’ve fucked over a lot of good people and until the current owners sell the place, no good will return to this room. Don’t go there, don’t play there, and just maybe we can speed up that process.

Mesa Luna whap.ca 1926 W. Broadway 604-733-5862 Monday nights are the only live night here. In May they will be doing a split: 2 bands before 10:00 pm for the underage crowd (most shows $4 ) and 2 bands after (with bar) thing.

They’ve also got a full kitchen that’s open till

11 pm. Look for coupons on handbills for a $2 off on cover deal. Contact Doug at doug@ whap.ca for bookings. They’ve got giveaways at every show including cd’s t-shirts and a $75 tattoo from Ink Bomb. Refer to their website at whap.ca for upcoming shows.

Silvertone Tavern 2733 Commercial Dr. 604-877-2245 Only last year made the switch from pretty much continuous folk to musical tastes that encompass our beloved rock ‘n’ roll. Live entertainment pretty much every night. Fairsized heated patio. Good place for a summer pint. Open to new local acts. Contact Shelly Copan — she is the Tavern’s bookerette.

Ms. T’s Cabaret 339 W. Pender 604-682-8096 Soon to celebrate their 20th anniversary, Ms. T’s is one of the few places in town with a no-risk ‘U-book’ option for new(er) bands. No deposit is necessary and anyone can book a show, providing they bring the PA. Bands keep 100% of the door and are responsible for their own postering, but the club will put the gig in their local weekly music listings.

Tuesdays are 2 step line dancing lessons and they have the odd drag shows for food bank fundraisers. Mark James bought the place about 3 years ago and so far hasn’t made any plans to change the format, so the status quo should be maintained for at least a year. Cozy in that basement rec-room way, it offers decent space for bands and fans alike to have a rip snort of a good time. Contact Donna for bookings. Remember, turn left at the bottom of the stairs… unless youse lookin’ for a rockin’ good time of another kind.

The Anza Club anzaclub.org 3. W. 8th 604-876-7128 Probably one of the best rooms in Vancouver to book your own show, but you need to be a member of the club to do so. Anyone can become a member for a fee. The room isn’t cheap unless you can bring in a hard-drinking crowd to get the rebate from bar sales.

Acoustically, the room can be a bitch to mix well, but there is a house PA available for a charge. Contact Mac for details.

Side Door Bar 2291 W. Broadway 604-733-2821 sidedoor.ca “It doesn’t suck anymore!” is the new slogan of the former Kits frat boy meat market. Local iconoclast Brian Salmi has hired all-new staff and turned the floor over to live music Wednesdays through Saturdays. Booking duties fall to Wretched Rachel and sound duties are handled by Michael. With specials like Blow Jobs for $3.75 (simmer down, it’s a shooter) and a standing capacity of just over a hundred, it’s a nice-sized room for new local talent to showcase, although hardcore bands need not apply. Wednesdays feature house

by A.D.MADGRAS

band Foam Mesh and various guests and Thursdays, Fridays & Saturdays are a mixed bag – they’ve had rockabilly acts, jazz/funk, blues guitar, and up-and-coming hip-hop artists like Swollen Members’ Moka Only. On most live music nights, cover begins at 9 pm at $5 and goes up to $8 after 10. As the only cabaret licence west of Granville, the Side Door provides a refreshing Schizisilano option and a great place to drink and shoot pool right through till 2 am. They’re right… it actually doesn’t suck anymore.

The Royal Hotel 1025 Granville St. 604-685-5335 When I walked into the room on opening night, my first impression was “fuckin’ bout time!” The room, whose sightlines are somewhat marred by fat support beams, is big enough for a fair-sized act, yet small enough not to have 2 bars. Drinks are under $5 (at least last time I checked) and the sound is quite good for a new setup. Live acts most Thursdays. ‘Welfrock Wednesdays,’ the last Wednesday of each month, are soon to be another regular live night. According to bar manager Gus Greer, local acts are encouraged to book their own shows. Most of a house PA exists and they sound accommodating. Let’s hope things fill out and we see more of the good shit happening there.

The Commodore 868 Granville St. Vancouver’s only 1000 person capacity live bar. 4 bars, bouncy floor, yadda, yadda.

Nothing local short of Nickelback really gets a chance to play and, well, who the hell gives a shit? I dunno, Motorhead in May should be cool and The Strokes was rockin’ … but be wary of the random mandatory coat check and body searches when smugglin’ in that mickey of 5 Star.

Richard’s on Richards 1036 Richard’s St. 604-687-6794 What can you really say about Dick’s? In theory, yeah, a great room with some of the best sightlines in the city, but in actuality?…

Booze is way overpriced and the “early show” phenomenon (all because the bar is set up for the canned booty crowd that dominates the weekends) is just damn lame. I’ve seen some great shit there, don’t get me wrong, but somehow I’ve always felt the shows would have been more enjoyable pretty much anywhere else. Good luck getting a good drunk on for under $50. The same bouncers who work the weekend dance crowd work the live shows so expect to be searched for that handgun in your pants. Rumour has it the place is to be cleared in a couple years for some condos. Surprise, surprise.

Millencolin

Croatian Cultural Centre March 22, 2002

I

arrived at about 4:30 for the interview session completely unaware, unprepared and totally sober. Instantly, I started to feel bad for all the kids who had no tickets or had to pay for tickets. I almost gave my guest pass away, but decided to do the next best thing. I found some kid without a ticket and told him that I’d try to get him in as my photographer. Ya know, karma compensation. So there we were... and we waited... for nearly an hour and a half. Damn. I almost blew off the interview for the closest bar but I didn’t. I decided that if I didn’t know what I was doing, I should definitely do it.

Finally, the alleged photographer and I are ushered into a cafeteria-like room.

There is only one other person in the room. I guess that he is the interviewee and we are the fourth crew

shit. I don’t, but it was. The music was not that bad, kind of dub/metal/skaish but I found it boring and uninspired. Apparently so did most of the crowd because the majority of them headed for the beer garden. I stuck it out though. I had the feeling that the next trip to the bar had better be my last. So Homegrown is done and they did a cover of that fucking barbie girl song. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I hate that song. So I am back at the bar, slurring my thoughts, tripping over my drinks and wondering what Millencolin is all about. I blacked out about 5 songs into their set. How’s that for honesty in journalism? Not something you find everyday. The sound was good, the crowd was super hyped and their was mad quantities of marijuana being consumed. From what I caught, the band rocked out. Loud, proud, fast and brash. Punk rock.

Keep it simple. frickinjordan

Hockey Night at the Cobalt The Hanson Bros., The Shittys, Billy the Kid and the Lost Boys

in. The first thing out of my ever so parched mouth is, “do you know where the beer is?”, as there is none in sight. He tells me that there might be some in the dressing room but makes no attempt to get any. Ah well, next question: “aren’t you sick of doing interviews?” To my surprise he answers no and tells me he is enjoying himself. I toss out some stock questions: how do you feel about radio play/ mass appeal/selling out/other peoples opinions etc.

What do I get back but stock answers: radio play is good but not necessary/they’re only in it for the music/don’t care what others think......la dee fuckin’da. One more try with the stock questions-What are you listening to? He tells me mostly bands from his label-Raised Fist, International Noise Conspiracy etc. Jimmy Eats World is a big influence.

Then I throw him a bone-what’s your fav drink/ underwear brand (photographer throws in porno).

But he just gave me a kind of puzzled look. What cause would cause you to do a benefit show? Like a true Canadian which he is not, he answered, “my hometown hockey team, the Orebo Vikings.” At this point I ask him if he minds if we take a picture and my photographer elbows me and whispers “I don’t know how to use your camera, dude.” Ah well- so I snap a shot of the photographer and Millencolin guy and get the fuck out of dodge.

Another huge long wait and again I want to fuck off to a bar but now buddy is counting on me to get him in. Heave ho. Fast forward a couple of hours and he does not get in. In fact, the lady at the door says, “I specifically told Bradley no photographers.” Ouch. My reply being “Well he did not tell me that.” Ah well. I’m in but the kid has to pay. I tried.

I go straight to the bar which I am very glad to see as this is an all ages show. Too bad the bar is nowhere near where the show is going to take place so I have to run back and forth and not drink while taking in the music. Not to mention the no smoking policy. What’s a guy with habits to do?

At least this is not a straight edge event (Note to ed. don’t ever send me to one of those. I would get the shit kicked out of me). Anyway... within about 30 minutes I have the bartender feeding me drinks, and 3 or 4 in when the first band comes on. I immediately head straight to the sound booth, and light up a cigarette. Sound guys always smoke. I believe the first band was Bombshell Rocks. They were good.

They played a quick tight set with small technical difficulties. Actually the set was probably the standard 45 minutes, and it just seemed short because I was actually enjoying it. They had that raw energy/ sound that recalls punk rock when it was harsh, not radio friendly and dull. And hey... did I just smell some grass... nice!

NEXT...

There was some confusion, at least in my head as to who the hell these bands were/ are. They switched the line up on me. I think? I believe the next band up goes by the name Homegrown. Where I come from this is a euphemism for shitty pot. Bad omen if you believe in that

Hot dang, that there local supergroup and the embodiment of canadiana-meets-punk rock, The Hanson Bros., at the Cobalt! It was a night not to be missed, and if you missed it, you were a fool. The Wright brothers had the Cobalt packed beyond capacity as they slapped the crowd stupid with good ole’ time hockey songs and Slapshot-style goonery.

The gloves came off early in the set as Robbie and Johnny beat the crap out of each other and the “Referee” (The Shittys’ frontman in a striped shirt, running randomly on stage).

Throughout their hockey-inspired set, The Hansons paid a constant tribute to punk greats the Ramones. A weird mix of young punks and old guys in sweat pants clashed in the pit.

Johnny Hanson did the classic Joey Ramone-style entrance, mid-song, during the mostly instrumental “Total Goombah”. That was great. The Bros. broke in a few new tunes from their newest release My Game, but kept mostly to the gems off of their first, Gross Misconduct. The crowd begged for more even after three encores and a Hanson-style cover of Stompin’ Tom’s “Hockey Song.”

Despite the magnitude of attention drawn by the headliners, openers Billy the Kid and the Lost Boys still managed to rock hard.

Everything that punkrawk goddess Billy (Kristin from the Blue Collared Bullets) does is freakin’ gold, and her new cowpunk band is no exception.

They were so good in fact, that I have no recollection of The Shittys’ set. I think their singer was bald or something.

Cowboy TexAss

New Town Animals The Cleats, The Racket The Piccadilly Pub March 22nd 2002

The Racket

pic: Aaronoid

It was Friday night down at The Pic, the beer was flowing, and classic punk tunes were being spun. A near-capacity crowd anticipated the Vancouver debut of The Racket, a four piece fronted by Fergus, known from his days in the early 80’s Scottish punk act The Strike.

See Live Wires on p. 13 9

Kickin’ Ass in th

(...continued from cover.) recognition.

Luckily, The Spitfires have bombarded us with a myriad of 7-inches on various labels, not to mention their infamous raucous live shows. Now, on the eve of the release of their 3rd full-length album — the aptly titled “Three” on Longshot Music — this rock combo seems poised to EXPLODE! One drizzly Saturday afternoon, I tagged along with bass boss CC Voltage and guitar man #2 Dave Patterson on their weekly pilgrimage to Jason’s pad in Abbottsford for practice. Although most of them were hung over, the mood remained light and breezy with plenty of good-natured ribbing to go around.

The Spitfires exude that sort of effortless camaraderie you always hope your favorite bands possess (but probably rarely do). The lineup began as a 3 piece with vox, soon added Dave on guitar and just recently subtracted drummer Ryan 7 from the equation, as he focuses on his most pressing side project: fatherhood. “Three” is Ryan’s swan song, so Marty Peters, a buddy from back-in-theday has eagerly stepped up to fill the drum void.

Round out the team with founding guitarist Dean Bohle and it all adds up to rawk n’ roll mayh e m , much t o

10

the delight of trashy rock band enthusiasts like myself. Over the years, The Spitfires have opened for The Supersuckers, New Bomb Turks, Murder City Devils, Gaza Strippers, The Hellacopters, The Black Halos and Zen Guerilla. I ask them if they prefer headlining or opening and they all admit to whining & complaining when they’re in the first slot, but they usually end up playing their best shows ‘cuz there’s less pressure. Dean adds, “when you’re opening you’re sober,” so perhaps there is a direct correlation. This would contradict what I see as their “philosophy”: one involving “AC/DC” and “gettin’ messed up.” Although they wear their influences on their beer-stained sleeves, The Spitfires definitely have a sound all their own. It’s a balls out, no BS rawk experience with simple yet layered guitars, heart-stopping drums and a fat bottom. They deliver perfect, catchy rock anthems with loads of swagger and pretty, poppy harmonies. I’ve witnessed even the most stuck-up scenesters at Spitfires’ gigs being unable to stop themselves from shakin’ their asses and singing along at the top of their lungs. Punks, skids, sexy ladies, rockers and nerds, all pumping their fists in unison, operating as one big happy family, if only for a set. One of Dave’s buddies says a Spitfires show tends to lower the common IQ of everyone in attendance… is this the ultimate compliment or a sad truth?

Last summer I was pleasantly surprised to hear “All Night Long” from their fulllength release “In Too Deep Again” on the C-FOX. I wondered how the dudes felt about being on mainstream radio, sandwiched in between dull, interchangeable bands that seem to fuel it? When asked if they had any reservations about it, the answer was a resounding “naawww!” Any

A

he Rock ‘n’ Roll Dog fight exposure is good, and, besides, CC points out, “we’re SOCAN members, so any time they play us we get money.” When asked to define “success,” the first things Dean mentions are “being able to quit our jobs and get a roadie.” Then he and Marty get greedier, mentioning “a tour bus, chauffeur, sushi chef, masseuse, endorsements.”

I pointed out that you can’t spell “success” without “CC,” who seems to do most of the grunt work, although Marty makes

I’m predicting it will be one of the hottest gigs of the year.

Anticipation for this album is very high, ‘cuz it was scheduled to be released last August on Junk Records (who, unfortunately went tits up, forcing the band to seek another label).

Enter local label Longshot Music (www.longshotmusic.com) to save them from the shelf.

The album “Three” goes into wide release on May 7th. I’m puttin’ my money on standout tracks like “Alone”, “Loaded Gun” and my personal fave, the eerily beautiful “Trapped in the Dark.” Will this be the year they live up to their potential and generate the kind of attention they receive in Vancouver everywhere else? Stay tuned... and remember, we loved them here first!

Casey Cougar all pics: Casey Cougar

most of the phone calls. They all do their part, though, ‘cuz as Dave puts it, “we’re a democratic boy band.”

The Spitfires are gearing up for what will probably be their busiest summer yet. They’re doing a west coast-ish tour in June, then hope to take it across the nation to Halifax and back if, all goes well. That is, if somewhat reluctant singer Jason continues to flake out on his semi-regular threats to quit the band. (I have a feeling it’s a thinly-veiled ploy to keep everyone motivated.)

Their April 18th CD release party with The Nasty On, By A Thread and Hotwire @ Richard’s on Richards is merely hours away as I write this, but will be history by the time this issue hits the streets.

s well as being the scariest band in the world, Deadbolt also holds the title of best concept album band, bar none. Their back catalogue includes Tijuana Hit Squad (a record about being in Mexico and killin’) Zulu Death Mask (about being in the Congo and killin’) and Voodoo Trucker (about, you guessed it, truckin’ and killin’).

Their latest release on Cargo Records is titled Hobo Babylon. This time, Harley Davidson and the boys ride the rails into the guts of America where they meet sketchy characters in open box cars and find time to do a little maiming and killing of their own.

Nerve: Harley! Hey, I hear you guys are coming up for a show.

Harley Davidson: Yeah. That is, if they let us across the border.

N: Are you doing any other Canadian dates?

H: Shit. Unfortunately that is the only one. Yeah, our booking agent was real fuckin’ busy and she only had time to do us, you know, up the coast and down. Then through the Mormon belt, Salt Lake and Idaho.

N: I just got the new record.

H: Oh, how’d you like it my man?

N: It’s great. Did you guys do anything different recording this record?

H: Ah, not really. Just, you know, a different theme this time.

N: What do you do to prepare for a record?

H: Well, we look for kind of the strange and unusual things and then try to, you know, immerse ourselves into them. Like the one before this, Voodoo Trucker, we became truckers for awhile and hung out with the truckers, you know.

N: Hung out at truck stops and stuff?

H: Yeah, all that shit. And for this one, we hopped the trains there for awhile. Yeah, I was watching a special on A&E about the evil world of ridin’ trains, ya know, and thinking, “ok, the average hobo with the little pack.”

N: Is that still an active sub-culture? Do a lot of people still ride the rails?

H: Oh, hell yeah. It’s a lot of people. I was surprised to learn that.

N: It’s illegal, of course, and has been for a long time, so is the scene still about getting chased down by the yard cop?

H: Yeah, yeah, these guys got… they’re just really hard to police. So that creates like a whole world of these people, different signs, certain structures of this group called the FTRA [Freight Train Riders of America]… they’re kind of like the Mafioso of the train riders… they’ll shake ya down….

N: You mean you gotta pay your dues to these guys to ride the rails?

H: Yeah. Um, it’s crazy. In the Woody Guthrie days you could just hop on the train with your guitar and see the country, but now…

N: You guys are definitely great theme record writers. I mean, last time I was on a road trip at night I popped in Voodoo Trucker and now I can’t imagine doing it with out that record.

H: Yeah, a lot of bands, they try to do this trucker thing with like, [using a ring announcer’s voice] ElectroTrucker! or Truck Drivin’ Hits! Give me a fucking break. That’s not truckin’.

N: There’s an old country guy, Red Simpson, who wrote truckin’ songs like Black Smoke Blowin’ Over 18 Wheels and Runaway Truck. I could hear the influences from guys like that on the record.

H: Oh yeah, all those guys. But, of course, being Deadbolt, we take it to the next level. People don’t want to hear about a certain truck driver who goes crazy and kills his wife and mother-in-law. That’s the kind of thing that’s not going to make it to the country music…

N: Not quite for the Nashville Network.

H: Who’s that one girl, country singer, 18 Wheels of… something, anyway, real fluffy, I mean, come on, let’s get into the real world.

N: De-romanticize some of this stuff.

H: Yeah, just like the rails. People romanticize that too.

N: Another one of your records, Tijuana Hit Squad, what did you do to get inspired for that one?

H: Well, you know, we live so close to the border… there’s always a lot of Mexican people. We’d go down to Tijuana, party a lot, and yeah, it’s just a very suave place. A lot of guys down there in Tijuana wearing the guayabera shirts and it’s so smooth. A great city. Great mysterious factor. But down here, in sunny San Diego, in about 25 minutes, I’m in a third world country. It’s very strange.

So, when you go there a lot, it’s kind of fascinating.

You go across the border and the landscape changes… there’s just a whole different world down there.

N: You’ve played with Diana Death of the Gory

Details, and she’s recorded with you on Voodoo Trucker and Hobo Babylon. How’d you hook up with her?

H: Ah, we kind of took her under our wing. Kind of like a chick who was with ‘bolt. You know, she was hanging around with us and everything. We liked her. We liked her attitude. She’d come to the studio and help us brainstorm on some lyrics… drink with us… you know, make fun of people, that sort of thing.

N: She says on her website that one of the highlights on Voodoo Trucker is that she got to tell you that you make her sick. (Harley laughs) Well, what do you think about coming up to Canada?

H: Oh, I love it, man.

N: I caught the last show you did at the Brickyard, what about 2 years ago?

H: Yeah, that’s why we’re kind of bummed out.

We don’t get to go to Calgary or Edmonton or Toronto. Fuck, I think we’ve played Saskatoon. We had a good time. But, like I said, our booking agent was so busy and there are a lot of places I want to get back too. I mean, we’ve got Europe creeping up on us again in November... so we’ve got that… which will probably be a couple of months.

N: How are you received over there?

H: We went for the first time last December and it was great. Everybody was kind of surprised, the promoter, booking agents, because, you know, no

one really knew how we’d go over. And hell, we didn’t know either. When we were flying over there a couple of the guys were like, “shit, what if they don’t like us.” And I just said, “you tell them to go fuck themselves” (laughs).

N: What kind of bills were they putting you on?

H: Well, when people heard that we were coming, bands started jumping on the bill, you know, and so, that was cool. We’d get there and there’d be people doing our kind of stuff, rockabilly, goth, surf, all that stuff we kind of embrace.

N: Psychobilly.

H: We call it Voodoobilly. We coined our own term. Because we were like, it’s not rockabilly, it’s not goth… I hate gothabilly, that sounds kind of fuckin’ stupid. Voodoobilly… the creepy, the dark side of the ‘billy family. Like Carl Perkins had some creepy outlaw brother living in the basement or something.

N: This new record has some censor beeps….

H: Yeah, it had nothing to do with censorship or anything. We were going to do…the last album, what we were going to do was like a ‘live in a prison’ album. You ever heard that Johnny Cash album where he’s got the bleeps and everything? Yeah. I always liked that. I thought that was cool. I thought that was great because it kinda added to the song.

Like, ‘And you ‘BEEP’ and blah blah ‘BEEP’.

That’s the reason we did it. The corniness of it, you know. I mean, some people were like, “what’s with the censorship!” Aw, go fuck yourself.

N: How many members are in the band? I know it changes every record.

H: We’ve got a core group of about six or seven.

And there are guys that revolve in and out. Like

See Deadbolt on p.13 11

Moldy Peaches The Moldy Peaches are a duo from New York (sometimes backed by a band) touring North America to spread the word on who’s got the crack

play

and mistaking steak for chicken.

After being held up at the border for three hours because a dog supposedly found residue from marijuana in their van, Kimya Dawson and Adam Green sat down with me for a brief interview before the show.

Plow: Who are you?

Kimya: I am Kimya Dawson.

Adam: I am Adam Green.

K: Together we are the Moldy Peaches, separately we are each other.

P: Do you have anything you would like to plug?

K: We’ve got a single coming out on Rough Trade Records on April 1st with two new songs and our solo albums are coming out on Rough Trade on May 8th. Also in May a compilation CD of antifolk music from New York.

A: I got a letter saying mine was coming out April 20th.

K: Interesting. Around the beginning of May our solo stuff will be coming out.

P: So, you are doing the KISS thing and each putting out a solo album.

A: No, we are not.

K: We just write songs man. Songs we write together are Moldy Peaches songs.

P: So, some of you are sick right now?

K: Three of us are and our drummer broke his elbow yesterday, that’s why he is playing with one arm.

P: A friend of mine told me that track 07 on every CD is guaranteed the best song.

A: What’s it on ours?

P: Steak for Chicken.

Some guy: It comes true.

P: So I held him to it and asked him to play Steak for Chicken, he plays you guys on the radio but has never played track 07 before.

A: Was he allowed to play that on the radio?

P: He played it on his radio show.

K: WOW!!

P: He played it on CITR. I loved it. I got a phone call the next day from him saying he won’t play Steak for Chicken on the radio again and I just reminded him that he was the one who had said that track 07 is gold.

K: That’s interesting.

A: Got to think about that for a while P: I found a quote today describing you guys and I just want to run it by you to see if you feel the same way. It says, “The Moldy Peaches are like Belle and Sebastian trapped in a room with Tenacious D, a low fi tape recorder and a hefty bag of potent weed.

K: Well you want to know something, P: Please tell me.

K: I have never heard Belle and Sebastian, and I will not make any kind of public comment about Tenacious D., and none of our songs were written under the influence of anything other than perhaps soda pop, like a Pepsi.

A: A comforting cola.

K: So, that’s just a really weird description.

A: That’s ass backwards.

P: That’s why I wanted to bring this up with you.

K: But then again if somebody was in a closet with a hefty bag of weed, they might imagine something so ludicrous.

P: I was reading the description and listening to your CD and found the description to be a load of shit.

A: Yeah, we agree it’s total shit.

P: Explain to me what anti-folk is.

K: It kind of started as a anarcoustic movement sort of speak, and has become more of a community of songwriters that don’t necessarily share a particular sound. It’s just a group of people who

12

shows together. Open mic’s and at certain clubs.

P: What is the writing process of the Moldy Peaches?

A: It’s different every time.

K: We always come up with the songs together, that’s what makes them Moldy Peaches songs.

We’ll pass a note book back and forth to take turns writing lyrics. It’s different every time though.

P: What is the “underdog position”?

A: I’ve said something about how we like to be the underdog. Like when we were on tour with the Strokes we enjoyed the position of the underdog.

There was no expectation’s on us. We were the opening band, people didn’t necessarily come to see us, so we did really well to people who didn’t know what to think or expect anything. The whole tour was great.

P: Thanx for your time, have a good show.

That night the show went off without a hitch. Even with the one-armed drummer wearing a Def Leppard shirt (how fitting). They had this crowd at their mercy for a full forty minutes and left them begging for more. But you know the dance crowd wanted to dance, so we all got kicked out. There’s always next time, I think.

Plow

Deadbolt from p. 11

Reece up there [the booker at the Marine Club -Ed.], he’s a Deadbolt mercenary. But he’s just never been around to be on any albums… he’s either been on tour with his own band or whatever. Then we’ve got guys who want to do something else and they come back failures and it’s like, “OK, boy, put on the vest.” And they’d do a couple of shows. The only guy who was a real prick was Les [Vegas], as you can tell in the song Po’ Boy. He kind of burned us on this big show. We were playing at the Fillmore, San Francisco, on Halloween night with the Cramps, of course, and the night before he thought that everybody was conspiring against him or something (laughs). He was a little paranoid. He has the victim mentality and he fucking left. Didn’t call us or tell us and it was like, “man, you little fucking piece of shit.” And to this day, I’ve talked to him a lot of times and I’m like, “don’t you feel bad about fucking us?” I mean, you’re in a band with guys for years and it’s like your family. And you just get up and run away. He’s “well, you guys did this to me.”

Ok, well, you’re getting a song about yourself, boy.

N: So what did you do for the show? Did you get a fill in?

H: Well, we got the drummer from the Swinging Udders and in a half hour lesson he was fuckin’ better than Les. It was like, holy shit, if only we’d known this whole time, we’d have kicked him out. But he had a lot of character.

N: One last question. You guys are coined or call yourselves the “Scariest Band in the World.” I was just wondering, what scares you?

H: Let me see… scares me…

N: Deadbolt groupies?

H: Yeah, there’s some out there… but let me think… hm, that’s a good one… NRA scares me, no, I’m just kidding. Um, nothing really. Nope, nothing off the top of my head. Well, if you’re worried about the creepier side of life, I guess you understand it and you don’t fear it as much. You’ve been down that road, so you know what to expect.

all the members seemed to get comfortable and deliver their blend of mid-paced punk to the appreciative crowd. After playing the new album almost in its entirety, they rounded out their set with some older numbers. They ended with a cover of the Stiff Little Fingers’ classic, “Alternative Ulster.” This seemed to be the high point of the evening for many… to say that there were a few Stiff Little Fingers fans on hand would be an understatement!

By the time the New Town Animals got to play it was almost cut off time. I’ve witnessed them play a handful of times and wasn’t all that enthralled with seeing them on this particular night. Despite my drunken condition, I seem to recall their brand of 70’s New Wave/Punk sounding all right for the brief time they played.

Aaronoid.

Live Wires from p.9

Decked out in three-piece suits and sporting freshly shaven heads, this act delivered a dose of solid, fresh-sounding, UK-inspired punk with catchy upbeat tempos.

Fergus bounced around with good energy, unlike the majority of the crowd who remained still, with a few exceptions here and there. Their set featured versions of The Strike’s “Gang Warfare” and “Victim,” as well as an excellent sped-up cover of the reggae classic “Johnny Too Bad.” E d m o n t o n ’s The Cleats were up next. I’d seen them play last summer before the release of their debut “Lost Voices, Broken Strings.” I got into their CD a few months back myself, so I was looking forward to hearing it live. It was apparent from the start that, due to unknown circumstances, the group had not played together for over a month, which helped to explain why the first few songs sounded rusty and slow. However, it wasn’t long before

Cannibal Corpse Studebaker’s April 19th, 2002

Following an impressive display of local grind put on by Abuse, Cannibal Corpse took to the stage and, for the bulk of their bludgeoning set, three of the five Corpse members enjoyed a game of peek-a-boo with audience members by letting their hair fall in their faces, then rapidly tossing it out of the way to emphasize certain rhythmic aspects of the riff being played.

Despite authoring songs like ‘Butchered at Birth’ and ‘Hammer Smashed Face,’ the band proved themselves far less threatening to the audience than the bouncers, who shoved and bullied any head-bobbers who, in the throes of eagerness, lost their balance and accidentally brushed against one of the sunken-eyed hulks.

But the concert progressed, not even these stoic men could resist the temptation to blast their fists into the air when vocal-artist George

Cannibal Corpse pic: S. McDiamond

Corpsegrinder launched into ‘Addicted to Vaginal Skin,’ at which point the entire audience, including the fifteen women present, heralded the song with barks of approval.

Harold Septic

Deadbolt play the Marine Club, 573 Homer St., Sunday, May 5th.

TRUCKER CODES 10-1 Receiving poorly 10-2 Receiving well 10-3 Stop transmitting 10-4 Okay 10-5 Relay message 10-6 Busy, stand by 10-7 Out of service 10-8 In service 10-9 Repeat message 10-10 Transmission completed 10-11 Speak slowly 10-12 Visitors present 10-13 Weather/Road Conditions 10-14 Prowler 10-16 Make pick up at ___ 10-17 Urgent Business 10-18 Anything for US 10-19 Return to base 10-20 Location 10-21 Call by land line (telephone) 10-22 Report in person to ___ 10-23 Stand by 10-24 Assignment completed 10-25 Can you contact ___ 10-26 Disregard last info 10-27 Switch to channel ___ 10-28 Identify your station 10-29 I am leaving this location 10-30 Does NOT conform to FCC rules 10-31 Crime in progress 10-32 Radio Check 10-33 Emergency traffic 10-34 Trouble, need help 10-35 Confidential Information 10-36 Current time 10-37 Record needed at ___ 10-38 Ambulance needed at ___ 10-39 Your message delivered 10-41 Please tune to channel ___ 10-42 Traffic accident at ___

10-43 Traffic tie up at ___ 10-44 I have a message for ___ 10-45 All units please report 10-46 Assist motorist 10-50 Accident 10-51 Wrecker needed 10-52 Ambulance Needed 10-53 Road Blocked 10-57 All units comply 10-59 Convoy/Escort 10-60 What is next message number?

10-62 Unable to copy use phone 10-63 Prepare to make written copy 10-64 Network Clear 10-65 Not directed to ___ 10-66 Message cancellation 10-67 All units comly 10-69 Message received 10-70 Fire at ___ 10-73 Speed trap at ___ 10-75 You are causing interference 10-77 ETA (time of arrival) 10-82 Reserve lodging 10-84 My telephone number is ___ 10-85 My address is ___ 10-88 Advise telephone number 10-89 Radio repair needed 10-90 I have television interference 10-95 Transmit 5 second dead carrier 10-91 Talk closer to mike 10-92 Have your transmitter checked 10-93 Check my frequency 10-94 Give me a long count 10-99 Missing complete, units secure 10-100 Personal Reasons 10-200 Police needed at ___

13

HELLCAT PUNK ROCK PUZZLE PAGE Solve this shit and win a Hellcat Records CD!!!

The first person to send in both completed puzzles wins.

Send to: The Nerve Mag: 88042 Chinatown PO, Vancouver, BC V6A 4A4

Across

by Dan Scum

1. Marshes 5. Info 9. Contact Starlet’s sworn protectors 12. To me (french) 13. Insipid 15. Ride Cymbal Part 16. Slayer of Obi Wan Kenobi 18. Inkling 19. Withdraw 20. Chewbacca’s kin 22. Ancient 23. Use ___Force 24. Converge Again 27. Upset 31. Solo or Christian Anderson 32. Noted French Physicist 34. December Precipitation 35. Conjunction 36. _____The Man 37. Christian Militia 38. Graven image.

40. Animal’s prisons 42. Debbie____Dallas 43. Like words to a song 45. Runner up’s place 47. AC/DC vocalist Scott 48. After Jul. 49. Bum 53. Alpine or Kenwood 56. Killer Whale 57. Jedi’s Weapon 60. Jersey Hoopsters 61. Type of Sample 62. Bivouac 63. Morgue Letters 64. Fem. ending 65. Aqueous Humor Location

Down 1. Evil 2. Mr. Sharrif 3. Al or Tipper

4. Friends & Cheers 46. Pool Sticks 5. Halved 49. Slough 6. Uptight 50. Famous Cookie 7. Smidgeon 51. 8 prefix 8. Again 52. Shooted 9. Yoda, e.g.

53. Drive thru word 10. Run Away 54. Chance 11. Expression of misfortune 55. Auction Website 14. Sexually Arousing 58. It’s either you___ 15. Hell’s Angels 59. Short Albums 17. Love’s Unit 21. Ahs partner 24. Restless 25. Ewok’s Planet 26. Moon’s Force Last Issue’s (#14) key 27. Jutes descendants 28. Teamsters,e.g.

29. Laboured 30. ____the night before Xmas 31. Praise 33. Period 39. Balances 40. Panama and Suez 41. Grunge’s home 42. Track Event 44. Website suffix

Word Search

what do they have in common? bob crane sonny bono marilyn monroe phil hartman brandon lee james dean rory storm bruce lee brian jones herve villechaze nicole brown simpson kurt cobain sharon tate michael hutchence dennis wilson gianni versace robert johnson pelle lindbergh terry sawchuk mama cass edgar allan poe harry houdini tupac shakur

14

neal cassady kirsty maccoll jeff buckley karen carpenter owen hart river phoenix andy warhol the kennedys john denver sid vicious dave thomas paula yates nancy spungen notorious big sal mineo keith relf

by Cowboy Zero

THE CRIMINAL CINEMA:

The Original Cin

H

ow do you turn a run-down Main St. porno theatre into the world’s most badass retro grindhouse? The opening of the Criminal Cinema on Saturday 6 April was the sort of fly-bythe-seat-of-your-pants event that could’ve ended up in embarrassment, but instead came together in a synergistic frenzy. The intrepid folks at CrimCin (as I’m calling it), had to deal with everything from completely fucked-up projectors to a slight lapse in electricity. Yet Criminal Cinema would not wait, and it forged ahead, thanks in large part to a trio of the hardest working film geeks I’ve ever encountered, Kier-La Janisse- head of the Cinemuerte film festival, Darren Gay- proprietor of Black Dog Video and David Whitten- producer, distributor and industry vet. Darren, Keir-La and David have been hard at work transforming the Fox Theatre (2321 Main St.) from a grungy skin-flick safehouse into Vancouver’s foremost showcase for true outlaw cinema. Peter Jackson’s perverted puppet fantasy Meet the Feebles (which is ten times more entertaining than that Lord of the Rings juggernaut, by the way), was the main attraction, and the perfect introduction to a program that promises some of the finest cult cinema the world has to offer.

Essentially the brainchild of Janisse, Criminal Cinema germinated whilst she was networking with like-minded programmers at Montreal’s FantAsia festival. Janisse had a few years of running a festival under her belt, and wanted to bring the kind of outlaw programming Cinemuerte was famous for to a regular audience year-round.

While her peers warned against the potential emotional and physical toll of exhibition (“No one will come see your favourite movies, and it’ll break your heart”, she was told), Janisse pressed on. She hooked up with producer-distributor David Whitten, an American ex-patriate recently settled in Vancouver.

Whitten was impressed with Janisse’s tenacity. “I first came in contact with her

when she asked for a print of Singapore Sling for Cinemuerte. She wanted it for free and my first response was “you’re out of your mind”. But the more I talked to her, the more I admired what she was trying to do.”

Whitten is an industry vet who refuses to compromise. His goal with Criminal Cinema is to realize an atmosphere similar to that of the heyday of 1970’s repertory cinema. “That’s where I got my film education,” he says. “The rep houses were places not just to watch films, but to socialize and share ideas. Audiences for genre films are not used to going to the movies. Many people under 30 look at the cinema as a place their parents hang out. But when I met with Keir-La and saw how passionate she was, I realized that opening a cinema and catering to a younger, hipper audience might be viable.”

Janisse, who once blew an inheritance getting to a Fangoria convention in Chicago (top that, film geeks!), is nothing if not passionate. She says, “I wanted to jump in right away.

Sometimes if you let ideas sit around waiting for the perfect time nothing ever happens.” Her immediacy seems to almost dare Vancouver to prove its movie-town reputation.

The third element of this trifecta is Black Dog’s Darren Gay, who was able to provide much of the capital for Criminal Cinema to get underway. A lifelong movie buff who was fired from his first movie theatre job for watching the flicks when he should’ve been slinging corn, he sees Criminal Cinema as an extension of his life’s work.

“I’m sure there’s an appetite for a wide variety of films, and films like these don’t get screened except on video.” Gay hopes to indulge his wildest repertory fantasies (which I’ll keep a secret... for now).

“The main thing is to have fun.”

With these three programming minds at the helm, the Criminal Cinema is in good

Str a i ght 8 hands. Janisse tells me there’s so many unused prints out there, the problem is not what to play, but rather narrowing it down from all the choices available.

“Look at that... worship it.”

This sort of adulation was overheard everywhere as the Fox opened its doors on Saturday night. The Fox itself has become surprisingly homey. The miniscule lobby (obviously not intended for much socializing) opens up into a ramshackle yet comfortable theatre.

The CrimCin task force have been painting and renovating the Fox nightly after the regulars leave. While the Fox reverts back to its regular programming during the week, CrimCin’s little touches remain, most notably a Scott Baio painting (soon to be a mural) in the women’s washroom that really has to be experienced.

Judging by the crowd reaction and the giddy atmosphere on opening night, Criminal Cinema’s time has come. Terminal City’s Alex Grant offered up this encapsulation of CrimCin’s potential appeal: “Something like the Vancouver International Film Festival goes for the middlebrow and the politically correct, throwing whatever you have up on the screen. It’s a lazy way of doing things. You have to be attentive. What Cinemuerte has done, and what Criminal Cinema has the potential to do is to not spend so much time trying to ascertain people’s tastes, but to present an astute selection of film that doesn’t try to please everyone. Political correctness is a stranglehold.”

CrimCin has announced itself on the Vancouver indie film scene with a definite amount of swagger. It is the perfect compliment to the anarchistic avant garde of The Blinding Light!! and the high-end art of the Pacific Cinemathèque; a place for the best genre films to finally get the respect they deserve.

The Criminal Cinema runs Saturdays and Sundays (matinees and evenings) at the Fox Theatre (2321 Main St @ 7th Ave).

Bjorn Olson

CRIMINAL CINEMA MAY PROGRAM:

May 4-5 NOIR ET BLANC (1986, Claire Devers): French psychological drama about fear, sex, death and violence.

RESIDENT ALIEN (1990, Jonathan Nossiter): Documentary on queer icon Quentin Crisp and the culture of NYC. SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT (1977, Hal Needham): Drive-in classic featuring Burt Reynolds at the peak of his power. Better than you expect; bring your own bootleg liquor.

BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA (1974, Sam Peckinpah): Outlaw masterpiece featuring the great Warren Oates.

May 11-12 GIMME SHELTER (1970, Albert Maysles, David Maysles, Charlotte Zwerin): Landmark Rolling Stones concert doc and sociological study.

DON’T LOOK BACK (1967, D.A. Pennebaker): Incisive look at Dylan on tour in 1965.

RUDE BOY (1980, Jack Hazan, David Mingay): Gritty docudrama about being on tour with The Clash. Insanely great performance footage.

STREETS OF FIRE (1984, Walter Hill): Cult classic star-crossed lovers story with ample doses of eighties power balladry.

May 18-19 AIRPORT (1970, George Seaton): The original disaster classic! Bigger than life!

AIRPORT 1975 (1974, Jack Smight): More all-star mayhem! Who will land the plane?!

AIRPORT ‘77 (1977, Jerry Jameson): Jumbo jet crashes in the Atlantic! Sweet mother of God! AIRPLANE! (1980, Jim Abrahams, Jerry Zucker, David Zucker): Funniest goddamn movie ever made.

May 25-26 LITTLE DARLINGS (1980, Ronald F. Maxwell): Kristy McNicol and Tatum O’Neal in a competition to lose their respective virginities at summer camp.

[Also features a young Cynthia Nixon, pre-Sex & The City –Ed.] THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT IN GEORGIA (1981, Roland F. Maxwell): More youthful 80’s hijinx.

ROCK ‘N’ ROLL HIGH SCHOOL (1979, Allan Arkush): The motherfucking Ramones!EDDIE AND THE CRUISERS (1983, Martin Davidson): Legend of a dead rock star.

See Straight 8 on p. 16

15

Straight 8

Gore!

THEATRE EXCURSION TIME

A

s the rep theatre CRIMINAL CINEMA bursts upon the unsuspecting Vancouver film viewing public, a new flood gate opens to the scenesters, the film lovers, lurkers, and the dudes who thought it was still porn night. Some issues to ponder: the eventuality that now it may be too hard to ignore “good” film from the abyss of personal hookups everywhere, a new place to pick up chicks that look like Betty Page, and the blatant reminder

that the times of the grind house are over... but are they?

The theatre is everything but unhealthy for the cult viewing public (esp. If they have a strong interest in K. Janisse perversities). As always, we cult fans could have sat at home, the Blinding Light!! (for VHS and 16mm), and the ‘Thèque for the higher end stuff (like CINEMUERTE, Pasolini 101, or masturbating to Louise Brooks), but the CRIMINAL CINEMA has a bit of a different texture that offers that extra little 35mm shot that finally gives you the feel that you may have experienced in the not too distant 1960s / 70s. Oh fuck, the reels are being changed, but who the hell cares - I have a beer, chips, dick suck*, pussy lick*, and whatever else you wanna do in the privacy of a new good time club house (*exaggerated possibilities that aren’t “really” allowed). The not so distant future promises more slash and less gash (save for the week days) that promises that you can watch something “neat” every weekend and maybe hook up with some “pseudo” intelli-discussion (the snob in the corner with his hat pulled down is me).

YES, YES, YES. The last train to London is here, and we’re ready to rock the shit out of our balls. What the blatant ad leads me to is the old days. The old days that we weren’t really a part of, but we’ll rock out to the MC5 and pretend we

from p. 15 were baby. Some of my fave films of all time have come out of the pre / early 1970 land that most of us have little conception of. My real love goes as far back to the mid seventies (when Fenech et al began to really take their clothes off and get bladed), but all I can really remember from those days is my little dirt bike and the James Taylor eight tracks on the way to family camping trips. Here’s some recommendations for getting into the swing of things:

THE GORE GORE GIRLS In my eyes, this is the real height / classic of H.G. Lewis’ career that outdoes any of his other films gore and brutality wise, but also has a heavy hit of T and A. The themes that he really wanted to push are all here, including some harsh female brutality. When asked about the tenderized ass plus salt and the white / chocolate milk from cut tits, the reply on the commentary is i n n o c e n t l y, “why not?”.

I EAT YOUR SKIN Man, it must be nice to be the inspiration for the classic gore epic DR. BUTCHER M.D. / ZOMBIE HOLOCAUST, but no one really knows and cares since I EAT YOUR SKIN is so weak, but ohhhh so filling.

Awesome use of pasties on the facesties to achieve bug eyed zombiedom and the blonde can fuck shit up! Funny to think that this title was always stuck with I DRINK YOUR BLOOD.

IT CONQUERED THE WORLD - The man behind the monster, Paul Blaisdell, must be congratulated. Not everyone can get an actor like pre-Spaghetti western star Lee Van Cleef and sick a huge frowny Venusian cucumber on him - and the world!

THE CURIOUS DR. HUMPP - This film defies description from the drawn out opening muff close ups to the zombie / monster / kidnapper, to the premise that eternal youth can be gained from fuck juice. The best of the inexplicable exploitation genre that was churned out back in the day, with the bonus of foreign film appeal (Argentina!).

It feels neat to delve back into the “cult” epics that drew the plans for the trash of today. The films can be judged so many different ways; from societal speculation to the hard ons in the back row. Film is fucking film. So, get into the groove. It’s going to be a good summer - at home or in the theatre - with like minds.

Sinister Sam

Previews Upcoming Screenings and Festivals: SABOT: The Second Annual Radical Political Video Festival Black Cat Video and Mayworks Festival of the Working Class present “A Mini-Festival of Shorts and Shocks”. Ten videos will be presented on May 7 at the Blinding Light!!

Cinema, covering issues of political protest, good versus evil and social justice. The evening climaxes with Fuck The System, an anonymous video and musical montage made by environmental anarchists from Eugene, Oregon.

DOXA Documentary Film & Video Festival Vancouver’s first exclusively documentary film and video festival comes to the Pacific Cinemathèque May 22 - 26 for its second biannual showing. Short and feature-length presentations from Canada and around the world will address themes such as the role of documentary media, and the meaning and power of community. Highlights include The Observer and the Observed by guest curator Colin Low, and Ruminations on Indianness by curator Dana Claxton.

For a special closing night treat, see the best of Toronto’s Hot Doc’s Festival at the screening Hot From Hot Docs. Tickets $8 each. Advance tickets (5 for $35) and Festival Passes ($85) available exclusively at Ticketmaster (604) 280-4444. For more info call DOXA, (604) 646-3200. www. vcn.bc.ca/doxa The Celluloid Social Club Monthly screenings at the ANZA club feature the best in independent and provocative short films & videos, followed by fun and frolic (BEER!). The program for the upcoming screening, May 16, is likely to feature several Leo award-winning short films. Doors 7:30pm, show at 8pm. Tickets $5. No minors!

120seconds.com Digital Film Festival CBC Radio 3 celebrates the art of the digital short in an online festival May 24 June 7, and will present two live dates at the Blinding Light!! May 24 & 25, which include screenings, a party and live audio/ visual performances. The grand prize for festival entries is an iMAC G4 and a national television broadcast. Visit http:// filmfestival.120seconds.com for an entry form – they’re due by April 30, so hurry!

Team Narcoleptic Show (all pics above) From the mouths of juvenile delinquents on the run: “the film-making folks at Team Narcoleptic spew manifestoes like American college jocks spew chunks. We have lots of energy that comes out in many forms. Our manifesto of the week is a variation of Mao Zedong’s ‘On Guerrilla Warfare’.” Find out how they apply their own version of this philosophy to their radical filmmaking practices on May 30, 31, and June 1 at the Blinding Light!! Cinema, 36 Powell St.

Experienced music writers wanted for interviewing and live reviewing.

Contact Brad at editor@thenerveonline.com or (604) 734-1611.

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Books and Zines

Consciousness expansion is about as necessary for artists as tanks of ether and small calibre arms are for our friend Dr. Gonzo. A good artist understands that, and a good pusher will get hip to it quickly, too. Booze and drugs can serve as both muse and demotivator, and ultimately it’s audience appreciation that spurs successful creative-types to step up and do their rock and roll duty. Here, then, are a few books for the Elvis in all of us, regardless of where we are in our descent into debauchery. Fried banana sandwiches optional.

Out Of It - A Cultural History of Intoxication Stuart Walton Hamish Hamilton Books (Penguin Canada), 2001 $24.99 Trade paperback ISBN : 0-241-14038-2 Why have we used drugs through the ages?

(And since we’re asking, why am I using drugs right now?) Is the need to alter one’s consciousness innate or is it a societal construct? What a glorious mastication of these questions this book provides. You wouldn’t get far talking about the need for intoxicants if you hadn’t some warm fuzzy feeling for them yourself, so while the author gives straight facts about what various substances may do (and potentially lifesaving warnings about bad combinations), he laces his exposition with graceful phrases that blend science with a distinctly poetic appreciation of the

sensation of “drifting free of one’s perceptual moorings”. From artsy boozebags and junkies like Burroughs, Billie Holliday and Janis Joplin, to boys undergoing coming-of-age rituals in one of the tribes of New Guinea, this is 271 pages of thoroughly researched, footnoted and indexed information that will be the envy of all your ne’er do well friends. (Plus, it’s interesting enough that they might not even sell it for drug money.) You get Nietzsche drawing parallels between entertainment (i.e. music, theatre and, in our time, Walton adds, TV & Internet) and intoxicants, you get a chilling Jungian explanation of why addicts seem to be able to dissociate themselves from their declining physical health even as their risk of death increases (“faced with the physical entropy it can do nothing about, [the addict’s mind] simply disregards it”) you get a dense section on pisstank writers like Kerouac and Malcolm Lowry, you get some ecclesiastical tippling (and the church reaction to it) and so much more. I am so fucking impressed with this book (I mean, who knew Cary Grant was a fan of LSD?), if my illustrious editor (“the Notorious B.C.D.”) doesn’t let me keep

From Gutter to Stars (& Points In-between) it for my ‘alternative reference’ shelf, I might actually pony up the dough to buy a copy of my own from one of the fine independent booksellers in this city. The next best thing to having cool, drug-friendly parents is a resource like this — someday, maybe you’ll hand it down to your future stoner offspring.

Residents of the Downtown Eastside are all too familiar with Walton’s assertion that “no drug interdiction is more corrosive to social cohesion than the criminalization of opiates,” but somebody should give a copy of this book to all the squares and Puritans around here who would vilify a person just because they like to get fucked up on something stronger than an insouciant Merlot.

Live By Request – a novel Rob Payne Harper Flamingo Canada, 2002 $24.95 Trade paperback ISBN: 0-00-639174-5 Canadian Author Rob Payne’s first novel is about a twenty-six year old bartender/ musician trying to figure out his direction in life.

His band is falling apart, he’s in love with his bass player, his family is crazy and his dead end job isn’t helping. Now, I’ve been a twenty-six year old bartender/ musician, so this should all be right up my alley.

The action centres around Trailer, a four piece garage band. Jay, the singer/ guitarist and aspiring songwriter is the aforementioned barkeep; Tyler the preten-

tious drummer/ music student with the “Yoko” girlfriend; Noel, the guitar playing normal guy with the real job and Jan, cute chick bass player whom Jay is- naturally- in love with but doesn’t know what to do about it. The band has hit the wall professionally, artistically and personally, Jay’s job is a dead end and what about that cute chick bass player? What’s a shy, confused and awkward dude supposed to do about her?

The characters and relationships between them are all pretty cliché, and development is minimal and predictable. The plot revolves around the band’s last ditch effort to do an end run around their Rock & Roll dissolution by rewriting their lyrics and entering a Fundamentalist Christian battle of the bands.

Thousands in prizes from Jesus. This could have been quite funny, but isn’t. The big day comes, happens, goes and that’s about it.

Will the band survive? Will Jay and Jan find true love and happiness? Will Tyler get his head out of his ass?

Unfortunately, you probably won’t care.

Mike O.

three odd shorts. A tale of a poor girl who needs a fur coat for the school play“Moustache”- that would give Lanny MacDonald the heeby jeebies; “ATM”, about a stripper’s g-string and private bits that work in reverse; and “Kids are Dumb as Shit”, a self-explanatory piece about the capricious whims of youth- you know, drinking poison because the imaginary friend says it’s fun, that kind of thing.

Exceptionally well drawn, imaginative and sometimes very funny, Off Kilter is rude, irreverent fun for the whole Manson Family. I have no idea where you can find it, but apparently an e-mail to jimmythespitter@hotmail.com will get you rolling in the right direction. I recommend sending one to Lanny care of the Calgary Flames front office.

Mike O. In the next B&Z: the new issue of Public Works and the highly anticipated debut novel from The Nerve’s own T. Dawg McWhirter!

Y’all come back now, y’hear?

Leather the Librarian

OFF KILTER Number Seven Tim Grant From the wild and crazy world of self-published, underground comics comes Off Kilter Number Seven, a collection of

17

Various Artists Apocalypse Always Alternative Tentacles

the subliminal message to fry up your neighbour’s neon tetras.

Harold Septic

Say you went over to a friends place, a friend with twenty-six cool CDs that you don’t own.

And you only have the one tape on you. So you make a mix. Alternative Tentacles now does it for you- every year or so they put out a sampler of what the label has to offer, at a special low price even. Apocalypse Always is the latest and my favorite so far. Seventy-two minutes of good stuff you probably would never hear anywhere else, most exclusive to this CD.

Everything from the pure Rawk of Black Kali Ma to the dire warnings of Mumia Abu Jamal and Noam Chomsky.

Highlights include Wesley Willis’ “Good News is Rock and Roll”, Flaming Stars, Slim Cessna’s Auto Club, Jello Biafra’s spoken word tribute to Joey Ramone and the Marvel TeamUp of the year- Jello Biafra and Randy Bachman- yes Randy Bachman- doing “American Woman”, a bizarro instant classic rendition chock full of special guests like Chris Houston, Brian Goble, Jon Card and even Kevin Kane from the Grapes of Wrath. Not to be missed.

Can’t afford over twenty separate CDs, but you want to know what’s going on in the underground these days?

Pick up Apocalypse Always and- as it says right on the cover- pay no more than $5.99. (www. alternativetentacles.com) Mike O.

Choke

Va r i o u s Artists Brewed in Sweden Blind Beggar G e r m a n y ’s Blind Beggar Records givse us the follow up to the Brewed in Canada compilation that came out a few years back. All bands in the Oi! /Street punk genre, I wouldn’t have guessed any of these 14 English acts to be foreign having not known.

Most of this stuff is of decent quality, with the standouts being Dims Rebellion, The Headhunters, The Pints and Agent Bulldogs.

No lyrics provided however some info is given along with song explanations, from a quick glance I’d say I could relate with most of the themes. You can get this one locally at Scratch Records otherwise email this label at beggarrec@aol.com Aaronoid.

Brundlefly by the way EMI Every song on this flippin album belongs on the radio. Not only because it’s all suffic i e n t l y greased digestible pop, but because it simmers with earnestness. People will be driven into a blistering frenzy of toe-tapping, knee-slapping, and simultaneous both-eye-blinking by the anthemic ‘revolution.’ And I predict that the same listeners will be affected with equal profundity by the ultra-encouraging, ‘college try.’

Yes folks, this album works! After only one listen, many of the glistening hooks were permanently embedded in my brains… not unlike a forty minute Miki-Dee’s radio jingl without

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There’s a Story to This Moral Smallman Records

I didn’t get the proper CD booklet or even a tracklist for this one so I can’t tell you the names of any of the songs, or what’s on the front cover. I guess I could look it up on their Website, but that seems geeky and not punk, and I really want to seem punk. Anyway, this is a pretty slamming record from a tight and fast punk band. Choke seem to have relaxed a bit from the ultra-technical style of their last record, which I kind of liked, but this one is a bit more direct and easy to sing along to. Track number three is a good example of Choke at their best: dual guitar attack, plenty of changeups, and some timely shouted backup vocals, all clocking in at less than three minutes. The production on this album is ultra-clean on the guitars, but gets balanced by the raggedness of the vocals. They steer nicely clear of emo crysongs, which are annoying.

Paul Crowley Electric Wizard Let us Prey Rise Above Records Every now and again, effect-laden vocals peer out overtop of this droning swamp of mediocre Sabbath-esque riffery to taunt the mainstream heavy music listener, but somehow this is not enough to solicit a second listen. For people to really get into this, I demand more guitar solos, more frequent riff changes, and more vocals.

But the Wizard coolly states, “The key to this world… is marijuana.” I am speechless.

Harold Septic Give ‘Em the Boot III (various artists) Hellcat Records Another sampler of the newest and upcoming releases from the Hellcat division of Epitaph, with 23 songs, including two videos. You got yer typical new songs by Rancid and their spin-off bands, including a really good one by Devil’s Brigade; a “psychobilly” Rancid, minus Lars, led by Matt Freeman on standup bass. There’s two Tiger Army tracks on this disc, and they both rock. The non video format one, ‘Power of Moonlite’, is a great song, although it could definitely do without the hideously bad slide guitar solo by Lars Frederiksen. Joe Strummer and his new band the Mescaleros are on here too. Despite Joe’s efforts to create a new sound beyond categorization, the track here is quite reminiscent of the old Clash song ‘Dictator’ off of Cut the Crap. The usual suspects don’t really offer anything new unfortunately, the tracks by the stars of the first Give Em The Boot are less than exciting, with the exception of the Distillers explosive ‘Sick of it All’. The

real stars of this disc are the new blood and I’m lookin’ forward to hearing more from like Skapunkers Mouthwash who have a great track on here. For the disappointed Slackers and Hepcat fans, you’ve got King Django’s ‘Precipice’ and Nekromantix give us a good taste of Danish psychobilly. These guys are all worth checking out and make this disc well worth sitting through both Dropkick Murphy tracks.

Cowboy TexAss Fall Silent Drunken Violence Revelation Records Fall silent, drunken violence, revelation and records. I like these words. I was fully prepared to like this band/album but let’s just say that after the first 2 songs, ‘Violence’ and ‘Flowers for Whores’, I wasn’t exactly won over. But again I got caught by the words. Flowers for whores. Hmm.... so I took another listen and found this line, “flowers for whores while the rest of the world is fighting for their fucking lives.” and I’m thinking, “hey, I like the idea of giving flowers to whores while the rest of the world is fighting for their fucking lives.” Ya’ know, fuck’em, let ‘em fight. I’m going to give flowers to whores and smile. Ahhh sweet imagination.... then I realized that they are simply bitchin about shitty uncaring attitudes like my own.

Ah well. Someone’s gotta fight the good fight, right?

This is pure aggression pointed at a lousy, lazy, uncaring society. Fast guitars, drums that are severely beaten on and screamed/shouted vocals that will tell you what to do and how to feel. And they do a shitty GNRish take on Barracuda. It’s good, but contrary to the “unique sound that will constantly keep you guessing.” blurb from the promo sheet.... well, it just isn’t. frickinjordan Willma’s Barnyard Fiasco s/t Independent I’ve been playing favorites with my cds lately. Here’s why. I love bands that sing about fishin’, beer, 99 cent whores and, of course, tractors. The band is called Willma’s Barnyard Fiasco. And I’ll tell you what, they’re fuckin’ special. The band is just two guys! Yeah! Two fuckin’ cow-pokes! You’ve got your bass guitar and you’ve got your drums. All you dime-a-dozen guitar players can fuck, ah…I mean… back right off ‘cause to these guys ya ain’t worth shit! Talented.

VERY. So talented that I had to go check them out. OH MY GOD! They have cowboy hats the size of Texas! You don’t even know. But I guess you might get an idea if you either: A) listen to their cd. (Better yet, buy one ‘cause they’re local and it accompanies whisky ever so well) or B) Check them out live. Oh yes. please do this if you can. Thanks boys. And when you find that fucker that stole your tractor… fuckin’ kill him.

T.V.Mama Grand Magus s/t Rise Above Records I thought this was going to be another deathmetal band from somewhere like Norway.

Close. Try hard rock and roll with a touch of the blues to keep it real?

Interesting?

Not really. I think it was D a v i d Berman who once sang, “There’s no imagination in the blues,” and while I don’t generally agree with that, it works here. Typical blues licks heavyed up with a touch of rock out with yer cock out kinda wankery. Danzig did this on his first few solo albums but only way better. Speaking of Danzig, that’s who the vocalist wants to sound like, but he’s just not that good.... boring.

Europe for over a decade and now Tim Armstrong has brought them overseas. Kinda like a rockabilly Misfits with accents, c u l l i n g aspects of metal and punk, these guys take a dark but fun approach to the rockabilly sound. Mostly high speed psychobilly, with lots of hooks and singalong choruses, every song on this disc is great. I recommend.

Cowboy TexAss The Hillstreet Stranglers s/t E is for Evil Records

frickinjordan The Threats Back in Hell 7” Intimidation Records It’s my understanding that this band was around in the early 80’s and had played with The Exploited on more than a few occasions. Not being that familiar, I don’t know how this new recording fares up to the older material. However, I can honestly say that this marble colored piece of wax contains three tracks of fast paced distorted punk damage, better then a lot of stuff that’s around these days. This is only limited to 500 copies so get in touch with this label on line at www.geocities.com/intimidationrecords.

Aaronoid.

Mr. Underhill Phantasm Drive-in Independent Probably one of the hardest w o r k i n g unsigned local bands, Mr. Underhill has released an 8 song EP that, should there ever be a vamp rock standard, will most likely be used to compare others to. The charismatic Nim Vind’s moody crooneresque vocal evocations go beyond b-movie camp and sit closer to jamming with a zombified Elvis. He’s been referred to by New York Waste Magazine as sounding like “a thinner, sexier Danzig crooning out the death blues, circa 1955” Yeah, that pretty much nails it. Though the live set captures more of the unique energy that makes Mr. Underhill good, there’s enough captured here to satisfy the fans.

‘Automation and 3…2…1… Warp’ and ‘Blue Movies’ are the strongest tracks. I don’t know where you can get this, probably the usual suspects around town go buy one off them at one of their frequent shows around town… or contact them at mr-underhill.com A.D. MADGRAS Nekromantix Return of the Loving Dead Hellcat Records Pompadours from beyond the Grave! The undead Danes are invading North America!

Armed with a coffin shaped bass, these horror tinged psychobilly rockers have been at it in

I had no idea about this band. Only that the cover looks photocopied and it says, “Please duplicate this CD” on the back and “Duplicate this CD please” on the inside cover. Good attitude. So I checked out the website www.eisforevil.org only to find out that, “they liked to play punk rock, because it keeps them from feeling like complete takin-itin-the-ass bitches.” Good for them I say. We all feel that way from time to time and if ya can’t fight it, well then.... do something else.

Ha! So, hailing from North County, California, the Hillstreet Stranglers. A four piece with what looks like an ape that goes by the name of Melanie on drums, 2 guitars and a bass and everybody but the ape gettin in on the vocals.

This is a healthy dose of old skool punk rock.

Sometimes Johnny, sometimes Jello but never lite or poppy. Nice. They even throw in a little punk country to keep it interesting. Good band, good label. They are out there keeping punk real- for you. So pay attention dangnabbit. frickinjordan but I would’ve picked a different song.

SMS is a kick ass album, and from what I’ve heard Golers’ next album should be even better. Go see the Golers play live as they are one the most energetic and intense hardcore punk bands in Vancouver. If you can get this CD (probably anywhere you can find Side 67’s stuff) make sure you let it play all the way through for some extra fun.

Stefan Nevatie Oxymoron Feed the Breed Knockout Records Back from an almost 4 year hiatus, these West Germany street punk demons final hit us with a brand new full length. This release begins with “Here we go...” a somewhat melodic catchy number, followed by the meaner sounding “Hit the Road again”. Some other standouts also include “Wild and dangerous” and “Psychopath” showing Oxymoron’s keen musical ability. As catchy as some of these tunes are it’s definitely apparent that the ’82 British punk influence isn’t as predominant as early releases. Midway through things begin to drag, hence the length of some songs. With the duration of the disc being almost 50 minutes long causes the punk who suffers with attention deficit disorder to lose interest quickly.

However one can’t deny the fact that these boys aren’t jumping on any sort of trend and haven’t forgot where their roots lye.

Aaronoid.

My national pride vanished faster than guts at a pig farm. I’m as used as any other citizen to the sentimental pigfilth which our government spews up every time its expected to do anything actually creative. But this, this... thing posing as a five dollar bill.... I was at a loss for words for almost two weeks. Struck dumb like a pig full to bursting with dinner-guts.

Hockey is the great curse that this benighted country will never recover from. We have hockey, Uganda has Ebola and they have it lucky. They have it lucky because they don’t have hockey! No hockey at all! Lucky, lucky bastards, they just die bleeding from every orifice. We have to watch hockey, the stupidest sport in living memory, a skittles on ice for ass-morons. “Helloo Mr. Thomas, would you like to see an interesting thing?” “No, Mr. Paedo, I have a hockey.”

Conversations like this plague the country left, right, and centre.

I pick up my five dollar bill. I look at the face of the politician, and I feel warm, good inside; the confident glow of the politician, some ready hero, and in me I feel democracy. Which is the point.

Everything’s a go, up to the point that I turn my five-spot over to admire the ass-end. What do I get? What do we all get? Bastard children playing hockey.

I was mad like a pig without guts! I was!

Now, children get Ebola too , so we don’t got to make excuses for kids playing hockey. An Ebola boy pukes his guts out his ass, and a Canadian child plays hockey. It’s obscene, but under the circumstances it’s “natural”, like sex. So when I buy my cigarettes, or my other things, well, I can just ignore this puscrime image of babies not old enough to fuck playing a game fit for slaves. But, oh God, oh God, it gets worse.

Now, far as me and my Grampie’s concerned, poetry is to human civilization what sour guts is to a pig farm, but being a tolerant multi-cultural modern-day type, I leave the son-of-a-bitch son bastard poets alone. I don’t hit them with my fists until they die, and I know I’m lettin’ folk down by not hittin’ them till they dead, but that’s tolerance for you; I wish I could hit people I don’t like till they died.

Of course, this is Canada, which is Portuguease for, “there’s fuck-all here, let’s go home and have a paella with our mannish sisters on a pig farm.”

I guess that’s an excuse for poetry on a five dollar bill. Poetry on a five-fucken -dollar bill. And nothing says “pedophilia” like poetry in public spaces.

Like Napoleon had his waterloo, like Hitler had his whatever, like Kevin had his lady with a whatever, literature met it’s nadir when we invented children’s literature. Children can’t read, they are children. Any child who reads is just an undercooked sausage of guts, presented too soon. Let

the kids hit each other with sticks until they reach a suitable age, like fifteen, then force stupid books with no pictures on them. FORCE IT. So they got this Roch Carrier guy, now he wroted a kiddies book once. And he wrote a poem, and some pigwit nitwit put it on the bill. You, me, and everyone got to see a poem, written in French, a barbarian tongue barely worthy of the name Gibberish, every time we buy some gum. I can’t even tell what the poem’s about, man.

Now, I’m not saying Roch Carrier is a Pedophile, but as far as I’m concerned, anyone who is so interested in children THAT THEY WOULD WRITE BOOKS FOR CHILDREN... is worth a second look. Some of those little boys are A++.

In conclusion, I would like to say that I have proved that all children’s book authors are Pedophiles; ergo, everybody who spends the new five dollar bill is paedo.

In conclusion, I’m too giffy to write anymore.

Thank you, signed Jason Ainsworth

KID SPARKLE’S HOUSE OF FREAKS

movie depicted a woman seducing a complete retard it would be wildly controversial. Yet, in a porno, nobody bats an eye. The husband is then

etrated. The actresses make the most of this tandem excitation concept, which makes for a fun scene as well as an expose of the fakery of most female porn activity.

After a couple of magic tricks and an appearance by Ron Jeremy in a silly baby’s bonnet, Sparkle’s lovely assistants take on a fellow with a fake eye hanging out. Syren, star of the high class LES VAMPYRES, is a very beautiful woman yet no prima donna when it comes to hardcore exuberance. Partway through the three-way we are treated to the revelation that the other lovely assistant is actually a chick with a dick. As orientation-shifting as this may be to the viewer, it is perhaps more surprising when the eye-guy (Mark Spritz) quickly - and rather enthusiastically - crosses that porno line that says guys don¹t touch other guys in a straight video. His oral acceptance of the revealed transsexual member sends me to the Internet Adult Film Database, where I discover that Mark Spritz’ only other credit is for SCENT OF A SHE-MALE. Another mystery explained.

HOUSE OF FREAKS can be watched for laughs, though there is a sincere purpose to it all.

House of Freaks can be rented at Reel Horror, 11 E. Broadway, 604-879-7330

It’s Raining Men!

by Jason Ainsworth

Dig it, the government done come up with a new design for the five dollar bill, and when I heard the news, I was as happy as a pig in guts. It’s common knowledge that EVERY SINGLE bill got drawings on it, see, and drawings are art. It’s like your own wallet sized art, for everyone! And it buys things! I was happier than a pig eating guts. Until I saw the thing.

Leisure Time Productions

There’s a genre of porn called Bizarre where pretty much anything goes, and it isn’t necessarily meant to turn you on. HOUSE OF FREAKES definitely strays into Bizarre terrain, but wants to bring the viewer’s sexual interest along for the ride. Conceptually a morphing of THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW with the legendary FREAKS (1932), HOUSE OF FREAKS contains within its bizarre trappings a plea for tolerance of the sexual need of those different from us. Starting with the standard broken-down car and needing to use the phone, an innocent couple are welcomed into the home of “Mr. Sparkle”, plied with strange drinks and invited into his deviant world.

Sparkle (who also directs) takes the same encouraging, omni-sexual approach to his guests as Rocky Horror’s Frank’n Furter. First up, the husband is sequestered with a 6-breasted woman (nice prosthetic work) and a very fat lady (“Heavy? She’s a fucking pig!”, Sparkle joyfully remarks.). Meanwhile, the wife is introduced to a bunch of spastics made up and dressed just like the pinheads from FREAKS. Impressively, the porn actor who performs with her stays in full spastic, drooling character for the entire scene, money shot and all, while the rest of the freaks jump around and blather incoherently. It is interesting to reflect that if a legit

Ode to the Bill In my pocket, is a bill, not the same shape as a hill, or a bonny glen, a glen with hens, o’er the paedo hill, where this guy named Bill, does his business; with young Will, with his cock, after hockey.

Bill, paedo, nice boy, o’er the glen, o’er the hill, this is the end of my poem.

Part two in our heroe’s ongoing adventures in the land of smut. illustrations by Ms. Dexter

Tex: It was Monday Night and we were ready to rock. Ms. Dexter and a few of our compatriots gathered at our humble dwelling for a bit of alcoholic lubrication to smoothly remove my sense of judgement and initiate our inebriated venture.

Dex: At the club we were greeted by an overly friendly homeless guy who thoughtfully points out the door to us..

We pop inside and much to our surprise girls have to pay cover too.

Tex: What kind of archaic society are we living in where our drunken lady friends must pay cash monies to see other ladies get naked?

Dex: Yeah... so no cheap dates for the boys.

Tex: I love how you say that, but you paid my cover. I also love nudie bars where they play lots of rap and there’s no naked girls. (sarcasm) We didn’t get much in the way of entertainment for our first thirty minutes of patronizing the Number 5 establishment.

Dex: But then I got all excited because eventually there was a girl and she was hot and had a neat costume and got naked and had nice tits.

Tex: Yeah, and they played sport fishing on widescreen.

That’s why I was really there. That and some of the girls let you fondle their breasts.

Dex: No, you were really there to sing really loudly to songs you didn’t know the words to while drinking two drinks at the same time and being loud and obnoxious.

Tex: Yeah, that was me. I was also inappropriately complaining about tanlines on exotic dancers.

Dex: And said I think its sexy, it highlights the naughty bits.

Tex: I think its a tacky convention. Its like fake realism. You got these giant silicone tits and hot, hairless bodies and then a tan line.

Strippers are supposed to be like wild, exaggerated fantasy women, not your shy, bathing-suit-at-beach girlfriend. They have tans in the dead of winter for fucks sake, it’s not like they don’t have the option in their tanning booth to take their tops off.

Dex: Anyways, Tex gets drunker. A bunny girl with a nice ass gets naked. A cabbie thinks my friend is a ‘working girl’. We laugh. Pee on the toilet seats.

Lots of fun, classy place, good service, and then they close at one.

Tex: A fight almost broke out at the bar as I tried to squeeze one last drink out of the bartender. The vulture-like lap dancers became aggressive. I never thought I’d hear ‘you ho, wanna take this outside biotch?’ in real life, forget by two scantily clad women ready to attack each other over me. We found it wise at this point to make a quick escape while they were distracted.

Dex: Things get a little blurry for Texass, but with the help or our overly friendly ambassador of drunkeness outside, we hop in a cab and where do we end up?... well the side of a shell station to pee, and then back to our beloved Club Paradise.

Tex: I wouldn’t call it beloved. They cut me off before I even had one drink there.

Dex: Our little cowboy was a wee bit belligerent with the waitress (his volume was yell). He did however entertain me, and everyone else around the stage by singing along loudly to Wham and the Petshop Boys.

Tex: Lies. They made me leave because I was breaking things.

Dex: More like I shoved your sorry ass in a cab with some other pervert before you vomited all over the place.

Tex: I did vomit. I’ve only vomited twice in my life, and both times after visiting the Paradise. Maybe they’re trying to kill me for making fun of their neon palm tree wall art.

Dex: Who knows, but in the end all that could be said was “Tex rides his horse backwards for all the right reasons.”

Dmidtrui Otis presented with Siamese twins, who have the quirk of becoming simultaneously sexually stimulated by either of their pussies being pen-

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