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CONTENTS

PRIESTESS JARBOE

PRIESTESS - 8

What? Montreal has a music scene?

IN FLAMES - 15

Swedish people are horny!

SUPERGRASS - 8

They’re back! Gaz! Danny! Mick! The Other One!

MARAH - 9

Settle down, people. Enough with the “City of Brotherly Love” jokes...

JAH WOBBLE - 11

Supernatural Vibrations and the ‘fag’ end of punk. Wot?

JARBOE - 12

Album Reviews - 18 Live Reviews - 17 Film - 23 Toronto - 10 Ainsworth - 26 Fiction - 26 Skate - 22 Books - 22 Comics - 27

This shit’s too spooky. I’m keeping my mouth shut.

GOGOL BORDELLO- 15

The hetero, gypsy, commie version of the Scissor Sisters

SYLVIE

PRIDE TIGER - 13

Are we the first to talk about them? Are we?

PARLOUR STEPS - 10

These people seem to use a lot of very clever words

BERNADETTE SEACREST - 10 Ryan’s mom chats with The Nerve

IN MEDIAS RES - 13

It’s latin for “Cleveland Steamer”

THE VAPIDS - 16

Harper should have these fuckers rounded up in no time

CHARLES MANSON- 13

A lot of people forget that Roman Polanski sodomized a minor

SYLVIE - 16

Just in case you forgot, Roman Polanski sodomized a minor

THE NERVE

508 - 825 Granville St., Vancouver, B.C. V6Z 1K9 604.734.1611 www.thenervemagazine.com / info@thenervemagazine.com The Don (a/k/a Editor-In-Chief and Publisher) Bradley C. Damsgaard editor@thenervemagazine.com Pistol Whipper (a/k/a Music Editor) Adrian Mack mack@thenervemagazine.com Shotgun (a/k/a Film Editor) Michael Mann mann@thenervemagazine.com Map and Details (a/k/a Skate Shreditors) D-Rock and Miss Kim Launderer (a/k/a Book Editor) Devon Cody cody@thenervemagazien.com

The Henchmen (a/k/a Design & Graphics) Dale De Ruiter Weapons Cleaner (a/k/a Article Editor) Jon Azpiri, Sean Law Surveillance Team (a/k/a Photographers) Laura Murray, Jeremy Van Nieuwkerk, Miss Toby Marie The Muscle (a/k/a Staff Writers) Jason Ainsworth, Cowboy TexAss, Chris Walter, Jason Schreurs, Adam Simpkins, Therese Lanz, Carl Spackler, David Bertrand, Herman Menervemanana, Sean Law, Phil Heidenreich, Ferdy Belland, Dave Von Bentley, Devon Cody, Dale De Ruiter, Derek Bolen, Tony Newton, Andrew Molloy Plaster Caster (a/k/a Cover Design) Miss Toby Marie The Kid (a/k/a The Intern) Kristy Sutor Fire Insurance (a/k/a Advertising) Brad Damsgaard advertise@thenervemagazine.com

Out-of-town Connections (a/k/a Distro and Street Team) Toronto: Rosina Tassone Calgary: Mike Taylor Edmonton: Freecloud Records, Shauna Sirockman Winnipeg: Margo Voncook Whitehorse: Jordi and Jeremy Jones Victoria/Whistler: Jono Jak, Lindsay Seattle/Bellingham: Frank Yahr 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. 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. All content © Copyright The Nerve Magazine 2006. Est. 1999

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CHEAP SHOTZ Things I Discovered At The Nerve Christmas Party By Devon Cody

1) Michael Mann has beautiful lips - truly exquisite, red, gleaming lips. 2) Ferdy Belland is not a girl. 3) Dave Bertrand could easily be mistaken for a respectable member of society. Yes… I know. I am still in shock. My preconceived world is crumbling around me. 4) Carl Spackler is a figment of your imagination. 5) Free booze disappears faster than someone as naïve as myself could ever possibly imagine without seeing it first hand at a Nerve afterparty. 6) Brad Damsgaard has a soul! Oh okay, no he doesn’t. Thought I could fool you by slipping it in the middle somewhere. 7) Dale DeRuiter paints his fingernails and has a haircut that puts a kink in my neck when I look at him. To his credit, he does not wear a white belt. …and finally: 8) Jason Ainsworth is the only man in town (and quite possibly the world) who makes rhinestone-studded leather seem perfectly natural.

Ass Slappin’ and BadCONTENTS Mouthin’ (Left)They Live 1988

(Right) Vancouver 2006 – in 10 easy payments – that adds up to a lot of dosh, not to mention a lot of soul music. I hate soul music. Greg Brady has given me something way better for my pimply white ass and the Visa card I use to keep it entertained.‘70s Music Explosion is therefore a triumph, and the commercial? A classic of the genre. - Herman Menervemanana

Records Too Expensive These Days? How About Collecting Shitty VHS Tapes, Instead?

Vegetarians Eat Shit

f you’re not aware of how Hepatitis A is transmitted, there are two main ways to get it: ingesting fecal matter from someone who has it, or having unsafe sex with someone who has it. Proving once again that the good lord is on our side and punishes everyone we can’t stand, there was an outbreak of Hepatitis A at Foundation restaurant (2301 Main St.). Foundation offers vegetarian cuisine where the only thing shittier than the menu and service would seem to be the feces in the salads. Or maybe the cooks are sticking their dicks in the mashed potatoes. I don’t know. Whatever it is, we suggest not eating there any more.

This month - Eugene Hütz of Gogol Bordello

The New Vinyl

Gassing Us Softly with Their Songs

Popular Nerve Contributor Jason Ainsworth

Who Gives a Fuck?

ime Life’s newest late night infomercial for the 10 disc set ‘70s Music Explosion is a real return to form after the disappointing half-hour slots for Legends: Ultimate Rock and the bizarre Superstars of Country, presented by Kenny Rogers’ crazy fucked up face. ‘70s Music Explosion is co-hosted by Barry Williams (who may or not have played Greg Brady. It’s hard to tell, because he only mentions it 25 times) and a woman who looks like she hates sex (her name escapes me). The selection of clips is outstanding, up to and including the choice of “Magic” - by those Scottish homos Pilot - for the recurring “bumper” music that divides the ad into distinct segments. For those readers who might take offense to the term “Scottish homos”, I’d like to point out that there’s absolutely nothing Pilot can do about being Scottish. ‘70s Music Explosion is perfect if - like me - you’re completely pathetic in every way and old. I wonder if the gigantic mega-corporation behind these prized compilations of tunes that you never hear on classic rock radio all day long has somehow gotten inside my head – perhaps triangulating its srategy based on the critical personal information embedded in my credit card on the one side, and my hard drive on the other (I spend a lot of time on the website.) There’s no other credible explanation for the roll call of talent here; the Raspberries, Lobo, Blue Swede, the Sweet, Cher, Gilbert O’ Sullivan, Glen Campbell, Neil Sedaka, Maureen McGovern, Albert Hammond… Representing for the darkies, you get Jean Knight, George McRae, and Hot Chocolate, with Mungo Jerry’s Ray Dorsey falling somewhere in between. I guess you could call him a “Nonky”. All of this comes in living video colour; all of it illuminates Greg Brady’s totally sincere and unscripted recollection that – back in the ‘70s – it was always summer. Best of all is the unlikely number of singing drummers on display: the Ozark Mountain Daredevils, Jigsaw, and most importantly, Paper Lace, who gave us “The Night Chicago Died”. I had absolutely no idea that Paper Lace had a singing drummer, which is odd, as I’m easily their biggest fan, ever. Plus - the dude looks like Zandor Vorkoff from Al Adamson’s Dracula Vs. Frankenstein. One of the problems with being a functioning drug addict with a TV is that I’ve bought Universal’s Legends of Soul collection six times now. At $151 a crack

LABEL SPOTLIGHT

he streets are AWASH with old movies on VHS, as video stores continue to junk their old stock in favour of DVDs. Some of the titles that surface are completely fucked. This month: Aurora Encounter (1986) Found: at the second hand CD store next to The Nerve. $2.99. Plot: It’s 1897. A small western town is visited by an extraterrestrial, who teaches people a bunch of very important shit about themselves. A tearjerker. Is it Ass? Yes. First of all, the American UFO era begins in 1947, but whatever... The film features Mickey Hays, who also starred in the 1987 TV special, I Am Not a Freak. Hays suffered from Progeria, which tragically causes the victim to age at an accelerated rate. Exploitation? The producers of Aurora Encounter sidestep the issue by sensitively casting Hays as a hideous creature from another planet. Hays died in 1992, as did the careers of anybody involved in this abomination. Rare? No – it’s already on DVD.

What album is currently in your Stereo? Doctor Israel – Patterns of War. Great fucking album, unconventional dub style What book are you currently reading or have most recently read? Journey of Fanfare Ciorcalia. They are a gypsy band and it’s kind of their touring chronicles. What was the last movie you watched? Downfall directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel Name one album, movie or book you consistently recommend to friends. A book called Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov Name one album, movie or book you would recommend to an enemy? Any album by the Strokes What is a recent guilty pleasure? I don’t feel guilty about any pleasure. I am pro-pleasure. Quite hedonistic actually. What is your biggest pet peeve? Nothing. Nothing gets under my skin, man. Name one bad habit you are extremely proud of? Masturbating with raw meat. If you could hang out with any one person throughout history who would it be? Ali G. What is one thing you want to get done before you die? Populate Antarctica with a new and advanced generation of Gypsy Punks.

THE MOST DANGEROUS JOB IN VANCOUVER

he Nerve is looking for that very special someone to work in our sales and marketing department. If you think you can hack it, send a resume to our office (address in masthead below) or e-mail to editor@thenervemagazine.com. We don’t just pay in booze and dope anymore either. Experienced people only, please, because as much as we enjoy the young and inexperienced, we don’t actually enjoy it when they cry.

Congratulations Mr. Harper White Whale Records

hen someone christens their fledgling record label after a large, sea-bound mammal, the temptation assuredly exists to “go big” or “make a splash.” Fortunately, Vancouver’s White Whale Records has refrained from such clichéd nonsense. In lieu of grandiose gestures, the label has opted for measured growth to ensure its development into a quality enterprise. “The Whale” was launched in 2004 by Ryder Havdale as a means to promote and distribute albums produced by his own bands: namely, dirty folkers the Mohawk Lodge and indie rockers Kids These Days. By yearend, Montreal’s Poorfolk had come aboard and provided the label with its first release from outside the family. Still, it wasn’t until 2005 that the Whale underwent a bout of evolution and truly found its legs. “I just realized how much we’ve done this past year,” exclaims Havdale. Selecting a single highlight leaves the affable impresario slightly flummoxed. Ultimately, he suggests: “Every time we got our new discs back from the plant.” The Whale released three diverse albums in 2005: Castle Project’s wounded Diary of a Broken Heart; Precious Fathers’ artful eponymous effort and Octoberman’s wanderlust-fuelled These Trails Are

Old and New. Havdale also cites label showcases at the NXNE and CMJ festivals as notable dates on the calendar. Through his machinations, the Whale’s six acts were able to take to stages in Toronto and New York City in 2005. Furthermore, the NXNE junket kicked off with a highly-successful Kids These Days/Castle Project weeknight show at Richard’s on Richards – a feat virtually unthinkable for any local band without the word “mountain” in their name. Being a burgeoning label, White Whale Records now finds itself in the somewhat unenviable position of having a full roster all attempting to avoid the sophomore jinx. The first challengers will be the Mohawk Lodge and Castle Project. Regarding his own band’s Bloodlines, Havdale promises a “Crazy Horse meets Bonnie Prince” affair. Meanwhile, Castle Project’s debut birthed three video singles – making them arguably the label’s most high profile act. Perhaps succumbing to some long-overdue, beluga-grade bravado, Havdale proclaims, “You can expect that and more from the next batch of hits.” - Curtis Woloschuk

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CONTENTS

MUSIC

Priestess

True Adepts of the Left Hand Path “Those are actually tribesman from the early 1900s – an extinct tribe called the Gonads”

By Adrian Mack

ow that almost everybody in Montreal is a world-famous musician cum avantgarde designer cum sensation-crazed Hypnotiq-swilling art-terrorist and a Warhol model, how refreshing it is to speak with a poutine who still values the pea-brained things in life: rock music, beer, and horror movies. Mikey Heppner of Montreal’s Priestess is talking to The Nerve from a van somewhere between Montreal and Ottawa. He’s happy that I caught the Hellraiser references in “Everything That You Are”, a track from the band’s debut 2005 album Hello Master (Indica). “The whole song’s about Hellraiser, “ he says, urgently. “I had that line about ‘trading in all my blood for everything that you are’, and I was like, that could be referring to the scene where she’s bringing in dead people, and it’s soaking through the floor and bringing him back. I thought, ‘I’m gonna keep going with that.’” Like just about every track on Hello Master, “Everything…” has a moment or two of unexpected musical genius, in this case a ground-staking instrumental passage in entirely the wrong spot (just after the first chorus). I can’t tell you how much that one part cooks, or how many times over the course of the album Priestess flies in a chord change, a left-field

guitarmony, or a rhythmic spitball that kills. It’s rock, but it’s also better than rock, ‘coz the tunes are too good. “If there’s any point that we stress when we write,” Says Heppner, firmly, “It’s that. It has a good melody, some sort of good hook. That’s the most important thing.” Hello Master evidently bypassed the west coast, but elsewhere in the world it inspired unseemly love-letters from grown men, who heard tremors of AC/DC, Thin Lizzy, Monster Magnet, the Cult, Danzig, Fu Manchu… Some guy at Sleazegrinder.com completely blew his load; “Listen, man… I’ve heard Back in Black and Electric Warrior and Led Zeppelin and Ace of Spades and By the Grace of God... I’m telling you that Hello Master is just as good as those records.” “Obviously I was very flattered,” a bemused Heppner chuckles. “I met the guy in London, and he reassured me that he was 100% sincere. I was like, oh wow…” “The only thing people leave out is that a lot of our main influences are bands that we went through high school with,“ he continues. “Like the Melvins, Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana – stuff like that.” How does he account for the group’s collective intuition for hard rock in the

Supergrass I

classic mold? He doesn’t. “It’s the way we felt right about it, you know? It’s just natural.” I bring up the weird hiccup in “Time Will Cut You Down” – the centre-piece of Hello Master; a simmering re-write of “The Slider” until the chorus, which is fitted with an acid-flashback moment. Heppner shows his hand. “It’s not well-known,“ he says, “But I’m a massive prog junkie, so I try to sneak little moments in; odd time signatures.” Heppner claims that Relayer, by Yes, is the pinnacle of prog. He also admits that, “If you’d asked me 6 months ago, I would have said King Crimson, Red.” So, four kids from Montreal have actually made a rock record that’ll break your heart. It’s a fucking miracle. Seriously. Now how about this witchy album art? “I wasn’t trying to say anything,” says Heppner. “I liked the idea of having the ornate bordering and the hand drawn stuff, and the weird tribesmen from Tierra Del Fuego.” “They’re scary,” I say. “Yeah, they’re very scary. Those are actually tribesman from the early 1900s. An extinct tribe called the Gonads…” “The Gonads?” “The Onas,” Heppner shouts back. “ONAS.” “This one guy looks like a reverse

Better Than Alright By Adam Simpkins

t’s been just over a decade since Supergrass first came to North America, hot on the heels of its debut album I Should Coco and the charttopping single “Alright”, which was featured prominently in Clueless and numerous adverts. Arguably, this could have been the height of its stateside success – we were enamoured with the cheeky attitudes, digestible names (Gaz! Danny! Mick!) and catchy Buzzcocks meets Who songs about being caught by the fuzz, Mansized Roosters and a slew of other veryBritish oddities. Even Steven Spielberg had his eye on the Oxford three-piece, wanting to create a Monkees-style TV show revolving around its crazy antics – thankfully for everyone involved, that idea was quickly put to pasture. Four albums later, plus a career-spanning best-of aptly titled Supergrass is 10, the band has definitely put its grown-up shoes on and is ready to put some of the past behind them. “[The mid-90s] seem like a long time ago now,” bassist Mick Quinn tells The Nerve from his home in Oxford. “When we first started

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Klansman.” “Indica was like, ‘Shit, we don’t know about this.’ And I was like, look, if people are gonna think these are Klansmen, I mean, come on…” “That actually came up in your discussion?” I ask, amazed. I only brought it up because I was being kind of an ass. “Yeah!” Heppner laughs. “And I just thought it was ridiculous right off the bat. I’m like, look, Klansmen have white robes on, and they’re not half naked with cotton balls taped onto them.” “And this guy on the left is black,” I point out. “They’re all black,” he says. A show at Richard’s on Richards last November should have been sold-out – if the quality of the goods was directly proportionate to the size of the walk-up. Not in this world. “I think we were booked into too big a place,” says Heppner. When the band returns to the Red Room on February 25th – in a co-headling slot with Early Man – I assure Heppner that the room will be full this time, because I created a spell that will make it so. Heppner’s polite about it, but I think he’s probably happy to fill rooms his own way. n

Supergrass is like watching the swans going across the lake – it’s very placid on the top, but our feet are beating like mad underneath

[the band] feels like a previous life to me. We’ve changed quite a bit over that time. I don’t know if people still get us – I kinda feel like people don’t really get us in England anymore.” Quinn could be referring to the fact that although their latest, and most subdued, album Road to Rouen was given high scores from the critics, record sales haven’t exactly been soaring. Lead-off single “St. Petersburg” entered the UK charts with a whimper at #23, and the two following (“Low C” and “Fin”) failed to chart at all. But Mick stands by their decision to make an album with only nine songs – none of which stand out as an immediate hit. “It’s a creative dead-end to repeat what we’ve done on our greatest hits - it’s a waste of time trying to write the next ‘Alright’,” he says. “I’ve paid my rent for the year, so I’m quite happy.” And while Quinn is very modest and polite about the new album, it should be noted that it surfaced from a rather tumultuous time for the band. Gaz and Rob (Rob being Gaz’s older brother, the unofficial fourth member of Supergrass) had recently lost their mother to cancer, Mick had just split up with his long time partner, and drummer Danny’s dirty-laundry was being aired willy-nilly throughout the British tabloids (something or other about wife-swapping with Jude Law and being the father of Gavin Rossdale’s daughter – scandalous!) Combine all that misery with the band’s urgency not to be labelled as a “singles band” and you’ve got Road to Rouen - whose first track contains the telling lyric, “We hail commercial suicide”. Oddly enough, the album is a breath of fresh air and their most focused to date. Unfazed that his band hasn’t reached the massive success of say, Oasis or Coldplay, Quinn

can say with confidence that Supergrass may not be selling piles of records (that being said, they aren’t doing too bad, either) but they have never put out a dud and can still write perfect pop songs with relative ease. “Supergrass is like watching the swans going across the lake – it’s very placid on the top, but our feet are beating like mad underneath,” Quinn waxes poetic, with a bit of a chuckle. With some mention of a new album being started in March, it doesn’t sound like Supergrass will be bowing out anytime soon. And like all its albums, it’s sure to have that Supergrass sound, while still branching out in various directions. Quinn hints that “[The next album] could be country and western. Could be thrash metal mixed with polka. Could be anything. Somebody’s gotta do it” With a month-long North American tour wrapping up in Vancouver on February 26th, Quinn promises that the band will be in top-form by the time it reaches us. “[By the end of a tour] you’ve got to the point where it’s such a welloiled machine that we can just sort of have loads of fun with what we’re doing onstage, and muck around basically. It also means you can chuck in unexpected things.” Looking back on his career, Quinn is quite pleased with the way things have worked out and wouldn’t change a thing. “I’m struggling to find some fault with what we’ve been doing, but I’m coming up short,” Quinn says. “It’s been a brilliant 10 years in a lot of ways. We’ve had ups and downs and it hasn’t all been roses, but I can’t think what else I would have been doing that I would have enjoyed more.” n

Marah

CONTENTS MUSIC

s r a B d n a s r a t an S

PHOTO: ARCHPHOTO

c i r e m A

Marah, seen here standing directly in front of Philadelphia’s historic Old Glory Hole ByCarl Spackler

lot of average hosers these days got themselves some hatred towards our southern neighbors of restraint and good taste, the ol’ U.S.A. It seems like every Bob and Doug is enjoying the hell outta beratin’ and beatin’ all the Uncle Sammys and Betsy Rosses with the bad luck to run into these True Patriot Lovers. From the disgusting act of booing the American juniour hockey team, to the savaging of Americans camping in a B.C. park, yes, we Canuckleheads really are full of ourselves - stickin’ it to the Empire while it burns so profusely. Take that, you teenagers from Minnesota! The funny thing is (and when I say funny, I mean funny like impaling yourself on a bayonet), we have just elected that honorary American, Stephen Harper - a half-man, half-cardboard cut out that can’t wait to suck W’s cock - a P.M. that will follow the Bush administration creed of Neocon dogma over brains; knee-jerk reactions to any problem; short cuts through thinking by using presumed moral superiority; and an everyone-forthemselves view of the world (except, of course, you rich white protestants - you people are in, no problem). Harper will be rimmin’ the child Prez at every possible moment. I can’t wait for the loss of liberty, the clamping down on human rights,

the deaths of young Canadians in foreign lands and the mandatory Bible study assignments. We have brought this on ourselves. Anyway, despise the Yankees as you may, you morons, but not every citizen of Uncle Sammy’s is a war mongering, child eating, white supremacist. A lot of them are, but a lot of them are righteous, true, and are welcome here at the Bunker for drinks and a hit any ol’ time. And guess what else? There are some things that the Americans do way the fuck better than us: Mexican food, soul music, and, most importantly, bars. America wears the crown for best places to hole up and tie one on over free-pours, cheap draft, deer heads on the wall, peanut shells on the floor, pinball, and floozy waitresses who’ve seen it all. I love everything about a great bar, my amigos - the blinking neon beer signs, with Christmas lights year round, and no sunlight, ever. That’s something this burg really needs to brush up on, and I’m doing my part. The mood over here at the Bunker is one of relaxed contemplation; a temple - if you will - to good times. I’m sitting here right now about to take a call from a brother I’ve never met, but one that I feel I know: Serge Bielanko from the Philadelphia rock band Marah. Serge has spent a lot of time in

Springsteen had us over for dinner, and it’s really weird to be trying to get Nils Lofgren to shut up so you can hear more of what Bruce is saying. American Bars. Him and his brother Dave have played in Marah for over a decade and show no signs off slowin’ down. Like prizefighters who change their names from fight to fight, Marah keep changing labels and members; always writing, recording, and touring like speed addicts on an endless highway. The band comes across as a raucous mix of drunken poets, rebels, and romantics: a real blend of the Replacments, John Prine, the late great Wilson Pickett, Dylan, Sly Stone, and blood, sweat and beers! Lots of ‘em. Sometimes when I hear their music, I feel like me and my friends have just finished throwing up at the St. Paddy’s Day parade. I sit in the Bunker playin’ their records at head shattering decibels and jumping up occasionally to dance drunken jigs on my zebra skin carpet, feeling connected to some bigger gang, some boozy rouge’s shootin’ gallery up in the sky. Serge calls from a laundromat in Brooklyn. He is washin’ up his finest duds and preparing for a tour of North America that brings them to Richards on Feb. 3rd, touring in support of their new album If You Didn’t Laugh You’d Cry. “Never been to Vancouver,” he says. “Hear it’s real pretty.” I remark that I get the sense Marah is a killer live band. For 10 or 12 bucks, he says, “we’ll knock your socks off.” The grit on their music is strong, man - a real sense of east coast America. The seedy motels, the brothels, the fights, the love, the streets - mean and sweet - dogs barkin’, children playin’, the soundtrack of happy go lucky drunks, crooks, and killers. Loaded and unlucky in love; but always in love. Grit. True grit. Marah is a product of its environment, with a wide range of influences, but the brothers favourite music is Motown. Just check the groove on the awesomely titled “My Heart is the Bums on the Street” from their excellent second record Kids in Philly. Growing up, the brothers were surrounded by another titan’s music - Springsteen. Serge tells me, “He was on the radio every three minutes. If you didn’t dig him, that was a real problem cuz he was everywhere.” And Marah eventually got to meet him. He even played on their third album, Float Away with the Friday Night Gods. “Just to go and have a few beers at some bar in Manhattan with

him is so fuckin’ surreal,” says Serge. “It’s such a cliché, but he really is a regular guy. As regular as you can be with 70 million in the bank. He’s had us over for dinner and it’s really weird to be trying to get Nils Lofgren to shut up so you can hear more of what Bruce is sayin’.” It was Nils Lofgren Day recently, I mention, in his hometown. They should erect a 50 ft. gold statue of him, just for the shout out he gets on Tonight’s the Night. Like that tequila masterpiece, the new Marah record was all done live off the floor. ”Yeah, that was a total blast,” Serge opines. ”The funnest thing we ever done in the studio. Kids in Philly took nine months but this one was banged out in two weeks.” It captures the full moon vibe of a great band playing live in the moment. ”We loved it,” he continues. “The engineers who had worked with the Thrills and Norah Jones and a bunch of other people like that were flabbergasted. But that’s how it used to be and a lot of great records were made that way. Some of the younger engineers had never even seen it before, which was pretty funny.” Marah has got its mojo workin’ overtime now, and the time for travelin’ is nigh. These dudes have seen a lot of the terra firma in their careers; Walden Pond, Abbey Road Studios, the Berlin Wall, Eiffel Tower, Ozark World (look it up. No really - look it up), and one place that yours truly has always had a hankerin’ to visit: General George Patton’s museum of rusty Tanks. “It’s so bad ass man,” says Serge. “It’s in the desert in California. George used to make em’ train out in the desert and now its just home to all these old tanks. It’s really cool.” I mention that George C. Scott’s speech from the opening of the movie Patton should be Marah’s walk-on soundtrack. “We have used the theme from Rocky,” Serge mentions. That’s cool – but try out the Patton, I say. It’s perfect: the dog faced G.I.’s from Philly, those magnificent bastards, riding into town like a plague, drinking all the booze, doing all the drugs and screwing all the women. Better get out there, you punks, and prepare for a great and necessary invasion. Marah is going to grind up your guts with the wheels of its rock ‘n’ roll machine. n

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CONTENTS

MUSIC

UPPER CANADIAN BLUES Music Notes from In, Out and Around Toronto By Cameron Gordon

PHOTO: AVIVA COHEN

themselves now in the midst of a cross Canada tour. Check local listing - they might be playing your town. Tonight… After a solid year plus supporting 2004’s stellar EP The Constant Lover, the ladies of Magneta Lane drop their latest full-length Dancing with Daggers on Valentine’s Day 2006. Set for release Diableros: evil name, buttery long-player, faggy shirts on local indie imprint Paper Bag Records, uburban pranksters the Meligrove Band the album has been making waves in Japan have just released their major label debut, since last fall, where it was released amid a Planets Conspire, on V2 Records. A heady fury of fandom, photo shoots and pure bubonic mix of jingle-jangle pop rock and proggy spoon- riffage. Seriously, the Lane are huge across the fed spew, the Meligroves have refined their sound pond and this may well be the disc that breaks down to a bloodthirsty prick. After a randy release them huge in Canada. Stay tuned… Hot on the gig at Toronto’s Mod Club Theatre, the boys find heels of their hotly-heeled smash Tournament

Parlour Steps By Ferdy Belland

here are some bands where one wonders why the Christ they aren’t all over the map by now, and how there’s no art-media justice when said bands keep flying under the radar. Such a band is Vancouver’s whiz kids, the Parlour Steps. Melding fine art-rock and powerpop sensibilities, the Steps have released three albums - The Myth of Summer (2000), Hours of Tremors (2002), and their latest,The Great Perhaps (2005) – which need to share shelf space alongside all of your favorite CDs. Guitarist/songwriter/benevolent-despotfor-life Caleb Stull, electric/upright bassist Julie Bavalis, guitarist Rees Haynes, and drummer Robert Linton meld exciting honey-like harmonies and inventive, adventurous musical tricks overtop some of the smartest songsmithing this side of Alex Chilton, and the Rheostatics. You can see for yourself at the Railway Club on February 10th, when they support the mighty Hinterland. It’s no surprise that the multitalented Stull leads a dual life not only as one of Vancouver’s best pop-rock songwriters, but is also a fine recording engineer (in the league of Jesse Gander and Howard Redekopp). He produced all three

Parlour Steps albums as well as Hinterland’s soon-to-be-released disc. “I’ve been producing seriously here in Vancouver over the past six years now,” Stull explains. “My latest projects (include) finishing up a record for Windows 78. I’ll only work with artists I respect… I could make a killing recording Nickelback clones, but my heart just wouldn’t be into it.” When asked about the musical development of his band, Stull explains: “We started off the band with far more of a performance art aspect, but even by the Blue Album (Hours of Tremors), we were crossing over into more rock’n’roll territory, adding it to the jazz-rock and psychedelic foundations of our sound.” “The songs have a lot of edges and corners,” adds Linton “Even within the three-and-ahalf-minute pop song, we find challenge and movement, for ourselves as well as the listener.” “I’ll bring in songs as a basic sketch,” Stull reveals, “and the others will fill in the colours around it. Usually I have a rough sense of the melody and a rough sense of the lyrics… I’d like to get back to more organic songwriting with the Steps, but since we’re all so busy outside the

Bernadette Seacrest By Boy Howdy

Ok loogans, listen up! Forget raw power rock and holy fucking roll; forget psychobilly and durrrrrrrrrty country; don’t even think of emo or grindcore… the new punk rock is upon us and we’re gonna ram it down your greedy lil’ throats. Nerve minions - meet Bernadette Seacrest. She’s got more tats than the sixth fleet; she’s cooler than everyone who will read this, and – backed by her band the Yes Men - she has a voice that could melt even the stankiest slab o’ cheese. This is not your Starbucks n’ SUV-type jazz, mind you, nor is it your mama’s JulieLondonesque torch songs – although Seacrest’s evolution from LA street kid to torch woman is largely a by-product of being “a tortured woman,” she reveals. “I had a really brutal childhood,” continues the chanteuse. “Left home at 15, got strung out, blah, blah… The torch songs kill me. Rip my heart out. I love singing them.”

The Nerve February 2006 Page 10

of Hearts LP, the Constantines made their American network debut in late January with a guest spot on Last Call with Carson Daly. But lest we be thinking these working class heroes have gone all Hollywood on our rears - be advised that at press time, Toronto’s Blue Fog Records was just prepping the release of the long-promised split 12” between the Cons and fellow Toronto strummers the Unintended. A covers record in the tradition of the Ramones’ Acid Eaters and to a lesser degree the Pigs’ Bacon Bits, the Constantines will contribute four Neil Young tunes while the Unintended (a quasi-supergroup of sorts featuring members of the Sadies, Blue Rodeo and Elevator to Hell) take a shot at four Gordon Lightfoot classics … For a band that was once a mere glimmer in Dan Burke’s eye, the Diableros sure aren’t wasting their time stretching out their sea legs. February 21st will see the Baudelaire Label re-release the band’s buttery long-player You Can’t Break the Strings In Our Olympic Hearts. And not a moment too soon for fans of genuine heart-wrenching, freak-

infused rock… Local rootsy churners Gumption are hard at work on their sophomore disc, bearing the vaguely bureaucratic title Govern Yourself Accordingly. No word on whom the band collectively supported in the recent federal election… By the time you’re reading this, hardcore hucksters the Brutal Knights will have no doubt injured, miffed, bashed and jabbed the staff and clientele of the Rancho Relaxo, in efforts to celebrate the release of their debut full-length. This is the same bar that employed Art Bergmann for a spell in recent years, so you can probably imagine the pedigree at work here. The Pleasure is All Thine is released on BC’s Deranged Records and by all accounts, it’s a raging slab of pure unadulterated hate and notso-subtle putdowns… In their biggest Toronto gig since the last one, Hamilton-bred punk relics the Forgotten Rebels set forth at the Kathedral on February 18th. Get there early if yer looking to get shoved and stomped. The 3 Tards, the Antics!, Full Clip Orchestra and Piss Drunk Hooligans provide support. n

I could make a killing recording Nickelback clones, but my heart just wouldn’t be into it.

band, it’s rare when we can spend five hours on a song.” Stull formed the Parlour Steps in 2000 and is the only original member; the current lineup – together since mid-2004 – enjoys a solid camaraderie, built on personalities and musical passion. “Julie takes a bit of flak out there,” Stull remarks on his absent bandmate. “She’s cute, she’s blond, so she takes a lot of shit from

Imagine a voice – gin-soaked and then opiated for good measure - that makes you drift in and out of a sexy place where whips and chains accompany your feathers and silk. A place where Billie Holiday and Big Black can safely coexist. Still with me kiddies? Like I said, this isn’t your average Jazz Lite [tm] here. Fuck, if it is good enough for Hank Williams III, it should be good enough for you, poindexter. Recalling a show with the youngest Hank, Bernadette says, “Opening up for him was one of the highlights of, not just my music career, but my life. I didn’t talk to him because I was too shy, but I heard he watched our show. We did an encore hillbilly version of “War Pigs”, and brought the god damned house down. He played afterward and killed. I love him!” Discussing the current state of punk rock – Bernadette caught legends such as X, Fear, Flipper, 45 Grave, Black Flag, Minutemen, Firehose, Fishbone, and Jane’s Addiction, all in their prime - causes the singer to wax nostalgic. Billie Holiday or Billie Joe Armstrong, I ask who is more punk? “Are you kidding me?” she laughs. “Billie Holiday, hands down. Being an old [40?? – ed] woman, I have to say I don’t

sound techs and others who mistake her for a ditz, or an amateur. So when she tears into her bass and sings like an operatic banshee and blows everyone away, everyone’s stunned and mystified – ‘wow, you can actually play!’ I’ve done the ‘sausage party’ thing in other bands, but I like the band dynamic now.” “Julie keeps us from getting too cock rock,” Linton quips. n

The torch songs kill me. Rip my heart out. I love singing them. really like what has happened to punk rock. And I don’t have anything to say that hasn’t already been said. It’s sad. I really could go off about this shit.” When the conversation later turns to George W, the invective really flies fast and furious. “Don’t get me started. Half this country are a bunch of blithering idiots, proven by Bush’s re-election!” By way of wrapping up, I ask Bernadette what song she never gets sick of and why? “Man, this is the hardest question so far,” she moans. “Hmm. Why does it always have to be just one? I think that’s fucked up. ‘The Ugly American’ by Big Black,” she decides finally. Why? Bernadette balks at my prodding. “Why?” she snorts, “Listen to it!” n

CONTENTS MUSIC

Jah Wobble By Adrian Mack

“

Oh that one,” says Jah Wobble with a heavy sigh. I’m sure he’s rolling his eyes on the other end of the line, in Boston, where he’s just finished a set with his English Roots Band. “And this really is the truth,” he promises, “So please print the truth.” Ok – We’ll print the truth. What really happened that night in 1976, with you, Nick Kent, Sid Vicious, and Sid’s bike chain? This is punk rock lore on par with the Bill Grundy episode, and I’m hearing it from the source. “Basically,” says Wobble, “He (Kent) was with, I think it was Eddie and the Hot Rods’ manager. We were beside the stage when the Pistols were playing. Me and Sid were just watching the band and they were behind us and kind of pushed forward, quite aggressive… So Sid turned around and said, ‘Don’t fucking push me’. And they kind of push again, and Sid turns around again and says, ‘I’ll have you,’ and they don’t back away. They just stand there with this kind of aggressive look. They were probably stoned, but they’re not stepping away, so he lashed him with his bike chain. That’s what he did. As simple as that. And I think I grabbed one of them and, stupidly, just sort of said, ‘Look, do yourself a favour. Fuck off, or you’ll get cut.’ And that was the end of the story. Of course, it turned into this thing where Sid had been employed by McLaren. Why would McLaren bother with someone like Nick Kent?” Think back to the riveting bass part in the opening bars of Public Image Ltd’s still amazing debut single. This is Jah Wobble’s belated introduction to the world, after the Pistols passed him over as Glen Matlock’s replacement. The guy that got that job, Sid Vicious - he gave Wobble his name, being too wasted to pronounce John Wardle properly. It stuck, partly because Wobble seemed to posses a weirdly spiritual component, even when he was just a well-turned out thug in the audience of the 100 Club. He was also a freak for reggae and dub, along with his good friend John Lydon. When the moribund first edition of PiL fell apart – due in part to Wobble’s neophyte ambitions – his extraordinary journey begins. He couldn’t play an instrument when PiL first convened. A partial list of his subsequent collaborators indicates how quickly and well he learned: Holger Czukay and Jaki Liebezeit of Can, The Edge, Brian Eno, Bill Laswell, Adrian Sherwood and Bim Sherman of On U Sound, Sinead O’Connor, Primal Scream, Evan Parker, even Pharoah Sanders… This is a partial list. In the beginning, of course, Wobble – who brings his English Roots Band to the Plaza on February, 4th - embodied the crazy conflict at the heart of English punk in the ‘70s, when a small group of working class urchins got ideas above their station – a notion that, to the English, is as shameful as having a wank and getting caught by your mum. Wobble: There was me, John, a fella, John Grey - we were young, working class, intelligent, very open-minded, excited by life, looking to find new things. And punk happened, and the music was very kind of retro, really. It was very badly played old-fashioned rock ‘n’ roll. Very reactionary. I just found that to be mind-blowing because it didn’t suit the ethos of what was then being called punk. Within a year or two it became very insular and nihilistic. Instead of going down to the Roxy and hearing reggae, suddenly, at the fag end of punk, people were dressing all in black and they were copying how Sid had dressed. It becomes a very retrogressive, inward looking thing, and the great thing about punk was it was very outward looking, and that got me into being a musician. Up to that point, I never thought I’d be a musician, and when punk started, John came back and said ‘I’m in a band’. Nerve: You had a problem with folks you perceived to be arty or pretentious, yet your playing prompted very educated descriptions of your ability. Did you feel kind of conflicted about that? Wobble: Yes I did, very much so. I liked the fact that people were complimentary (but) I struggled

to see myself as an artist because I felt that, yes, that is kind of pretentious. I was a bit of a handful at the time and that self-destructive element started to grow, and I had a real conflict in my soul. I’d always be kind of taking the piss out of myself in those days. Nerve: Did you encounter scorn from your peers for actually being good? Wobble: Yes. That working class thing; it’s terrible. If you do well you’ll have the piss taken out of you. You have to cover your arse and make sure that you don’t ever get up yourself as they would say. Nerve: David Toop wrote, “Wobble’s rhythmic acuity is supernatural.” Were you surprised by your own ability? Wobble: Yeah, I still get that feeling. I got it tonight. I got it half an hour ago. I’m going, ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ And you have this sense of time somehow, and yeah, it does feel like a magical thing. Nerve: Here’s a quote from an interview with Richard Cook from 1982: “I started to feel embarrassed. The gigs in America, playing for 20 minutes and getting into this corny audience conflict situation — it wasn’t leading anywhere. A performer has got a responsibility, especially in a ritual music like PiL played. It’s give and take.” Wobble: Fuck me. I can’t remember saying that. What a bright young man! I was more sensible then than I am now! With PiL – yes, that’s what it was like for sure… I kind of come to that conclusion a while ago, with PiL, it was good enough that we managed to stick together for nearly two years without a reasonable line-up. The only thing? We didn’t do enough shows. It was a pathetic amount of shows. 15 or something. Useless. Nerve: Now you’re all seen as being incredibly innovative; you, Levene, and Lydon. Wobble: We never argued about music that I can recall, which is incredible when you think about it. Musically I was just able to do my simple thing. Keith never fucked with that, which is nice, actually. I came to realize - it took a while - that he was an amazingly innovative guitar player. That harmonic structure of “Poptones” - which is my favourite PiL track by a mile - it’s just incredible. And he plays drums on that as well… the drumming is slightly kind of timey and draggy, but it’s good, it works. Halfway through Metal Box, I think because of the addiction problems and all that, (Keith) just stopped coming up with anything. He couldn’t play. I realized that’s what stopped him as a really creative player. There’s something very dark in that band at that time. Nerve: There was a pretty famous article in the NME called “Corporation Executive Report to Shareholders”, where Levene blames you for everything, while you’re still in the band! It’s an endless, brutal attack on Jah Wobble. Wobble: I can’t even remember that. Nerve: I’ll fax it to you. Wobble: No. No. Don’t bother. Nerve: Are you still in touch with Levene or Lydon? Wobble: I saw John the other week. We actually had a night out. It was quite fun. It was like 1975 again. But John knows. We talked about it. I said, ‘Keith was a total cunt,’ and he laughed and said, ‘You’re right.’ You can’t let a junkie in because they get very manipulative and will make a lot of problems. Nerve: I know that when punk was developing, every day was just another day for you and your friends. But for the rest of us it seems like an impossibly vital time. Wobble: It was. And I should be careful not to disparage that too much. I must admit there was a real spark about that little scene. It was a magical time. I just think sometimes people get bogged down in the details. And it all gets a bit mundane with the gossip side of it. One day somebody’s going to make a film about it. Nerve: And they’ll get it right. Wobble: Yeah, they’ll get it right. Nerve: It won’t be Sid and Nancy, in other words.

“I never thought I’d be a musician. When punk started, John Lydon came back and said. ‘I’m in a band.’”

Wobble: Probably not, no. It was great times. It was all very, very intense. Freaky intense. Nerve: Here’s one of your quotes: “I think religious maniacs, alcoholics and general nutters make the best music.” Which of these have you been, and which of these are you now? Wobble: I was an alcoholic. Some would see me as a religious maniac now. I’m not actually a bible basher. I’m not a Buddhist. I have a strong feeling of what I would say is God, but some people might call higher consciousness. Nerve: Or Mu. Wobble: Yeah, exactly. Exactly. Nothing. There’s a great novel, called A River Sutra. And there’s a bit in it (that) describes (the search) for this holy leader, for this religious spiritual guru fella, somewhere in this little hotel in India. And at this cheap hotel he’s staying at, there’s some scientist who’s staying there with his aids this very straight fella, pretty boring fella. He’s in the area supposedly doing some kind of research. It turns out that the really straight guy is actually the spiritual leader. He’d gone through it all and come out the other end, and actually camouflaged who he was. And that’s a lot of what I do now, is camouflage the mania. And I can rest quite easily being an artist. I’m out in space sometimes, yeah? And I’m quite good at camouflaging that fact. You just kind of merge in and you can go about your business even though you are completely on fucking Pluto. n

The Nerve February 2006 Page 11

CONTENTS

MUSIC

Jarboe Destroys the Universe

PHOTO: JILL WILLIAMS

PHOTO: THOMAS RABSCH

(while Blixa Bargeld watches)

By Allan MacInnis

he aggressively minimal, infamously loud NY rock band Swans has been dead for eight years now, but the Living Jarboe will be performing at Richards on Richards on February 4th, sharing the bill with Blixa Bargeld as part of Mobilization.com’s How to Destroy the Universe tour. I reached Jarboe on her cell phone at a recycling center in Atlanta, Georgia, where she was getting rid of an unwanted Einsturzende Neubauten air compressor (“I’m sick of looking at it!”). Once I got over the strangeness of hearing her southern accent, I asked the singer about her rather unusual beginnings. “I was born in a very rural part of Mississippi; both of my parents were in the FBI. My father was an undercover agent, and then a regional supervisor. My parents… actually met at the pistol range,” she laughs. I asked how being raised by Feds influenced her. “I think that growing up with a father who constantly changed his appearance, his hair, and his manner of dress and speech, and then relocating a lot and having to be flexible all the time had a lot to do with the embracing of characterizations I do in my work – combined with my mother taking me to Mardi Gras and stuff like that, and seeing the street performers of New Orleans at a very early age. I thought later on that this is why I turned out this way, because I was exposed to theatricality my whole life.” I asked Jarboe if her parents, now both deceased, supported her creativity when she was a child. “My father encouraged music and bought me pianos and Hammond organs and got me seven years of formal vocal lessons, and I was in every choir under the sun.” Things changed when Jarboe announced that she wanted to continue her musical training in college. “When I decided this is what I wanted to do, they said flat out ‘No.’ … and weren’t supportive at all. When I told my mother I was moving to New York City and I was hell-bent on joining this band Swans, she was like, ‘So what? So you’re on a record – big deal!’…When I sang ‘Can’t Find My Way Home’ on British TV – something about the fact that I was on TV in England lent it some credibility – but they never were supportive the way I think they would be if I was a mom.”

The Nerve February 2006 Page 12

Though Jarboe will be performing a quieter set at Richards, using acoustic guitar and keyboards, she is still very much connected to her roots in Swans, and interested in giving “visceral performances.” On her last European tour, she brought electric guitars and two drummers. “There was some severe body stuff going on,” she says, “using my whole body to sing – some audiences were applauding in sheer awe that I wasn’t passing out. During Swans, I always felt Michael Gira’s eyes on me… So that kept me kind of grounded. Post-Swans, I’ve gotten to the point, melodramatic as it sounds, where I’m channelling. I lose myself and I’m not even there anymore and I have no selfconsciousness whatsoever. It borders on something beyond performance and can freak the shit out of the audience… When I did the Baltic tour in 2004, there were people in the audience shaking and weeping. It’s kind of good, that it can be used as a cathartic vehicle, but I’ve got to kind of reign it in…” Jarboe’s newest CD, The Men Album, which features collaborations with Blixa Bargeld, Jim “Foetus” Thirlwell, and Chris Connelly among others, is an exploration of her sometimes “devastating” relationships with men. The song “Feral” depicts a woman who is “wild in mourning” over the derailment of a relationship; “completely feral in grief”. This is followed by the song “Penance,” in which she wonders if forgiveness is possible, and includes the line, “A kiss is a sacrament/ My prayer is a partnership.” Jarboe kisses every copy she sells through her website with lipstick.

One of the more chilling moments in the entire Swans/Gira/Jarboe catalogue is a track off Gira’s solo outing, Drainland, which features Jarboe pleading with Gira about his excessive drinking, and Gira abusively dismissing her concerns. Jarboe’s “surreptitious” recording of Gira’s drunken rant has a creepy voyeuristic quality, but is unforgettable. I asked Jarboe where things currently stand with her former partner (who is now happily married and recording with a project called Angels of Light). “To be honest with you, we mostly communicate through a third party, a guy who started out as a Swans fan when he was 12 years old. He’s now 30, and he’s a good friend, and we even call him our ‘son,’ as if we’d had a son… It’s almost like a divorce situation.” I asked Jarboe in closing if she had any message for her fans. “Ultimately I think we’re on this planet for such a short amount of time that I’m constantly telling younger fans to say to hell with what the authority figures tell you to do; pursue what you want to do. Stop worrying about security; if you want to do music, you want to do art, do it.”

I’ve gotten to the point where I’m channelling. It borders on something beyond performance and can freak the shit out of the audience…

lixa Bargeld will also be on HtDU5 - he’ll be going on early, so don’t come late - doing his “Rede/Speech” performance, which involves the singer in an extremely intimate solo voice performance where he occasionally solicits input from audience members, using the interaction as the basis for improvisations. Using minimal equipment – microphones, foot pedals, monitors, speakers, and with Einsturzende Neubauten sound engineer Boris Wilsdorf

mixing - we will see, as Bargeld’s site has it, a “metamorphosis of sentences, words and syllables into acoustic architecture, resounding spheres and cacophonous monstrosities.” Bargeld too has had difficult moments with former bandmates, and recently left the Bad Seeds. Nick Cave says that the split was amicable - so that Bargeld could focus on Neubauten – but ‘net rumours have it otherwise. Still, one cannot avoid the impression that the formerly emaciated performer is mellowing from the days when his band performed in scrap yards. He has had several projects in art galleries in Europe, has worn a suit onstage since 1991, looks a whole lot healthier than he did in the ‘80s, and, to demonstrate his good humour, he’s even done German TV commercials! Fans are advised to seek out his Hornbach ads online, a series of “dramatic readings” from a hardware store catalogue, each ending with a deadpan “Yippeeya-ya-yippee-yay.” Blixa wears a bad hat in some of them, too.

avage Republic was going to be touring with Jarboe and Blixa, but Savage Republic member Ethan Port notes that, “the tour did not have a budget for all of Blixa, Jarboe and Savage Republic.” Instead, Port - whose company Mobilization.com is behind the festival - will be in attendance and there will be fiery surprises in addition to the main acts, as well as “extreme psychoacoustic video pieces by Scott Arford.” Past performances have involved “Butoh, propane flame effects, burning sculptures and people hanging by their skin”; but this year’s tour – the first to hit the road – will be focused primarily around music. “Mobilization is still scheduling an outdoor festival for July, which will have more of the machine art and physical performances… The primary goal of the festival is to bring together seemingly disparate artists and elements, to challenge and tear down mainstream assumptions about what is culture, and to build unique events that are greater than their individual parts.” The event is a notto-be missed opportunity for fans of creative destruction. n

CONTENTS MUSIC

“She didn’t know I was a musician. All she knew was that I was a fan of Saved by the Bell”

In Medias Res By Ferdy Belland

he Latin phrase in-medias-res translates as into the middle of things. It’s a literary device in which the author begins the narrative in the middle of an action, without exposition; the technique heightens dramatic tension and creates a sense of mystery. Vancouver’s up-and-coming arty emo quartet, conveniently also named In Medias Res, is also big on heightened dramatic tension - through its stunning music and exciting onstage electricity, which one can experience live at the band’s first all-ages show of 2006 on Friday, February 17th at the Minoru Pavilion in Richmond BC, with guests Elias. But when one sits down with Ash Poon, Andrew Lee, Steve Watts, and Ryan Flowers in the comfy confines of Pub 340 for casual

chit-chat over pitchers of in-house swill, there’s nothing mysterious, arty, or pretentious about them. They’re a bunch of down-to-earth folk, joking with each other in a tight-knit, brotherly manner. There’s not one white belt amongst them. Go figure. “We’re all excited that Ash got a girlfriend,” gushes Steve Watts. “She didn’t know I was a musician,” explains guitarist-vocalist Ash Poon, eyes rolling as he swats away good-natured shoulder pats. “All she knew was that I was a fan of Saved by the Bell.” The conversation moves to current frustrations about the local all-ages scene (or lack thereof). Reliable promoters are few, affordable venues are scarce. “It’s sad,” laments Poon. “We played a whole bunch of all-ages shows on

our last tour of North America... I’m talking good venues, too. People were making all-ages shows work everywhere we went.” Speaking of touring, it must be noted that In Medias Res are in Mongoose’s league when it comes to touring. Its last campaign was the longest – two whole months of red-lining the white lines in their legendary extenda-van and trailer. “I only had one bad week on tour where I hated the other guys,” Poon explains. “I had to leave the van and hurl glass bottles at big rocks to vent my anger. I felt okay after that.” Another claim to Vancouver indie fame for In Medias Res: nearly 2000 copies of its breathtaking debut album Of What Was (Anniedale) sold, on the strength of the live show alone. IMR’s music

is a modern reinvention of the best that emo offers; long, gradually rising dynamics, lilting vocals, guitar over guitar, everything suddenly smashing apart through howling amplifiers, gritted teeth, and bloody fingers - comparable in its unique power to Bend Sinister. And IMR has shared stages with Pedro the Lion and Death From Above 1979 (“that’s where Kelly Osborne bitched me out because I tucked my jeans into my boots,” adds Ryan Flowers, IMR’s answer to Stephen Baldwin). The music, performance, recordings, and indeed the personal connections between the four men of In Medias Res is an ongoing euphoric, anthemic catharsis that keeps satisfying their artistic needs, gig after gig after gig. In Medias Res proves that ‘emo’ is not a four-letter word. n

By Ferdy Belland

quite varied, and there’s lots of interesting bands to follow – like the Precious Fathers, or Gordon B. Eisner.” Indeed, with recent performances supporting like-minded local artists (Cadeaux, My Project: Blue, and You Say Party! We Say Die!), Bontempi is gradually establishing itself as a group of fascinating songwriters who deliver their sometimes moody, sometimes somber, always atmospheric music to appreciative audiences, with much subtle understatement - but don’t mistake them for shoegazers. The band has held its own onstage as of late with the Constantines at UBC’s Pit Pub and with Stars at the Commodore Ballroom.

8-song EP What Keeps Us Awake (produced by Charles Austin of the Superfriendz), as well as a recent session for CBC Radio 3. “In a way,” says Miller, “(the CBC session) was a good guide to giving us ideas on how we’d like to sound on record, the next time around. It’s been so long since we recorded the first EP, and the newer songs we’re working on are fasterpaced, dare I say ‘synth pop,’ for lack of a better term. We’re wary of remaining ‘samey’ with our sound… Most of the music I listen to is quite varied, and the three of us come from different musical angles - we’re always evolving.” “When the songs are brought in, in their rough sketched-in form,” explains Lynette, “We’ll try half a dozen different feels and versions of the song, until we find the right setting and the right mood.” This illustrates the patience and meticulous care in which the members of Bontempi approach their craft and their art. And so it seems that Lynette, Carla, and Geoff will continue to let the good times roll – pardonez-moi; Bontempi roulez! n

at a Three Inches of Blood video shoot and it took forever, and I was just doodling and I kept writing ‘Pride the Tiger’ and ‘Pride Tiger’ - because we used to listen to Dio. We were like big into Dio and their videos for a little while. On the ‘Holy Divers’ song he claims ‘ride the tiger’ and we were drinking pride pops at the time - which are like apple cider. It’s just like Okanagan apple cider… It gets you goofed though. And yeah, I was like, ‘Pride Tiger’.” “It’s kinda how all our bands start - with goofy name - and then they stick,” adds Froese. The band has a new album recorded by Jesse Gander out of the increasingly popular Hive studios. It’s called Wood, Dhak, Froese, and Payette, and contains nine tracks of hard rock goodness. The unlucky masses won’t get to experience the joy of Pride Tiger for several months, however, because someone fucked up. “Well, it’s not really that interesting,” says

Froese. “Pretty much me and Sunny are tied down to another contract with another band with a pretty big label, and we haven’t bothered to send the release forms for them to let us go. So it’s not really a big deal. It’s just the amount of time it takes for them to sign it off.” Not a big deal for me, because I have the album, and it rocks. The near sold out crowds at the last three shows might be an indication that the Tiger is onto something. “I think it just kind of happened,” Froese says about the origin of the band. “We talked about doing this for years and never really did anything, never even jammed - it was all talk. And then me and Sunny got Matt - the Pride Tiger drummer - into Three Inches and when we left, he stayed. So again, not all of us were in town to rehearse or anything. So we’ve really only been a band for about six months. And it’s only been in the last six months that we’ve been really serious about

doing something with the band.” I ask them if they could have any woman they wanted, in the tradition of coked up rock stars, who would it be? Payette fesses up. “Sarah Lynott,” he says. “Phil’s daughter. And Sunny’s mom, and Bob and Matt’s mom. Tigers stay in the family.” n

Pride Tiger Pride Tiger By Tony Newton

ride Tiger worships at the altar of classic rock, emulating the sounds of Thin Lizzy, Sabbath, Deep Purple - you get the point. Original? No. Awesome? Yes. Modern compatriots include bands like Drunk Horse, Rye Coalition, or the Illuminati, to name a few. The group features three ex-members of Road Runner’s mock metal act, Three Inches of Blood: Sunny Dhak (guitars/vocals), Matt Wood (drums/ lead vocals), Bob Froese (guitar/ vox), and Mike Payette (bass) of skate rockers Streets. This gets to be the standard question interview because it’s Pride Tiger’s first. The Nerve is busting the Tiger’s cherry… oooh, you like that? They seemed a tad shy at first, but we lit some candles and I promised it wouldn’t hurt too much. I mentioned they had a really pretty name, and asked how they came up with it. “Well,” explains Payette, “I was hanging out

PHOTO: JASON FISHER

s far as we know, there are three definitions for ‘Bontempi.’ It’s a French term for ‘good times,’ which fits here. It’s the brand-name of a god-awful series of brown plastic three-octave electric keyboards which sort of sound like wind-powered melodicas, but really don’t (this definition, not so much). And most importantly, it’s the band-name of one of the brighter talents to immigrate into Vancouver’s indie community. “I feel very comfortable now with the scene here,” offers Bontempi’s bassist-keyboardist Geoff Miller, who could almost be a dead ringer for either Jude Law or Alexander Kapranos. “It’s

“Geoff walked onstage and this huge roar rose up from the crowd,” remembers Lynette. “Carla and I were standing in the wings and marveling over this huge human wall of sound.” “They probably thought I was the lead singer in Stars,” quips Miller. Bontempi formed by accident in Halifax in 2001 when classically-trained pianist Miller answered the “roommate wanted” ad posted by the Gillis sisters, who had recently put to rest their nationally-beloved band, Plumtree. The trio wrote and rehearsed in Gillis’ (supposedly haunted) Victorian flat, and made their live debut at the 2001 Halifax Pop Explosion festival, much to the thrill of many. The decision to make The Big Move came when Lynette chose to pursue her Fine Arts degree at UBC. Miller now works in the city as an architect, while Lynette teaches fine arts at Emily Carr (Carla’s non-musical pastimes weren’t revealed during this interview, so we’ll have to assume she’s doing undercover work for CSIS). Bontempi’s music has been captured on the

The Nerve February 2006 Page 13

SATURDAY FEBRUARY 25

WITH SPECIAL GUESTS

THE SWORD TICKETS ALSO AT ZULU

THE RED ROOM

FEBRUARY 26

RUFIO

I AM THE AVALANCHE VERSUS THE WORLD

FEBRUARY 19

SATURDAY MARCH 18

COMMODORE BALLROOM

RICHARD’S ON RICHARDS

TICKETS ALSO AT SCRAPE RECORDS

TICKETS ALSO AT ZULU

COMMODORE BALLROOM

DOORS 7PM, SHOW 8PM TICKETS ALSO AT ZULU AND SCRATCH

MARCH 7

WITH SPECIAL GUESTS

HOT CHIP

TICKETS ALSO AT ZULU AND RED CAT

COMMODORE BALLROOM

tickets also at zulu and scratch

with The Warlocks

APRIL 5

REXALL PLACE – EDMONTON ALL AGES

TICKETS ALSO AT MEGATUNES

APRIL 6

PENGROWTH SADDLEDOME – CALGARY

APRIL 2

ALL AGES

dirtbombs

TICKETS ALSO AT MEGATUNES

the

APRIL 9

MTS CENTRE – WINNIPEG ALL AGES

BLACK LIPS

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The Nerve February 2006 Page 14

TICKETS ALSO AT INTO THE MUSIC

RICHARD’S ON RICHARDS

CONTENTS MUSIC

Gogol Bordello By Devon Cody

On Drinking Until You Cough Blood and Other Bits of Wisdom

tarting February 4th, Gogol Bordello will deliver its gypsy punk brand of music – live - in a first-time cross-Canada tour. These guys and girls infuse sweat, snarl, and debauchery into Balkan music like the Pogues did with Irish folk. And to great reviews; Elijah Wood has claimed Gogol Bordello is one of the best live bands around today, but if music advice from Frodo doesn’t exactly rock your world, take into consideration that wildly charming frontman Eugene Hütz’s manic onstage performances have birthed comparisons to a Ukrainian Iggy Pop. On the afternoon before leaving on tour, Hütz informs me that the band - comprised almost entirely of Eastern European and Israeli immigrants - had barely gotten its papers in order in time for the tour, due to a shitstorm of bureaucracy. “We’ve been schooled in it so much it leaves no room for further trauma,” says Hütz from his home in New York. Coming from a man who, as a child, was evacuated from his hometown of Kiev after the Chernobyl disaster and spent several years as a refugee fleeing the Soviet Union, before finally being relocated with his family to Vermont in 1993, one’s inclined to take his word for it. Hütz has done well in his new home. Gogol Bordello is achieving rabid praise from critics, Hütz is an increasingly popular DJ in New York City, and he debuted as an actor in a show-stealing role as a hip hop loving, Ukrainian tour guide in Liev Schrieber’s Everything is Illuminated. He even dabbled, much to his present chagrin, as a model when he first arrived in New York and his wallet needed to be filled. To call Eugene an eccentric talent is a mammoth understatement. So what if music wasn’t an option? Would Hütz choose the way of the actor? He responds thoughtfully, “If every movie experience would be like [Everything is Illuminated], I would take every one. But I know that not every movie is directed by somebody who has such commitment to honest artistic expression. Not every movie has so much dignity behind it.” Musing on how he would spend his time without Gogol, Hütz rants, “I would be a writer. Or, I dunno, maybe I would

just be a gardener. Or a janitor. Fuck the writer. I’d be a gardener or a janitor. A janitor would do. I could do that right? I think I could fuckin’ handle a broom.” Hütz projects a persona that wavers like a drunk on a fine line between intelligence and lunacy. A Gogol Bordello performance is part punk rock and part vaudeville. With eight people on stage playing in relentless, reckless abandon, “lunacy” is barely an adequate description. Past antics have included a booze-fuelled Hütz extinguishing cigarettes on his chest, pouring melted wax down his gullet, and launching himself bellyfirst onto tables littered with glasses. “The things we were doing to ourselves were fucking ridiculous. We were coughing up blood. One time I got my shoulder dislocated during a show and one of the kids who jumped on stage who was basically just enjoying the chaos went to just help me get up without knowing what had happened, pulled on my arm and popped it right back in. Even though I had stars in my eyes and was basically in a state of shock, I kind of finished the show.” It’s enough to drive a person to drink, or in Hütz’s case, drink more. In the past he admitted he preferred to be drunk before he even got out of the van before each show. A severe case of alcohol poisoning later, Hütz has learned to pace himself, turned it into an art.- a martial art to be exact. “I’ve found things are possible both sober and drunk. Nobody can tell whether I’m sober or not. To people it appears as a complete avalanche of drunk self-expression, which it mostly is. But it’s very much on the Bruce Lee side of things. It’s more a method of performing, a very personalized way of performing. As fucked up as it sounds, there’s much discipline behind it. Have you ever heard of the drunken master school of kung fu? It’s basically like that. You have to have a certain stamina physically and psychologically to do it. And I was equipped by the Lord to do that. I wouldn’t recommend trying it at home.” And the hangovers? I probed Hütz for a gypsy cure for a night of too much vodka. “I don’t have hangovers miraculously enough. I’ve got the Lord helping me out with that.” n

and continued to deliver album after album of savage, passionate, technically brilliant metal. Not everyone agrees with me, though; the later experiments with clean vocals and synth keyboard touches drew predictable cries of “sellout” from the notoriously inflexible metal masses. The new album, however, manages to reconcile melody and ferocity deftly enough to please the most thick-skulled troglodyte AND his black lipstick-wearing girlfriend. Anyway, it was with a certain trepidation that I interviewed Jesper, guitarist of In Flames. The real challenge was not bursting out into hysterical sobs like a middle-aged Michael Jackson fan circa Thriller.

Jesper: We did way too much gambling. We Jesper: We ask ourselves the same question all played a lot of poker. Me, I love roulette! I the time. It’s very time-consuming. We all have was winning a lot and losing a lot. We went to families, and you have to sacrifice a lot of things. Mandalay, I came downstairs to the casino with But last night, we were onstage for 90 minutes, 500 dollars, and we started drinking. By the end everything was great. It’s worth it, that’s why we of the night, I was tired and do it. The moments when you wasted, I took the last I can perform onstage, you just had and put it on a colour. remind yourself onstage that it’s Nerve: So I hear Anyway, I woke up in San worth all the crap. When you’re you won a Swedish at home, you sort of forget the Diego with five bucks in my pocket. glamour. We’ve played almost Grammy Award. every day this year. You can’t How was that? Nerve: Speaking of really get used to spending much gambling, you guys have time apart, you have to learn to Jesper: I threw up. experimented on your push that button in your head. last few albums with You can’t do anything about it, some softer touches, you just do it as good as you clean vocals and keyboards and stuff, but on can. I talk to my girlfriend on a web cam. Come Clarity, you’ve mixed lots of the older and newer elements. What can you say about Nerve: A webcam, eh? What an age we live that? in. Jesper: Huh? You just answered your own Jesper: It was actually easier five, six years ago. question. Well, after doing seven albums, we I’d just call from a pay phone every three days. just took a step in another direction. This time, we looked back and listened to the good things Nerve: So I hear you won a Swedish Grammy on all the other records, and then we made this Award. How was that? one. We try to progress. There’s a big difference Jesper: I threw up. between the new one and the previous ones. The guitars take up more space this time than Nerve: You’re kidding me. the samples and keyboards. The guitar parts are Jesper: No, seriously, I was sick that day. I was almost breathtaking to play. But with these guitar throwing up all day, I was on the couch with parts, we become better guitarists. We can’t a fever. I had to watch the other four guys on drink as much beer before a show, we have to TV, accepting the award, and I was just like, stay focused. “Dammit!” But it was a great honour.

Nerve: So I take it you’re in the southern US now, on the first leg of your American tour. How did Vegas treat you?

Nerve: So you’ve been a band for nearly a decade. After that much time, what inspires you to keep growing and keep creating?

It’s Gettin’ Hot in Here

The Nerve Gets Intimate with In Flames

By Therese Lanz

et me get this out of the way nice and quick - I am the last person on earth who should be writing about In Flames. Why? Because I think they are TOTALLY AWESOME. Seriously - their new CD (Come Clarity, released in North America on Ferret Records) went into my CD player, the play button was pushed with all the eagerness of a coke-addicted lab monkey hammering on a lever for one more dose, and that first blast of glorious Scandinavian “Melodic Death Metal” ® ™ flushed my journalistic objectivity down the toilet. In Flames is often credited with inventing the ‘Gothenburg’ sound (see “Melodic Death Metal” ® ™). Founded nearly a decade ago as a project consisting of a rotating roster of Nordic metal superstars (many of whom would later surface in bands such as Dark Tranquility, Archenemy, etc.), the band solidified its lineup in 1999-ish

“Nobody can tell whether I’m sober or not. But it’s very much on the Bruce Lee side of things. You have to have a certain stamina physically and psychologically to do it.”

Nerve: How about your headlining slot at Ozzfest? How did that go? Jesper: Long. Hot. Boring. n

The Nerve February 2006 Page 15

CONTENTS

MUSIC

Fresh-faced Sylvie Shows No Signs of Road Wear

In Toronto and Montreal, we’re not so much a novelty as just weird

By Curtis Woloschuk

They really need to do something about the stage at the Lamplighter

PHOTO: JEFF WAY

In it for the Long Haul

or the better part of its touring existence, Sylvie has proven the ideal accessory for Canadian indie bands. They seem to go with everyone. DFA 1979, Controller.Controller, Hot Hot Heat, the Constantines, Uncut and Wintersleep have all tapped the Saskatchewan four-piece on the shoulder and insisted: “Get in the van.” However, with the turn of the calendar, Sylvie finds itself stepping into the headlining limelight. “We’re a little bit nervous,” confesses guitarist/vocalist Joel Passmore. “But as soon as we get out [on stage], all the tension and nervousness will just add to the release.” Despite the considerable mileage racked up by his band, he’s leery of declaring that they’ve significantly grown their audience. “That’s yet to be seen. Each show is kind of like a lottery,” he opines. “You never really know if people are going to show up.” Despite the inherent perils of a nationwide acid test, Passmore says, “We’re just sort of excited to get out of Regina again.” The band’s Queen City roots receive a fair bit of play in interviews. “We’re still a bit of a novelty,” claims Sylvie’s spokesman. Raised eyebrows arch all the higher when the band ventures to points east. “In Toronto and Montreal, we’re not so much a novelty as just weird.” Despite few high profile bands emerging from Regina, Passmore sees the city as boasting a healthy music scene and suggests, “It’s a city where you really have to buckle down and put in your time.” And Sylvie has certainly logged its field hours. Seven years have lapsed since Passmore founded the band with Riva Farrell Racette (bass/vocals), Chris Notenboom (guitar/vocals) and Les Schaeffer (drums). “It doesn’t seem like that long,” submits Passmore. “The new record and this last year of touring has really given new life to the band.” The “new record” in question is An Electric Trace – released this past October. After the demise of Passmore’s previous buzz band, Despistado, Sylvie spent a week in the studio committing several works-in-progress to tape. Enamoured with Brandon Friesen’s production, they booked a second session and completed the songs that would compose their sophomore album. “We were all pretty excited about being in the studio,” Passmore recalls. “We were really having fun and I think that comes across on the album.” An Electric Trace kicks in the doors with album highlight “Hit & Run” – a bass-driven cut that sees Passmore’s growl sparring with

Racette’s saccharine vocals against a backdrop of pinpoint percussion and wailing guitars. The track’s melodic appeal is equalled by “What You Find You Leave With” and “Small Differences.” Elsewhere, “Common Art” and “Shopping Aisles” bring the band’s frenetic, post-punk tendencies to the fore. A taste for textures is exhibited on the instrumental title track, and “Rise and Fall” evidences a band with a surplus of hooks at their disposal. At times inciting apt comparisons to Minus the Bear and Pretty Girls Make Graves, the Sylvie sound is derived from a laudable division of labour. Most the band’s writing occurs collectively in the practice space. “It’s the way we’ve always worked,” says Passmore. With its incessant touring, Sylvie is often left to discuss ideas for songs instead of actually jamming them out. However: “When we finally do have the time, it just sort of happens. We tend to get things done fairly quickly.” Sylvie’s intuitive camaraderie was dealt a potentially devastating blow with the postrecording departure of Schaeffer. However, Passmore is quick to laud the intangibles – as well as the chops – provided by replacement Jeff Romanyk. “He gave the band the boost we needed after being out a founding member,” he praises. “We needed someone to be excited to tour and play shows. You tend to forget what it’s like,” says the youthful veteran. “Sometimes you loose perspective.” In addition to a new drummer, the band also found a label home with Winnipeg’s Smallman Records. “We’re still surprised by how hard they’ve worked for us over the past six months,” says Passmore. “They’re people who have been putting out records for ten years. That they’re putting time and money into us is encouraging. It’s exciting to have such a focussed group of people supporting you.” Buoyed and reinvigorated, Passmore submits that this seems to be Sylvie’s time to shine. “We have four people that really want to do this. We have the means. We’ve said, ‘Let’s just go,’” he states. “What happens from here is hard to say.” And while the level of success awaiting them might be unknown, Passmore is confident with the prognosis for Sylvie’s longevity. “It’s just such a big part of all of our lives,” he comments on an endeavour he shares with both a wife (Racette) and long-time friend (Notenboom). “We can count on it and count on each other. It’s just sort of a given that we’ll be a band.” n

Vapids Ain’t Too Dumb By Chris Walter

vap-id (adjective) 1. dull, boring, lacking interest or liveliness. 2. insipid, akin to stale wine. lacking strength, taste, or flavour.

apparent to the Hamilton scene, which spawned such greats as Teenage Head and the Forgotten Rebels. The Vapids are at once a tribute to the old style punk bands, and something fresh and fter listening to the Vapids last release, new. Charm School Dropouts, I would be hard I first became aware of the Vapids several pressed to find a word that did a worse years ago when I read that they were about to job of describing this Hamilton punk band. The release an album in which they covered the music comes bursting out of the speakers hard entire first Teenage Head album. As a big Teen and heavy, and never lets up even for a second. Head fan, I wondered at the wisdom of such a It’s a blitzkrieg: a sonic bombardment of vocals, project, but clearly the Vapids intentions were guitars, and drums - a four-piece attack of good. I was glad to see that the Head were not body and soul. There is something immediately forgotten; that the new generation was giving familiar about the Vapids; they use the same them their just due. It was even more remarkable three chords everyone else does, but at the that original Head guitarist Gord Lewis was on same time, there is a complexity board to produce the album. beyond the grasp of your regular Obviously, the Vapids were When I express punk band. Sure, you can hear no hacks if they were working the opinion that glimpses of Teenage Head or with the likes of Lewis. If I most bands shoot the Ramones - who they list as had seen the album, I surely main influences - but they put it would have bought it, but their load on the together in a way that is unique instead I spent my money first album and get and original. Along with better liquor and drugs. Frankie progressively softer, on than average lyrics, one of the Venom would have been he chuckles, “We things that set them apart is the proud. Then I forgot about strict use of downstrokes, a lesson the Vapids for a while, that like to do things lost on many modern punk bands. is, until I saw another online backwards.” Ever wonder how the Ramones article about a dispute the or the Head got that sound? Try Vapids had gotten into with it sometime if you think it’s easy, and you’ll see Teenage Head. Apparently, the Vapids were why Johnny Ramone sweated so much. This opening up for the Head, but the Head drummer is a heavy sound, with a rock solid bottom end refused to move his kit back far enough to give and relentless riffing. Truly, the Vapids are heir the Vapids room to perform. It seemed to me a

The Nerve February 2006 Page 16

shame that the Head would treat the Vapids so poorly in light of their recent collaboration, but hardly surprising. Then I forgot about the Vapids again, until business took me to Jimmy Vapid and his record store, Reigning Sound. He sent me a CD, and it blew my fucking socks off. Speaking with Jimmy long-distance, he tells me that Hamilton is small, but has a very tight music scene. “There are lots of venues, not just one designated punk bar. We don’t have the usual in-fighting (never mind the Teenage Head thing) you see everywhere else.” He tells me that the Vapids formed in ’94, and that they have released six full-length albums and five 7” inch singles. “We used to do a lot of touring up the east coast and into the US, but now we’re just concentrating on not breaking up. We recorded two new songs last night, and we are writing new music for a new album. We’re in this for the long haul.” We talk about earlier releases, and Jimmy mentions that the first three albums were considerably poppier than the last three. When I express the opinion that most bands shoot their load on the first album and get progressively softer, he chuckles, “We like to do things backwards.” Jimmy also plays drums for the Lorrainas, a female band fronted by his girlfriend, Lasha. He insists, however, that they do not make him dress like a girl. He laughs when I ask him why Lasha did not participate in the Lorrainas kissing booth at the Absinthe for the SPCA. “That was just a joke,” he says.

Me, I’m hoping the Vapids will manage a West Coast tour, but I’m not holding my breath. A new CD would be cool, though. n

Do I look fat in this shirt?

MUSICCONTENTS REVIEWS Secret Chiefs 3 / Sleepytime Gorilla Museum / Bend Sinister

Richards on Richards, Vancouver, BC Sunday, January 8th, 2006 First time in a moonspell that I actually show up early for a gig – so obviously my punctuality was rewarded by the Secret Chiefs soundman being detained in a border kafuffle. So I wait, in the rain, outside of Cock & Dick’s on this, Elvis’ and David Bowie’s birthday celebration. Never again, Nerve reader. Never AGAIN. I’ve learned my lesson. And before I forget, three cheers for Canada Customs! Keeping our nation free (of talent)! But holy mother of a lamb of Jesus was it all worth it – this show was supreme. Stress the italics. Inside, sir, this eve of brilliance began with local chums. Bend Sinister. From my best guesstimate, every Vancouverite and their dog is personally acquainted with these guys. Come see this band Dave, they say. But I never did, and when Sinister started up tonight, interrupting my merching, I was prone to spit them off as a bunch of 17-year old indie yahoos. Sacks of bubble-gum. That plan held for +/- three minutes though, coz fuck they were great! Tossing out about a hundred curveballs in that set: monster riffs, vocals howling to the high heavens, piano interludes (so pretty), clever proggish workouts, really funny faces and plenty of little references to Supertramp (?). I was stunned moment to moment, mostly at myself for being such a judgmental douchebag. The short, stocky, bearded bloke (chief songwriter, I’d wager) had sparks and charisma out the wazoo and angelic lungs to boot. Big score for Vanshitty. Talented pack of kids. But – and here’s the sign of a good fucking show – that was nothing. Make way for Sleepytime Gorilla Museum: a living, breathing spook-show spectacular. Draped in raggedy white uniforms and blood-red fabric flowers – part ravaged high school prom dress, part butcher’s garb – and armed with face-paint, unorthodox hairdos, a massive overabundance of talent and an arsenal of garage-shop instruments. Eight-footer piano-string lapsteels, glockenspiels, a wall of sheet metal and bicycle wheels, drum-heads made from dead baby seals (probably not), violins and trumpets, god in Heaven. With barely a hint of distortion in his guitar, frontman Nils Frykdahl still pummeled feverishly, beckoning Enochian wizards with his creepy diatribe, perfectly enunciated, from baritone to sparkling upper register

Story of the Year

crescendo at the drop of a top hat. Carla Kihlstedt, lonely gal, repeatedly banked for unaccompanied glory with her violin, only for the ensemble to burst the bubble in a torrent of thudding gluttony. When she sang “Phthisis”, seemingly in one breath, the riffs croaking tighter and tighter as the men shouted behind in unison; at that moment sir, I could’ve died. The overall effect akin to an eviler King Crimson ’73, when the band included violinist David Cross, and, for a few brief months, some madman named Jamie Muir, banging and clattering percussionist hellfire before disappearing into a Scottish monastery. True story, the album he left is Lark’s Tongue in Aspic, and DON’T EVER MISS SLEEPYTIME GORILLA MUSEUM AGAIN. Whew. Christ, there’s still more! Secret Chiefs 3, for the uninitiated, is the on-off freak-school for Mr. Bungle alumni, all EXCEPT Mike Patton. Guitarist Trey Spruance now firmly leads the charge, infusing a slew of highbrowed (and unclear) philosophical mumbo-jumbo into the genre-hopping mania. On stage, neither Mr. Spruance nor any member of his six-piece beast spoke nary a word for the whole performance, content to barrage us with lovingly awkward Indian rhythms and surf interludes. TWO violinists, but still, the range and versatility of the dense studio Chiefs was inevitably dulled without an orchestra of twenty. So no vigorous death metal spurts, and no Arab/Indian/’ethnic’ percussion touches either, unfortunately. Just one ordinary ol’ rock’n’roll drum kit (budget cuts?). Compared to the shadowy art-brutes of the Gorilla Museum, the Chiefs, wrapped in coatrobes and scarves, appeared altogether very odd and presumptuous (of something…). But where the presentation faltered, I gave birth in joy, soaking my head in the neck-jerking 4/13 interplay, especially Ches Smith’s drums and Spruance’s guitar – or sitar-guitar? What the hell was that thing? Body like a Danelectro bass, skinny lil’ neck like a bamboo staff and four thin strings? Pretty bamboozling.But the Museum standards were just too ridiculous to top. Maybe, just maybe (god willing), Spruance will one day fulfill his dream: six consecutive sets by six different mini-SC3’s, groups of different contributors just like the album. But who got tha’ money for that, Dami? You? My oh my. So good I could cry. It’s all downhill from here to 2010. - Dave Bertrand

Norm MacDonald

River Rock Casino, Richmond, BC Saturday, January 21st, 2006 Cult favorite, Norm “fired from SNL” MacDonald finally returned to Vancouver for the first time since he was a touring comic for Yuk Yuks in the ‘80s. It was ironic that the gig was at a casino, seeing as how the comic has battled a gambling problem for years, but the show was a sure bet. Norm tried to do some Canada specific material, doling out the reasons for his move to the States: “There were no shows in Canada. I wanted to be on TV. I tried to get on Beachcombers but it was a closed window. The only way to get on was if you were friends with Relic.”  Some of the topics covered in this 70 minute show included Norm’s disdain for how “the big LSD companies ... they don’t care about the little guy...” and a tale of an alcoholic who blew a dog for a quart of whiskey. He questioned his own joke at the end. “What? Why does the dog have a quart of whiskey?” If you’ve never been to the theatre at the River Rock Casino, you should go for one reason alone. At the entrance they have half-assed statues of the Rat Pack, and Sammy Davis Jr. is painted up like a blackface minstrel. Serious. - Kliph Nesteroff

PHOTO: DALE DEDILDO

Stand Down / Wrecking Crew / Northern Alliance

Story of the Year / From First to Last

Croatian Cultural Centre, Vancouver, BC Sunday, January 8th, 2006 When I first heard that I was going to be reviewing this show, I shat my pants with happiness. Granted, that was before post-hardcore asskickers Every Time I Die rolled their van in the States and supporting band He Is Legend decided it wasn’t worth their time to drive to Vancouver (which was met with some derision from the remaining bands - From First To Last dedicated the third song of their set to He Is Legend, citing their “great work opening the show”). Essentially we were stuck seeing the Bush and Oasis of the emo genre - bands that are somehow able to match or exceed the success of their peers despite not possessing a single iota of talent or originality. On top of that, we waited a full hour and a half before From First To Last hit the stage. We actually could have been made to wait longer and I wouldn’t have minded. From First to Last produced a fairly by-thebooks set, complete with plenty of pretty-boy strutting and posing by lead singer Sonny Moore, synchronized spastic head-banging, crunchy guitars and nasally vocals. The largely junior-high crowd (why they bothered having a beer garden at this show was beyond me - I counted a whopping eight legal age people inside during the 40 minutes break between bands) did the obligatory shrieking and singing along, and complained very little despite getting completely shafted by this show. During the interminable intermission, DeRuiter and I passed the time by counting how many kids were wearing neck-bandanas (eight), how many kids had a piercing on the side of their lip (everyone) and how many RIDICULOUSLY HOT 16 YEAR OLDS THERE WERE (a lot). Finally, after our pants were about to spontaneously combust, Story of the Year took to the stage. Despite playing the same bland emo-rock as From First To Last, Story of the Year had twice the stage presence and managed to work the preteens into a reverent frenzy by its third song. Which was about the time DeRuiter finished taking his pictures and we could get the fuck out of there. The only saving grace was the aforementioned plethora of INSANELY HOT 16 YEAR OLDS. Note to internet predators and cradle robbers: start hanging out with mediocre emo bands. You won’t be disappointed. Unless you like music. - Derek Bolen

Columbia Pub, Vancouver, BC Saturday, January 7th, 2006 The Lower Mainland is ass-deep in ass-bands, and I had the misfortune to let two of them nearly ruin my night. I mean, it’s great that the Columbia is regaining its former glory as a punk/metal haven, but giving prime Saturday night slots to dipshit bands who really don’t deserve it isn’t going to improve either the venue crisis or the shape of Vancouver’s indie-rock scene. Northern Alliance kicked off the night by melding second-generation Rage Against The Machine-style funk-metal with not one, but two frontman-rappers. One white guy, one brown guy, both kicking out lame jams about ghetto strife in Cloverdale and drive-bys on Kingsway. What the fuck? Onyx they’re not. Straight Outta Haney, perhaps? The Wreckin’ Crew are the pride of Surrey, it seems... I thought Surrey was only proud of its homophobia, illiteracy, domestic violence, malt liquor, and dumbfuck love of reversed baseball caps. Imagine a kickass drummer (find another band quick, buddy) with a dumbass bassist and a wankywank guitarist backing up some arrogant loser in a blue Adidas tracksuit who used to sing in a goddamned Cult tribute band. Sure, they brought in most of the people, but it only goes to show the downside of extending the Expo Skytrain line all the way into the King George Highway. Said ex-Astbury wannabe tried to roar out misogynistic bleats with Cannibal Corpse-style vocal delivery, and all their friends ate that shit up. This is what glam-metal bars must have felt like on Hollywood Boulevard 15 years ago. Stand Down was the much-welcome miracle worker of the night. Musically, it outclassed both the Boredom Alliance and the Retchin’ Crew with sharp, tight, Helmet/Tool-type dynamics and interesting song arrangements. I don’t understand why these guys aren’t better known, but perhaps it’s only a matter of time. - Johnny Kroll

Sleepytime Gorilla Museum

the band hits the stage and lay down the King Hell sized boogie rock riffs and songs like I ain’t never heard! The drummer sings in a whiskey rock ‘n’ roller growl and the band sing and play like demons from some super funky fuckin’ other planet. They are so badass you can’t help but shake your ass and pump your fists in the air. What the shit is going on, I scream! Can this be real? Does the best band in the country live in my town? HOLY CHRIST! IT DOES! The boogie rock revival I wanted for Christmas has arrived! Thank you Jesus! Thank you Jah! - Carl Spackler

Tom Green and the Keepin’ It Real Crew

Commodore Ballroom, Vancouver, BC Friday, January 13th, 2006 Have you ever been in the company of several hundred teenagers smoking pot and listening to the works of that master of the pan flute, Zamfir? Millionaire Canadian Tom Green was back in Vancouver to perhaps redeem himself after his shameful behavior here last spring. About a year ago, Green threw a hissy fit on a Vancouver film set, locking himself in his trailer, refusing to come out, holding up a shoot for hours until Nardwuar the Human Serviette would return the tape of an interview they had done, so that the embarrassed Green could destroy it.  Tonight’s performance at the Commodore began, for me, with the spirit of forgiving, when Green tore a page out of the Dead Kennedys book. Jello Biafra was known for annoying serious minded punks throughout the 1970/80s by playing the obnoxious German lounge music of Heino prior to DK performances. Vancouver’s whitest people, draped in their Metrotown hip hop attire, were none too pleased when Green’s hand picked pre-show music consisted of blaring Zamfir! Tom Green and his totally untalented crew started off the performance with an enjoyable opener of beats and rhymes that lasted a few minutes. Tom then told the audience how great Vancouver was… for the next hour and a half. On paper that sounds, perhaps, like an amusing Tom Green style practical joke. In reality, it seemed instead to be ineptitude. Every woman in the joint was invited on stage. This evolved into a near brawl in which an enormous crowd of rogue women pelted the audience with eggs and beer bottles from their elevated position. “The Crew” did not finish another song for the rest of the evening. In the end, the show never really happened. It was, simply, the most elaborate way of getting laid I have ever seen. - Kliph Nesteroff

Sack Blabbath / Ham Wailin / Taboo Revue

The Asbalt, Vancouver, BC Friday, December 30th, 2005 One of the last shows of 2005 was one of the best shows of 2005, in terms of good, clean Downtown Eastside fun-o-rama. Ham Wailin (aka the Blabs) belted out a bang-on set of classic Van Halen (NOT Van Hagar) covers - which was top-notch, actually. Even the tight-lipped, humourlessly mohawked punk girls glaring at Ham Wailin’s antics from ringside finally let their guard down and got into the spirit of the thing, proving that a kickass version of “Top Jimmy” wins ‘em over every time. Melody Mangler and the hottie squad from the Taboo Revue added some saucy theatrical cheesecake element to the proceedings, especially during “Hot For Teacher”. Sack Blabbath was the God Emperor of Cool tonight, as it always is, it seems. Clad this time in hooded cowls, styrofoam silver gothic crosses flanking either side of the stage, a black backdrop with SACK BLABBATH emblazoned upon it in the purple ‘Master of Reality’ font, these guys took no prisoners from Riff One, and launched straight into “Into the Void.” Immediately all of us longhaired blue-collar scumbags crowded the dancefloor, shoulder-to-shoulder with the leather-jacketed punks (Sabbath being one of the few bands anyone in the bar could agree on, of course), banging our meatheads in ecstatic abandon as Cool Song after Cool Song was bashed out, note for note, Cool Song after Cool Song (“Symptom of the Universe,” “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath,” “War Pigs,” fuck you name it). Sack Blabbath is probably the most effective Black Sabbath tribute I’ve yet seen, and is not to be missed. I’ve never bought so many pitchers of that goddamned ‘piss’ anytime I’ve attended a Cobalt/Asbalt show, but hey they drained my duct-tape wallet dry and left me with a sore neck, an even more sore head the next day, and an impressive case of the dry heaves, just in time for New Year’s Eve. - Johnny Kroll

LIVE Pride Tiger

Super Double Secret Location, Vancouver, BC Saturday, January 21st, 2006 Another deluge outside when the phone rings. It’s my amigo, the good doctor. “Spackler, come out tonight with me,” he says. “There’s a band you gotta check out.” “Are you nuts?” I bark. “Leave the comfort of the Bunker to nearly drown in the streets and then suffer through some abysmal abomination of music and style? You got the wrong number, Doc!” “Carl,” he insists, “You’ll dig ‘em, trust me. ‘Sides,” he smiles through the phone, “It’s only five bucks and I’m holdin’.” We get to the place, out in the industrial section of Hastings. The fuckin’ joint is packed wall to freakin’ ceiling with what looks to be a deer hunters meeting, with more beards, trucker hats, camouflage and balaclavas than a Ted Nugent concert. Only - these fuckin’ kids ain’t 57years young, and they aren’t fat inbreds. These kids are hip as shit and this is a party y’all! The stereo is playin’ all the right songs, including Edgar freakin’ Winter, and the beers are two for five bucks! What the fuck am I on? Did the Doc slip me some Orange Sunshine? Righteous! Suddenly

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CONTENTS

MUSIC REVIEWS Absent Sound It’s All True No List This quartet hailing from Winnipeg has produced what is possibly the nearest thing to audio Valium available over the counter. Ambient isn’t a genre that interests me too much, but I inexplicably enjoyed It’s All True’s percussion-free journey. Beginning with what seems like Gregorian monks chanting a satanic ritual and morphing into what I can only describe as a kind of laptop glitch, after of 40 min I felt – well - relaxed and strangely comforted by the semi-malevolent piece. This disc now resides in my bedroom stereo so that I am only the press of a button away from dispensing a dose of nightly sleeping medication. - High Plains Drifter Agent Sparks Not So Merry Immortal According to Agent Sparks’ biography, an earlier incarnation of the group had already joined the major leagues but was sent packing almost immediately after its debut dropped. Oddly, the bio fails to mention the actual band name, so it took a couple seconds of in-depth research to find out for myself. According to my sources, Sparks’ key-songwriters, Ben Einziger and Paul Fried, previously played in the short-lived Audiovent – which has been embarrassingly archived as “Make Yourself-era Incubus gone Goo Goo Dolls” (further research unearthed that 50% of Agent Sparks hold blood-relations to Brandon Boyd’s turd-circus). This new, “quirkier” project for Einziger and Fried seems to be less mainstream-friendly than their previous work, but there are few memorable moments on this brief EP. Having added female-vocalist Stephanie Eitel to the fold allows some moments akin to Veruca Salt and Metric, minus the sass and seductiveness. Not So Merry is essentially not so good. - Adam Simpkin Alexisonfire/Moneen Switcheroo Series Vol. 1 Dine Alone Records I like Alexisonfire. I like Moneen. I like the premise behind getting two bands to cover each other’s songs in their own style. And I fucking LOVE this album. Alexisonfire does two amazing covers of my two favorite Moneen songs (“The Passing of America” and “Tonight, I’m Gone…”), and the Moneen versions of “Accidents” and “Sharks and Danger” are nearly better than the originals in both cases, though being able to actually hear the lyrics does illuminate why Alexisonfire feels it necessary to have a screamer in the band - the lyrics are sub-par at best. The icing on the cake is the two original tracks (“Charlie Sheen vs. Henry Rollins” by Alexisonfire and “Bleed and Blister’” by Moneen) which end up being not only the best tracks on the album, but arguably the best work in either bands catalogue too. - Derek Bolen

habits, but I like a challenge and none of the music gathered by this snot-nosed skater seems too offensive to my balls. So who is this CD really for? You? Probably not. It’s for Margera fans, who get a bonus DVD of some highly illegal activities for their trouble. - David Von Bentley Beautiful Creatures Deuce Spitfire Talk about bringing it back. Deuce reincarnates the ’90s LA rock scene - including its never ending quest to be the bad boy - but remains commercially appealing. Beautiful Creatures and bands such as Velvet Revolver and the Darkness are re-emerging with this precarious balance and who gives a shit attitude. To further the retro ambience, this album was produced and mixed by the ‘80s and ‘90s glam –metal masters Anthony Focx and Toby Wright. Since their last effort four years ago, the line up has changed to include vocalist LeSte (Bang Tango)

and guitarist Mark Simpson (Flotsam & Jetsam). Although the finished product is easy to listen to, with its melodic hooks and cocaine driven lyrics, it falls far short of memorable. But if you happened to be an LA Guns or Faster Pussycat lover, then there’s no question that this album is for you. - High Plains Drifter

Anal Kunt Demo CD-R For some reason, I thought this was going to be cookie monster metal, so I avoided playing it. When I finally did, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was slow to mid-tempo rock music, with female vocals that go from sweet to demonic faster than Pickton can skin a whore. The riffs, and even the recording, were much better than I’d expected, and sheeeit, this is actually good! Personally, I’d like to see some all-out rockers, but Anal Kunt builds a mood well, and it is indeed a rotten motherfucker of a mood. These people are not very nice at all. - Chris Walter

Beck Guerolito Interscope Guerolito is a remix/b-sides collection spin-off from Guero. By definition, a remix album usually consists of cash-grab trash with a rare gem hidden somewhere in the rubbish. It’s hard to argue that Guerolito is any different. The first song I heard from Guero was “Farewell Ride” - a sludgy, sloppy, organic, and fucking great blues track. Prompted to give the full album a listen, I came away liking barely a third of it. Guerolito follows suit. Although it consists of many elements that our beloved Scientologist has found success with in the past - alternating between ultra-cheesy synth dance numbers and nerdy trip-pop - the album seems to lack the quirky flow of Beck’s previous releases. It comes off as a hodgepodge of remarkable awkwardness. Listening to it is a little like having a dance-off – naked - with your 12year old brother, Angelina Jolie, and Michael Jackson. - Devon Cody

Bam Margera Viva La Bands FourFiveSix Entertainment Bam Margera is best known as the Jackass star that tortures his parents with more love than a Nazi Carebear. Lately he’s taken to directing music videos, concealing home made porno easter eggs on recent DVD releases, and now gathering up 21 bands for this CD compilation. Out of the whole lot, I can legitimately recommend tracks by Clutch, HIM, CKY, the 69 Eyes, Turbonegro and Daniel Lioneye, who’s “The King of Rock ‘n’ Roll” would make a slut out of nun on Christmas morning. Much of the rest doesn’t exactly fit my normal listening

Bleeding Through The Truth Trustkill Bleeding Through consists of five dudes looking alienated, and one chick left standing behind some keyboards (women can be metal maidens as long as they’re relegated to atmospheric background noise and gothic eye-candy). Having said that, these mall-core kids making hardcore aren’t all bad, but the melodic chorus in “The Painkiller” – for instance - suggests that Bleeding Through is trying too hard to embody two different extremes: Twisted Nipple Angry and Acne Covered Pussy. The Truth is absolutely brutal one second, and then the listener is hit with a chorus

so wet - it would make your average transvestite in a Tinkerbell outfit call you a “fairy” just for listening to it. I’m a fan of melody with shit piss violent vocals, but with little variation in Bleeding Through’s sound strategy, it gets tired fast. The Truth, then, is like a painful erection; almost working correctly, but a relief when it’s gone. - David Von Bentley Bonniwell’s Music Machine Beyond the Garage Sundazed I know, it’s not a current release - but I just picked this baby up and it fucking rips! Fuelled by fuzz and a clapped-out minor-key Farfisa, the garage-punk manna of “Talk Talk” is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to lead singer and songwriter Sean Bonniwell’s manic vision. Showcasing much more talent and depth than rival scenesters (along with the good taste to each wear a SINGLE black leather glove when performing live or on television) Beyond the Garage collects rare singles and sides recorded for Warner Brothers in ‘67, with the band clearly on top of its game. Lead track “Bottom of the Soul” and the post-apocalyptic overtones of “The Eagle Never Hunts the Fly” display both a mad-scientist approach to studio experimentation - early singles cut on 10tracks and not four - and Bonniwell’s clear understanding of and rebellion against the “deceptive legitimacy of the New World Order.” Essential. - Boy Howdy Charley Horse Unholy Roller Acetate The Charley Horse sound is greasy enough to clog your arteries, sleazy enough to saturate your mom’s panties, and meaner than a rye whiskey hangover. A mangy group of shit disturbers, Charley Horse includes Throwrag frontman Sean Zezo Wheeler on vocals, Duane Peters’ fire breathing goddess Corey Parks on upright bass, and ex-Cramps bassist Chopper Von Franklin on guitar. These wily delinquents have ganged up to produce music that is sure to foster the inner-felon in all of us. From its manic, gritty rockabilly opener “Bad Ass Dad” to the final surftinged punk rock track “Loco”, Unholy Roller had me planning bank robberies, grand theft, and jailhouse tattoos. Get it before it’s contraband. - Devon Cody City and Colour Sometimes Dine Alone This is the acoustic side project of Alexisonfire guitarist and vocalist Dallas Green. Much to my surprise, it’s a commendable venture away from the screamo racket and into soothing, more subdued soundscapes. Very reminiscent of the kind of music Jeff Buckley might have made had he been sober; captivating in its sincerity, meditative in nature, but not as emotionally kaleidoscopic. Although warm, haunting, and generally likeable, Sometimes lacks the distinctive nuances needed to lift it to the level of something as quietly extraordinary as Buckley’s Grace. Each listen finds me wanting to be impressed, waiting for something remarkable to bite me in the ass, only to leave me wagging it in the wind. I suppose therein lies the appeal. - Devon Cody

dwelling metal underground kind - featuring band members from Nevermore, Sadus and Testament. None of those bands would qualify as black metal, but as Dragonlord, all members seem to have stolen grandma’s corpse paint and their slutty aunt’s eyeliner to do their darndest Gorgoroth impression for the publicity photos. But other than the typical black metal cheese that seems to drive the genre, we actually get well crafted songs played tighter than the black leather pants you seem to need in order to be make this kind of music. The keyboards are a bit much, mind you, and Eric Peterson’s growling takes a bit of getting used to, but I still like it – and that’s coming from someone who has no love for black metal. For my money the best song is their cover of Thin Lizzy’s “Emerald”, which is far more ‘70s rock than black metal schlock. - David Von Bentley Jamie Foxx Unpredictable J I have news for Jamie Foxx. You’re not Ray Charles! Why is it that actors who play musicians in movies think they’re musicians after the fact? I was Liberace in a movie for the W channel, and yes, I did play “I’m in the Mood for Love” on a Steinway while sucking off multiple cocks in a grand piano bukkake (I’m a method actor, by the way), but did I believe I could do this in my day-to-day life? Of course not! I understand in my heart that I’m not nearly as talented as Liberace at the piano or the cock sucking. Jamie Foxx is a mediocre R ‘n’ B hip hop singer in a sea of cum chugging R ‘n’ B hip hop singers, and Unpredictable sounds – not like Ray Charles - but like a blind man’s fart with a hip hop beat behind it. Foxx’s attempts at seductiveness, meanwhile, create an atmosphere so creepy that all the blood will leave your genitals. They might even fall right off, because Jamie Foxx is such a fucking mood-killing bonehead. On the bright side, Unpredictable might also kill his career. - David Von Bentley Green Day Bullet in a Bible Reprise Before the release of American Idiot, Green Day was on its way to becoming yet another pop punk casualty. Each successive album since Dookie sold less than the next and the band literally drove itself into exhaustion after touring for Warning – the creative nadir of its 16-year existence. But American Idiot (and a little black eye-liner) ushered in a brand-new Green Day, ready to prove the boys still had some life left in them. Bullet in a Bible was recorded at the height of Green Day’s popularity – playing in front of 130,000 fans over a two-day stint at Milton Keynes National Bowl. Not surprisingly, American Idiot is the focal point here, with only a few visits to the back catalogue. Most of which is well executed by Armstrong and co., with the exception of some lame pandering to its UK audience, and a miscarried cover of the Isley Brothers’ “Shout”. Barring that, Bullet in a Bible is an effective live document and will be tough to match. - Adam Simpkins

me with the same immediate potency and sinew as that one, however, after several listens I have been coaxed by its Ted Bundylike charm. It’s as though the Demons took more time and care in production, resulting in noticeably cleaner sound, especially in the clickety-click of the bass tracks, which remind me a little bit of the bass sound on Mad Sin’s Break the Rules. Whether you like them with or without the grit and imperfections, there’s no doubt that Room 209 is a more technically sound showcase of the Gutter Demons’ undeniable talent for banging out ferociously fun psychobilly shout-alongs. - Devon Cody Horror of 59 Screams from the Cellar Sonic Swirl I’m willing to bet my left nut that every member of this band’s wiener would twitch with excitement at the mention of anything Glenn Danzig related. Horror of 59 churns out a slightly more metal-leaning brand of horror punk rock akin to the Misfits, with Ramones-like power and simplicity. Hence, the music is as catchy as you’d expect. I applaud these guys’ effort to avoid only writing songs around horror movie clichés. Much of this album is inspired by the ghost stories and urban legends of their native North-eastern Ohio. This approach results in interesting lyrics that don’t come across as just drippy, juvenile B-movie nerd fixation. Maybe post-adolescent B-movie nerd fixation… and there’s no shame in that. - Devon Cody Hypnopilot s/t Independent Ahhh… it’s discoveries like these that give me hope. These are dire days when the latest Queens of the Stone Age album sucks a sweaty dog sac and Nickelback clones rule the world of popular heavy rock with all the mechanical grace of Stephen Hawking. Behold Hypnopilot then, stepping forth from the gloom like a messiah, bringing salvation in the form of fuzzed-out, ‘70s inspired grooves. The album is devastatingly catchy and, despite it’s heaviness, uniquely smooth. Singer and guitarist Matthew Simmons’ velvety vocal melodies contrast perfectly with the chugging thunder that bassist Cory Pierce and Garwin Poff create together. The rhythmic mixture makes for an album that could appeal to fans of Fu-Manchu, Alice in Chains, or Cream. Cream indeed. In. My. Pants. - Devon Cody Knucklehead The New Black List Stumble Yep, I knew it! The new Knucklehead is great boot-stompin, get-yer-ass-moving punk rock. Sing-a-long songs about drinking, quitting drinking, working, no rent money, hookers, being a loser, and standing up for what’s right. The Calgary boys do it again, just like I was hoping they would. Everyone needs two or six of these. One for your punk house, and a bunch to give out to drunks on the street. Yep. - Jen Dodds

ALBUM

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Dragonlord The Black Wings of Destiny Escapi Music Where are the ritualistic rapes? The burning of churches? The murder of rival band members? I was disappointed to find out that Dragonlord has done none of these things before or during their career as a black metal band. They have, on the other hand, put out a pretty impressive sophmore release. Dragonlord is a kind of supergroup - of the basement

Gutter Demons Room 209 Pirates These guys had a formidable task in following up their killer debut, Enter the Demons. Admittedly, Room 209 didn’t grab

Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers Down to Kill Jungle If you haven’t experienced the thunder of the Heartbreakers (couldn’t resist) this is probably not the place to start. If you already know and love L.A.M.F. and Live at Max’s then you’ll find plenty to enjoy in this 2 CD/DVD set of demos and live audio and video. Disc one contains early stripped down sessions which highlight the fact that these songs were rooted

MUSICCONTENTS REVIEWS much more in trad rock ‘n’ roll than most ‘punk’ music of the era. Of particular note is the great, inexplicably unreleased (too pop?) Walter Lure tune “Flight.” Disc two comprises familiar remixed material from London’s Speakeasy club in ‘77. Thunders’ obnoxious stage banter is rampant here (“You kids are so bawring!” etc.) and the band is tight and smokin’. Finally, the DVD is about 50 minutes worth of Johnny in various states of consciousness, mostly pretty coherent, although the infamous meltdown on Swedish T.V. is hard to watch. For better and worse, the dude really was one of a kind. - Andrew Molloy Lamb of God Killadelphia Epic This might be a cheap ploy by Epic to sell more copies of the companion DVD, but the simple fact is: Killadelphia can hate-fuck your mother and you won’t bat an eyelash because it’s too damn good. Earlier in 2005, Lamb of God released one on the best music DVD’s I have ever seen. It featured band members getting into fistfights with each other, drinking problems exposed for the entire world to see, and a concert of unreal intensity. The CD presents the concert with some bonus footage, but if you’re like me, you wanna jack off to the sweet sounds of Lamb of God in front of The Nerve building (I’m hoping to see Mr. Bertrand take a brisk walk into a pile of my knuckle babies). Every song is mixed to perfection by Machine (that’s the name of the producer - not to be confused with the machine that controls us all), with the songs sounding as good and, in some cases, far better then the studio versions. Don’t own a single album of the heaviest band on a major record label, you say? Well get this, and don’t bat those eyelashes, coz I’m hatefucking your mother! - David Von Bentley Lords of Altamont Lords Have Mercy Gearhead From the moment you hit play it becomes evident that, despite the album name, the Lords have no mercy. This album will hit you like a slobbering drunk at the helm of a red-lining Hemi Cuda, take you out at the knees and send you, sans shoes, flying into the black of night in a bloody fit of rock ‘n’ roll joy. This is garage rock the way it should be - just enough psych to set brains cells a-poppin’, yet snarly enough to break a curious hippy’s kneecaps purely out of sonic belligerence. In the liner notes, MC5’s Michael Davis states that the Lords of Altamont “reclaim the golden era of real rock music, the last era of real style, and make it so today.” Perhaps nothing illustrates this better than the closing track - a blaring and ragged rendition of the Chambers Brothers’ “The Time Has Come Today”. - Devon Cody Malcolm Palmer Between the Womb and the Tomb Orange Van This is the type of CD they play on Commercial Drive, in those shitty coffee shops where they haven’t realized you can’t just mix up a bunch of already shitty elements and expect it to be any good. Those shitty elements in this case would be Ani Difranco guitar, shitty snare, and some bad, underachieving rap. To tell you the truth, I made it through about 20 seconds of this shit. - Dale DeRuiter

cuppa, but rest assured that said cuppa is liberally spiked with hallucinogens. The bonus DVD disc includes 20 videos! - Sean Law Metal = Life Various Artists Hot Topic Foundation/Hopeless/Sub City With everyone from super shitty Madball to super awesome Horse the Band, this 2CD/DVD box set sampler is a veritable who’s who of the hardcore, post hardcore and screamo genres. This CD is the perfect companion for acting tough and trying to hump girls off of Myspace. Like other compilations, Metal=Life is useful if you’re into checking out the bands and don’t have the internet. I, however, strongly recommend against it because it only proves how much these bands all sound the same. Sure, you could explain to me how each band sounds unique by pointing out shit in their music, just like you could also sit me down on a porch and explain why ten red wines are different, but it doesn’t mean I’ll give a fuck. On the 18 track DVD, there is one music video that doesn’t have the band standing there playing their instruments looking tough. There is also exactly four songs I could actually listen to more than half of. To be fair, the DVD does have one of the best music videos I have ever seen for “A Million Exploding Suns”, by Horse the Band. - Dale DeRuiter Neon Blonde Chandeliers in the Savannah Dim Mak Nobody likes change – especially spoiledbrat hardcore kids. Heaven forbid that any band should ever want to alter its sound or ameliorate its craft. After the Blood Brothers released the under-appreciated yet absolutely stunning Crimes LP in 2004, a good chunk of their fan-base cried foul and complained of them ‘selling out’ and being ‘an art project masquerading as a hardcore band’. Fuck them. Neon Blonde, the side project from lead BB howler Johnny Whitney and drummer Mark Gajadhar, will no doubt cause more bellyaching due to its strict non-conformity to punk-standards (oh, the irony) and eclectic mix of glam-soul, unsyncopated drum-machines and excessive bansheelike yelping. Openers “Black Cactus Killers” and “Princess Skullface Sings” are just familiar teases, further prodding into Chandeliers in the Savannah will quickly reveal that this isn’t simply shrieking hardcore; this is progress – and progress is mighty tasty. - Adam Simpkins Pink Swords Shut Up and Take It Gearhead Bored with most of the watery shit that is passed off as punk rock these days? Well buck up brothers and sisters, because the Pink Swords are here to spit in your face, piss in your beer, and leave their shoe prints on the side of your head. And you just know you’ll love every filthy minute of it. For those with little imagination, the Swords have been compared, on more than one occasion, to the Dwarves in their Blood, Guts, and Pussy days, and while the comparison is only partially accurate, it’ll do for now. Put simply, this is the best, most unrefined, cock-in-your-eye-socket music I’ve heard in a very long time. Stripped down to the very bleeding tendons and muscle of punk rock, this is about as taut and raw as a band can get while producing hooks that will have you dangling at their mercy like a side of beef. - Devon Cody

gaping void in my life since the last Fat comp was released in 2002 (barring the two ineffective Rock Against Bush albums which, despite ‘rocking’ against Bush, did not keep him from being reelected). All in all, this is a pretty solid CD, especially given the fact that its 26 tracks (15 of which are previously unreleased - ACTUALLY previously unreleased, not some shitbag demo version of a song you’ve heard a million times before), including tracks by NOFX, Anti-Flag, Against Me!, the Soviettes, and a solo outing from Matt Skiba (of Alkaline Trio fame). On TOP of all that, it’s only 10 bucks. What, you’re not willing to drop ten bucks to help protect CHILDREN? DO YOU HATE KIDS, YOU HEARTLESS FUCK?!?!?!?! - Derek Bolen Punks & Pints Vol. 2 Various Artists Sliver Yet another killer street punk compilation from Seattle, this one with familiar names such as Potty Mouth Society, Sledgeback, Mr. Plow, and 2600 Volts. Some of these bands (Kill the Precedent, 2600 Volts, and Potty Mouth Society) also appear on the superlative Dirtier Inch Vol. 2 compilation, but as they are different songs, you won’t find repeats. I confess, I’m starting to get jealous of Seattle, because there are a fuck load of good bands there, and Sledgeback, Shift Man Shift, No Means Yes, Potty Mouth Society, The Fucking Chachis, 2600 Volts, and The Marks are but a few of them. Of course, Mr. Plow is fucking fantastic, and I’m not just saying so because he flogs my books while on tour. There are a couple of clunkers, so if I had to pick between Punks & Pints Vol. 2 and The Dirtier Inch Vol. 2, I’d go with the latter, but it’d be a tough call indeed. - Chris Walter Randy Randy The Band Fat Wreck Chords Swedish punk bands and socialism go together like ärter and morötter (or peas and carrots, you monolingual boors). Thankfully, Randy isn’t as didactic as say, the (International) Noise Conspiracy, and can express its moral views without having to spell out every single word. In fact, Randy The Band is its least leftleaning album to date, but it still packs the same punch as most of the earlier work. “Evil” and “Going Out With The Dead “ carry the same zeal as 3-chord apostles Screeching Weasel and the Hanson Brothers, while other tracks lean toward a poppier side, like “Bahnof Zoo“ which comes off as a grittier Cheap Trick singalong. It’s unlikely that Randy will make a huge splash on these fickle shores, but in the meantime – let’s get this socialist party started! - Adam Simpkins

year-old King Diamond of Mercyful Fate - literally united in music. And that’s the problem. For every diamond-encrusted dildo, we get two more that are covered in shit. Basically, Roadrunner rounded up four ‘Captains’ (Heafy, Joey Jordison of Slipknot, Dino Cazares, ex-Fear Factory, and Rob Flynn of Machine Head) to write most of the music and round up the musicians involved. So it’s a mixed bag of tight cunts and Adam’s apples that I recommend to anyone who doesn’t mind a few chix with dicks, though god knows I don’t. - David Von Bentley Bernadette Seacrest and Her Yes Men Live In Person Independent Close your eyes and you are transported to a grimy Santa Fe New Mexico honkytonk - or maybe CBGBs - and you are drinking Wild Turkey or perhaps some Bombay Sapphire. Camels and dice games permeate the room. The ears recognize a familiar sound - Billie Holliday, or maybe Ella, or perhaps Sarah Vaughan. You look up to the stage to find the voice behind such a pained rendition of Gershwin’s “Summertime” and it’s not a silkswathed chocolateskinned diva but rather a six-foot tall, blunt-cut, creamyskinned ultravixen with tattoo sleeves that would make even the most serious of bad-boys blush. Seacrest comes upon her muse honestly, via a life not unlike her closest reference point: Billie Holiday. Live in Person is the real deal, kiddies - all bourbon, fishnets, and hard stares in an SUV, double non-fat latte free zone! - Boy Howdy Secret Chief 3 Book of Horizons Web of Mimicry Spooky mysticism abounds on SC3’s fourth slab of brilliance; Trey (Mr. Bungle) Spruance and his nuclear lunatic horde condensing – yet again – an entire universe of recorded sound into a puny 53-minute masterwork. Persian rhythms; lung-butter deathgrind; eerie circus waltzes; spaghetti Morricone; intentionally sporadic clatter and a hint of John Williams’ Home Alone soundtrack – it’s all here! But note, fans of Bungle & Mike Patton, SC3’s remarkable lack of humour – possibly a good thing for those annoyed by the trademark Patton vocal wazoo (shame on you). An ultra-indulgent album structure (six ‘bands’, one per style), and heavyhanded esoteric philosophizing seem to be the way of the Chiefs. Do not fret! Scientists and shroom-munchers aren’t the only ones welcome aboard this mongoloid joyride, as Book of Horizons abscesses with catchy, lovely – disconcertingly weird, perhaps – rhythms and melodies for the layman. This Book is Truth, sir. Oh yes. Mind-expanding and totally contagious. - Dave Bertrand

sleeping with skids and punkers. So they turned into skid punkers. Their music sounds like they took pieces of everything that was cool and just raped it for their own sound. “We don’t take shit from anyone. We blow each day like a loaded gun.” These lines are from “We’re Going Out Tonight.” These guys are pretty much the Simple Plan of glam punk. Listen to them if you’re a sixteen-year-old girl who wants to get tag teamed by the two guys in their 20s who always seem to be hanging around the entrance to your school at home-time. Everyone else just listen to D Generation and avoid the pain. - Dale DeRuiter Sleepytime Gorilla Museum Of Natural History Web of Mimicry By my watch, this album might as well be in a museum since its release date goes way back to the fall of 2004 (dude, remember when Lindsay dumped Wilmer?) – but since this compelling album is such a grandiose marvel, it’s still worth mentioning in our consistently up-to-theminute publication. Much like their current touring partners Secret Chiefs 3 (featuring members of Mr. Bungle), SGM play wildly cerebral prog-metal circulating around giant themes and obscure reference points. Of Natural History takes a look at modern man’s steady evolution - beginning with the lowly housefly, all the way to its ultimate demise as a cockroach (seriously, I think) with all the gaps being filled with frantic arrangements and ominous dirges. If an ‘Odditorium of the Bizarre’ is ever established, Of Natural History will be a curator’s career-find. - Adam Simpkins Some Girls Heaven’s Pregnant Teens Epitaph Billed as the ‘anti-pop super group’, Some Girls features members of hardcore stalwarts the Locust, Give Up The Ghost, the Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower, and Unbroken. Apparently, when you combine members of four different earshredding, cranial-hemorrhage-inducing post-hardcore bands, it’s four times as unlistenable. While showing brief moments of Refused-like focus and intensity, these are easily lost amongst the solid wall of screeching noise present for nearly the entire 25 minutes of this album. Granted, I’m not a huge noise rock fan. If you are, I guess you’ll probably shit all over yourself when you hear Heaven’s Pregnant Teens. - Derek Bolen Sugarcult Back To The Disaster: A Film About Sugarcult and Live at the Starland Ballroom Fearless While the DVD was obviously shot by professionals, it’s troubling that Sugarcult has only recorded two albums, been on one short tour, released one mediocre single, and is nonetheless the subject of a 60 minute documentary. Hmmmm. The band members talk about themselves for an hour, but they don’t have an awful lot to say. The live CD contains nine tracks, and sounds – I’m guessing - like an Avril Lavigne concert, with 1200 screaming 14-year-old girls in the background. Surprisingly good sound quality for a live album - you just have to like the music first. “MAKE SOME NOISE!!!” Ahhh… the sound of grade school girls spazzing out must be music to some ears. I thought this rag dealt with a slightly more mature audience. - High Plains Drifter

REVIEWS The Marshmallow Overcoat 26 Ghosts: The Best of 1986-2005 Dionysus The Marshmallow Overcoat has always been a bit of an acquired taste. Much more into exploring the psychedelic end of the garage rock spectrum, the band also boasts one of the genre’s most unusual vocalists. Timothy Gassen has fronted this band since 1986 (and an alter ego band the Purple Merkins) in addition to compiling an encyclopedia of garage bands entitled Knights of Fuzz. Lo and behold, there is also a song on this disc called “Knights of Fuzz”. The music on this CD ranges from the prime psychedelia of “Tomorrow Today” (all backwards masking and phasing), baroque flavored stuff “Oceans From Home”, the harpsichordled “Summers Lost”), and the sort of pop gems that would sate fans of later XTC. Gassen’s voice may not be everybody’s

Protect: A Benefit for the National Association to Protect Children Various Artists Fat Wreck Chords You could only imagine my glee when I discovered there was a new Fat compilation out. There has been a

Roadrunner United The All-Star Sessions Roadrunner This album is much like a trip to a Brazilian whorehouse. Sure, it looks great at first, but then you realize your perfect prostitute can roll out more cock than Milton Berle. This record has 55 incredibly talented cocksuckers from 42 different dick-stiffening bands – all drawn from Roadrunner’s 25-year history - coming together to make a single album. What a ball-bruising idea! We have the 19 year-old Matt Heafy of Trivium to the 666

Sex Slaves Bite Your Tongue Radical The cover of this album depicts two hot girls kissing. The album booklet is full of budget Suicide Girls with runny make up. You would think that a band this brash would have the balls and, more importantly, the music to back it up - as in the Darkness or Louis the XIV. Not the Sex Slaves. These are the guys who were raised middle class and were jocks up until Grade 11, when they discovered that the girls – who were sick of getting their asses slapped by boneheads – had started

Sun Kil Moon Tiny Cities Caldo Verde “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” an ancient proverb goes. Fitting, then, that Sun Kil Moon’s modest tribute to, er, Modest Mouse has its heart in the right place, but ends up being nothing more than pleasant and nice – adjectives rarely associated with Isaac Brock and his gang of backwoods indierockers. Sun Kil Moon (Mark Kozelek) is

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MUSIC / DVDCONTENTS REVIEWS no stranger to the nice and pleasant - in fact, his resume contains a respectful collection of warm and gentle recordings as the leading force behind Red House Painters. But what business does Kozelek have stripping down 11 classic Modest Mouse songs to a simple acoustic guitar and vocal track? Isaac Brock’s pugnacity, spastic frustration, and general refusal to conform to standard songwriting gets clumsily reduced to the simple and apathetic on Tiny Cities, allowing it to quickly succumb to novelty status. - Adam Simpkins The Boils From the Bleachers TKO It would be easier for a fat man to give you an unbiased opinion of Rolo ice cream than it would be for me to review a good street punk record fairly. When the guitars and vocals hit that spot, when those gang shouts are just right, I just want to turn up the volume and add said album to my mp3 collection without bothering to write any words of praise. But the Boils deserve much praise, and naturally, I dig From the Bleachers a lot. The neighbours downstairs are already banging on the ceiling, and I expect the police will be here soon. With luck, I’ll be able to listen to all 25 ass-kicking tracks before they kick down the door and drag me away. It’ll be worth it. - Chris Walter The Coffin Lids Round Midnight BOMP! Three piece garage punk band from Boston. They successfully voice the sexual desire of an entire generation in the song “I’m Going to Have My Way (With The 5.6.7.8.s)”. They also voice the hoped-for fate of the current crop of chumps clogging up the Top 40 in the song “Tonight You’re Going to Die in My Garage”. While those songs in particular are way cool, the majority of the rest of the disc is kind of blah. - Sean Law The Darkness One Way Ticket to Hell (And Back) Atlantic They thawed out Roy Thomas Baker, cleaned up the production bugs of Permission to Land , and then dipped the whole enterprise in money. Check the whoosh of strings on “Girlfriend”, the commanding crash cymbal punches that bring home “Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time”, or the tower of inhumanoid Chinnichap falsettos on “Blind Man”. “One Way Ticket” – the first single – might sound a little like “You Give Love a Bad Name”, but the balance of the album leaves no doubt that the heart of the Darkness resides in a frivolous but savvy universe of ‘70s UK pop and beyond. There are disco beats, hilarious lyrics, and a highland jig in the middle of “Hazel Eyes” that’s about as Scottish as Jimmy Page striding around Boleskine Manor on the banks of Loch Ness in a kilt, while the vocal calisthenics are closer to Klaus Nomi than Klaus Mein. It’s probably much better than you think. - Adrian Mack The Detroit Cobras Baby Bloodshot Domestic version, took forever to get released here. Comes with a bonus video. Also comes with their UK CD-EP tacked on. Great production, dynamite vocals, maybe slightly less ferocious than their first two discs. Worth getting. - Sean Law The Dirtier Inch Vol. 2 Various Artists Beer Metal This shockingly good street punk compilation from Seattle contains 28 tracks by 16 bands (other than the Hollowpoints, 2600 Volts, and Potty Mouth Society) that I’d never heard of. It’s always a shock to rediscover exactly how many groups are out there nowadays, especially when the ones represented here are such quality shit. Honestly, there are so many outstanding bands here that I stopped writing them down, and can only tell you that there isn’t a stinker in the bunch. Some of them, Hook and the Daggers, Plankton Beat, and Road to Ruin, completely blew me away. Sheeeeit, I’m almost wishing that I had grown up with

the current batch of punk bands rather than those hardcore hammerheads back in ’81. A very strong release indeed. - Chris Walter The Fully Down Don’t Get Lost in a Moment Fearless “We’re selling out… Selling ourselves short… Love is all you need.” Those are excerpts from a song called “The Cost of Comfort”. I am not the type of Vancouverite who’ll make fun of a band for taking a stab at being meaningful. I like it. I don’t need my music to be ironic. The Fully Down takes the best elements of a handful of different music scenes. The lyrics are emo, but sung by an anthemic pop punk band with hard rock and metal leanings. By the way: cowbell + double kick = orgasm. Oh, and don’t forget the slightly distorted synth. Yeah, this band rocks, but don’t tell your friends - they will make fun of you for having feelings. - Dale DeRuiter The Hypstrz Live at the Longhorn BOMP! This is an expanded reissue of the 1980 LP Hypstrization, about which Greg Shaw wrote, “A high-energy frat band who’s LP may be the rarest item on Voxx – even we don’t have a copy!” He certainly hit the nail on the head with the description of their music. This record is an instant party, which will appeal to fans of good-time garage bands like the Fleshtones or the Woggles. The twist here is that the fratrock sounds are sharpened with a deadly high-energy guitar attack along the lines of the MC5. The CD version contains 37 tracks, expanded from the original 15, four of which are originals. While it might not be too hard to find current bands covering the likes of the Pretty Things or the 13th Floor Elevators, back in 1980 it was a relative rarity. It’s all live, and it sounds great. Dig the photo of the club grid that has them on the same month as U2, the Replacements and Husker Du! - Sean Law The Invisible Eyes Laugh In the Dark BOMP! I’ve been watching this Seattle band on MySpace for some time now. Having heard their material gestate over a number of months, it’s interesting to hear these ‘finished’ versions on their debut disc. While I prefer the original MySpace version of “Can’t Wake Up” to the official release found here, it’s still great. The Invisible Eyes describe their sound as “a caveman on a spaceship”, and that seems apt. The organ and vocals are unearthly while the grungy fuzztone guitar and rumbling drums keep it primitive. This is garage rock akin to the kind that was prevalent in the mid-‘80s, but the band is current and you can go see them now. 16 tracks, cool black-light style cover design, a very worthy addition to the hallowed BOMP! roster and, notably, the last band that Greg Shaw signed to the label before his death. Very cool. - Sean Law. Tommy and the Terrors Unleash the Fury TKO I’m not sure where this street punk outfit is from. They give a shout out to friends in New Orleans, but the label is in Huntington Beach. Back in the early ‘80s, all the tough guys and tough bands were from Huntington Beach, and Tommy and the Terrors would seem to fit that bill, with gruff, angry songs about cops, unity, and pizza. It has all the ingredients to make a good punk rock pie, but somehow it fails to grab me. Maybe the vocals are just a bit too gruff, or the riffs not catchy enough. I mean, it’s alright, but it just didn’t stick in my head. Maybe I’m having a bad day. - Chris Walter Valencia This Could Be A Possibility Surrender Philadelphia’s Valencia churn out decent, mildly hooky, inoffensive pop punk every bit as well as their peers in the Starting Line or Saves The Day. This isn’t saying much - there’s not a great deal of technical skill evident in the songs, but they can write a decent melody and lead singer Shane Henderson has the kind of earnest, bleating voice that 16-year-old girls will

undoubtedly jizz for. But if you’re a 16year-old girl, save yourself 20 bucks (you’ll need it for cab fare home after I slip you those roofies) and download the album. Guitarist Brandon Walter was one of the 32 people charged by the RIAA for file sharing in the U.S., so if he bitches about it, just claim he downloaded some of your shit and you’re evening the score. - Derek Bolen White Rainbow Zome States Rights “A release of my personal creative ego into the infinite love that Honey helped me see. A return to the Vessyl.” – Adam Forkner aka White Rainbow. The album Zome is an audio love letter from Forkner to, as he puts it, his “eternal love vibepartner” Honey Owens. Loosely translated, that means “slow album.” Zome is also Forkner’s foray into the music he feels he should be making, instead of the music he’s supposed to be making; as he explains in a letter included in the package. You might find it difficult to engage with this album, built as a two-year old love letter. You might also feel that all this talk about creative ego and infinite love indicates that Zome is a naval gazing affair - the musical equivalent of talking because you like the sound of your own voice. Well, listen to this album if you’re into slow ambient experimental music with David Grey singing. Or if you’re Honey Owens. - Dale DeRuiter Wilco Kicking Television: Live in Chicago Nonesuch In some circles, it’s almost blasphemous to speak anything remotely ill of the untouchable Wilco. Turning your nose up at Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or A Ghost is Born to aging hipsters or No Depression readers is enough get yourself caught in a good ‘ol fashioned Illinois-style fists-ablazin’; but we all know better. We’re keen to the fact that Wilco aren’t that great. We can listen to Kicking Television and mock that it sounds more like Tom Petty and the Wallflowers than the second coming of God knows who. Sure, “A Shot in the Arm” and “via Chicago” could be considered two of the finer moments in alt. country (oh, I know, Wilco hates that term), but the drivel found in “At Least That’s What You Said”, “Hell is Chrome” and “I’m the Man Who Loves You” is no better than your dad’s AOR record collection. - Adam Simpkins

RUSH (DVD) R30 30th Anniversary World Tour Anthem For all of us rabid Rush geeks, here’s a celebratory DVD/CD package guaranteed to make us all stop dreaming about nonexistent girlfriends, drop our Magic the Gathering cards, and hit the tube, right pronto. Perhaps Rush is a love/hate scenario to most, but they were only Canadian band to stand tall among the mostly British champions of the international progressive rock scene of yesteryear, and they didn’t have to play “Takin’ Care of Business” in order to do it. DVD One is a complete 2005 concert at Frankfurt’s Festhalle, where nearly 10,000 howling German Rush fanatics sing along to every song and the smiles never leave their faces; Geddy Lee’s testescrushing high-octave shriek (an acquired taste for many) is still in fine glassshattering form, as are his uber-impressive chops on the bass guitar; Alex Lifeson, taking a break from drunkenly assaulting Dade County police officers, whips off all the cool, crazy riffs and cooler, crazier

solos; and Neil Peart, surrounded 360 degrees by a complicated, intricate wraparound drum kit, steals the show time and again and never once cracks a smile. The stage is adorned with stateof-the-art lasers and projection screens, and the surreal presence of a double-dryer tumbling around a load of whites (a hoser’s version of a Pink Floyd concert). Geddy and Alex, aging gracefully with sincere youthful joy, are clearly having fun onstage for a loving crowd, as I’m sure they have always done over the past three decades. Not that the entire DVD set is flawless. Again, Rush’s compositional high points peaked during the 1970s, and although they kick out rock-solid, letterperfect renditions of the Rush songs even non-Rush fans want to hear (“Red Barchetta,” “Spirit of Radio,” “Tom Sawyer,” “Limelight,” etc.), there’s just as much of the synth-heavy MOR stuff they wrote way too much of during the 1980s and well into the ‘90s (“Dreamline,” “Roll The Bones,” etc.) - a turnoff for many. But Rush might be one of the most crackerjack Canadian bands ever when it comes to perfection of performance, and in these days of half-assed untuned sub-emo bullshit, it’s a strange refreshment to see folks actually play their instruments with some flair, and write some memorable hooks as well. Disc Two balances off the Frankfurt concert by compiling classic ‘70s live clips of some of Rush’s strongest work (“La Villa Strangiato,” “Circumstances,” “Freewill,” “Closer to the Heart”) - the wardrobes are worth the viewing time alone - as well as interviews over the years, and my personal high-point: their 1994 Juno Hall of Fame induction speech. It comes with a cool Hipgnosis-style conceptual foldout cover, too, plus a pair of guitar picks signed by Alex and Geddy, a used backstage pass, a live CD, and all sorts of other good shit which makes me proud to be a Canadian... at least, until I see the federal election results. - Ferdy Belland

Zombie Night in Canada Vol.2 Various Artists Stumble This CD claims to be a compilation of Canada’s best rockabilly and psychobilly, but to be honest with you, I do not have the resources, gumption, or even the interest to find out if this claim is real. Of the 36 bands featured on this double disc set, I have previously heard of eight; so it is was a very good induction into the world of Canadian rockabilly music. Like every other compilation, there are good songs and bad songs. This is a perfectly successfull marketing tool to help you decide which of the bands you want to check out to a further degree. - Dale DeRuiter

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BOOK REVIEWS

The Other Hollywood : The Uncensored Oral History of the Porn Film Industry By Legs McNeil and Jennifer Osborne Regan Books Legs McNeil - who could be more legit than the guy who came up with the word ‘punk’ in the first place? He’s one of the crazy motherfuckers who went out on

Fury’s Hour – A (sortof) Punk Manifesto By Warren Kinsella Random House Canada

It’s easy to dislike a fella like Warren Kinsella. Prior to reading Fury’s Hour, I encountered a heap of scathing personal attacks and bad reviews. As one visitor to the Asbalt message board has it: “Putting the word ‘manifesto’ on the cover?! It doesn’t declare shit besides, ‘Punk must be dead because I’m old and confused.’” Julie Fournier offers a slightly more insightful critique in Now Toronto: “How someone with his resume can consider himself a punk, and how he qualifies to call Johnny Rotten a sellout, is a complicated matter. DOA frontman Joey Shithead Keithley brings up the relationship between punk and capitalism and the right wing in an interview, but Kinsella chooses not to explore the potentially meaty subject further than that.” Looking at Kinsella’s resume - the man was a Liberal Party strategist and is still a lawyer - most would think the fucker got what was coming to him for having the audacity to write a book; a self-professed manifesto, no less, on punk rock. Yet, as much as my initial research and hearsay guided me toward not liking the guy, Fury’s Hour makes it apparent that it’s at least healthy, if not down right proper, that no-bullshit types like Kinsella should choose the kinds of career paths that punk rockers are usually eager to attack.

I’m on the Guestlist By Chris Walter Gofuckyerself Press

This is arguably Chris Walter’s most personally revealing and weighty novel to date. I’m on the Guestlist marks the closing of the loosely

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CONTENTS a limb to chronicle the events at smelly, rat-infested clubs in the Bowery and Alphabet City in the midseventies, along with Lester Bangs, R. Meltzer, and John Holmstrom. Coining the phrase ‘punk’ for his new magazine, Holmstrom and McNeil helped blaze the trail of modern rock journalism. That journey ends at the close of the 20th century with Legs’ Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk, a book widely hailed as a classic of its kind, and possibly the last word. So, you may ask; what is Legs’ new punk? Shut up you little emo fuck. PORN! It’s GODDAMNED PORN! Legs and co-author Jennifer Osborne serve up a gangbang of a book here. Each and every facet of the industry is touched on (holy shit, there are a lot of double entendres here). This tome collects firstperson accounts detailing the rise of porn as we know it today, from the nudie cutie movies of the 1950s (The Adventures of Lucky Pierre, starring Billy Falbo and Bachelor Tom Peeping), all the way to the celebrity porn of the ‘90s (Savannah, Jeanna Fine, Krysti Lynn). It‘s huge at over 600 pages, but, much like Please Kill Me, is also compulsively readable and has enough photos to keep the perverts and attention deficient idiots entertained. McNeil and Osborne focus on the underbelly of the industry, presumably because there isn’t much of an overbelly (and who wants to read about that?) Among the tales: suicide (Savannah), fratricide (Mitchell Brothers), Mafia hits (John Gotti’s whacking of Robert DiBernardo - the Mob’s point man in the porn business), and gangland slayings (Johnny “Wadd” Holmes). Sex, drugs, money - what more could you want from a book? Or from anything, for that matter? - Boy Howdy

Better him than yet another babykissing, hand-shaking, two-faced ass rat. Fury’s Hour – the title is inspired by the Clash song “Clampdown” – is a sparse detailing of Kinsella’s personal involvement in the punk rock scene in his hometown of Calgary, and a somewhat scattered account of how it motivated him to gather conversations from the figureheads of old and new school punk and discuss the movement’s social potency, as well as do his fair share of fan-boy gushing. It contains interviews with likes of Joey Ramone, Joe Strummer, Ian MacKaye, Brett Gurewitz, and members of Blink 182 and Good Charlotte. Kinsella clearly chooses a diverse array of punk brains to pick. Purists might take offense at the mention of a band like Good Charlotte in the same sentence as the Ramones and the Clash, but seriously - with the state of “punk” as it is today, how else can you get a truly well informed perspective? Although at times Kinsella strives too hard to deliver a definitive opinion, coming across as irritatingly overconfident, Fury’s Hour still offers much interesting information. There’s no doubt that Kinsella’s got brains and a good pedigree. You don’t have to agree with him or even like the guy, but if you’re still convinced he’s the enemy, all the more reason to get to know him. - Devon Cody autobiographical trilogy that begins with Mosquitoes and Whisky, and charts Walter’s continuing attempts to “alter his molecular structure with large amounts of liquor and drugs”, revealing the often hilarious, sometimes harsh results of his experiment. Thick with catharsis and written with enough wide-eyed zeal to make a Special Olympics athlete seem unmotivated, the novel is easily his most ambitious in emotional range and chronological scope. Continuing from where I Was a Punk… left off, it begins in a Winnipeg jail cell in 1984 and ends twenty years, a vasectomy, two providentially bastard children, and countless NA meetings later. Although it details some of the grimmest periods of his life, Walter’s talent for reflecting on adversity with black humour and a keen sense of irony makes for a surprisingly funny and compelling read. By juxtaposing the extremely dire with the deeply goofy, the impact of each is accentuated. I especially like that he has successfully balanced the strengths of the trilogy’s previous two books and combined them into one, displaying his most trained voice yet. Back and every bit as charming in their dysfunction are the authentic family anecdotes of Mosquitoes and Whisky. And for those of us who take some pleasure in knowing that we aren’t the only morons who blunder our way through life, Guestlist provides us with ample reason to hoist our egos high in the air and feel superior. As in I Was a Punk…, you’ll spend a lot of time laughing at other people’s misfortune. This is chicken soup for the chump’s soul. - Devon Cody

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SKATEBOARDING Friday the 13th - Part LIII

Shreditorial: Thanks, Lee

I’ve always had a certain fondness for Friday the 13th, starting with the one in December of 1974 when I made my first earthly appearance in Montreal General Hospital. Since then, I’ve paid special attention to this oft-maligned day and have found it to be anything but unlucky. In fact, Friday the 13th’s track record over the past 31 years has earned it a high ranking on the fun scale. So it came as no surprise that exactly 373 months (and 52 Friday the 13ths) after that fateful day, antiSocial hosted “Until We Get Leeside”, one of the coolest events that I’ve ever had the privilege of attending. A tribute to our fallen friends Lee “Avers” Matasi and Rachel Davis, both victims of

This SkateSpot is dedicated to Lee ‘Avers’ Matasi, skater, painter, graf artist, brother, son, and friend. Lee’s shooting happened just after the December/January issue came out; we’ve all had some time to digest this tragic event. The great contribution that street skaters make to larger society is to bring colour and activity to city margins - bringing them into contact with all kinds of people, as part of the adventure. Most of these random encounters are entertaining or enlightening, at worst a harmless bummer. Twice in the last couple of years, however, they’ve been lethal. Both Lee Matasi and Rachel Davis were inhabiting their city’s public space directly rather than hiding in the clean, controlled spaces of suburbia. They were good citizens asserting civic values to strangers, with tragic results. There Nurmi, Michelle Pezel and Amanda dig Matt B’s are idiots in the city, and AVERS tribute. Photo Kim Glennie some of them have guns. Tighter borders and better policing may limit supply, but won’t affect pointless gun violence, AntiSocial’s “Until We demand. Demand for guns really comes down Get Leeside” project is a material manifestation to why people feel the need for them. Lee of the demented collective visions of local chose to empower himself through individual Slugs Seb Templer and Luke Jouppi, and initiative, creativity, networking and ideas. Aussie visitor Mavie Murphy. I’m not even He gave himself the power to do good, and going to try to describe it because you should accomplished much in his short life. His shooter go see it for yourself. Opening night was a chose the false power of a gun and the empty bona fide shred-fest that saw a diverse crew egotrip of cocaine, leading him to destroy emerge from the woodwork. Bodies were flying not one life, but two - his own as well. As the everywhere, narrowly dodging walls, other grinding gears of the legal system process him skaters, and a row of posts running down the from “citizen” to “criminal”, he’ll contend with centre of the room. The BaKU rose from the the guilt of what he has done and inevitably shadows, sending forth their elite warriors to face the legal and personal consequences. wage brutal war on the seething hell of abrupt For the rest of us, the real enemies are and unforgiving transitions. Their offerings to anger and fear. Don’t let fear keep you from the Ancient Ones included, among other things, inhabiting your city, and don’t let anger at this a pivot fakie in the face of the ritual gong… tragedy embitter you. Remember Lee for how Stevie D showed up and did what you would he lived and what he stood for, a positive force expect him to do; he tore the place to shreds. in life. His death leaves a void, but let’s fill Did anyone expect that b/s disaster revert on that emptiness with positivity, not anger. The the Gong Wall though? Holy fucking bejeezus… community around antisocial has made the Fueled by a magnum of champagne, Cody first step, building the “Until We Get Leeside” pulled an f/s air over the Love Hole and axle miniramp commemorating Lee and Rachel. stalled the bricks up at the ceiling before slicing Anyone can donate to the Lee Matasi Memorial the shit out of his hand and being coerced into fund (write to: Jeff Stellick, Director of the taking a trip to the hospital. Boswell almost Ottawa School of Art, 35 George St., Ottawa, lost half of his face to Hernan’s board. And last Ont., K1N 8W5 or call 1-613-241-4389) or but definitely not least, the “Who the Fuck is contribute to building Leeside, the skatepark that Guy?!” award goes to Ontarians Chris and started by Lee at under Hastings/Cassiar Corey, who showed up out of nowhere and (contact Matt Smed: leeside@vcn.bc.ca).Lee destroyed the place. built his legacy in a few short years, and it’s a In the end, the privileged crowd who powerful, positive one. Let’s ensure our own gathered at AntiSocial on Friday the 13th saw legacy is of comparable quality. unmistakable proof of what we’ve all known -D-Rock and Miss Kim. downspace@telus.net. since forever ago; skateboarding is the coolest scene that anyone could ever hope to be a part of. I left the party stoked on the prospect of returning in a couple of days once the crowds had receded, then went snowboarding and successfully sidelined myself for the next many months by blowing out my left knee. At least now I won’t have to separate my shoulder on one of those posts. - Jeff Chan grand_ wazoo@hotmail.com n

Johnny Byers, Antisocial gap. Photo: Derek DeLand

Short Ends smaller and not as funny as cheap shotz

Let’s all write letters to Charles Manson In your heart you know we should let Charles Manson free. He didn’t actually kill anyone and the motive that Bugliosi brought forward that Charles Manson was ordering The Family to kill rich white people to frame black people because he thought it would bring about a race war is a little outlandish. So write him and let him know you think he’s innocent. For a fun experiment, we’re going to send him the article on John Roecker’s movie Live Freaky! Die Freaky! Will he write back? Stay tuned! Charles Manson, B-33920 4A 4R-23 P. O. Box 3476 Corcoran, CA 93212 Buy Vincent Gallo’s Sperm Okay, I’m not making this up. check out www.

vgmerchandise.com. It’s a site run by Vincent Gallo to purchase Vincent Gallo memorbilia. You can buy the motorcycle from The Brown Bunny, some artwork by Charles Manson that one of the Ramones gave him, a medallion from his communion, some autographed records and a vial of his sperm... for a million dollars. No joke. And for an extra 500k you can be inseminated naturally. “However, if after being presented detailed photographs of the purchaser, Mr. Gallo may be willing to waive the natural insemination fee and charge only for the sperm itself.” He adds, “Under the laws of the Jewish faith, a Jewish mother would qualify a baby to be deemed a member of the Jewish religion. This would be added incentive for Mr. Gallo to sell his sperm to a Jew mother, his reasoning being with the slim chance that his child moved into the profession of motion picture acting or became a musical performer, this connection to the Jewish faith would guarantee his offspring a better chance at good reviews and maybe even a prize at the Sundance Film Festival or an Oscar.” On a related note: if you’d like to buy a half full Dixie cup containing the sperm of Adrian Mack, Brad Damsgaard, Dale De Ruiter and Michael Mann, send $10 to the Nerve office. You get a discount of $5 if you choose natural insemination. Scientologist censors South Park Tom Cruise had the South Park episode about him banned from the country of England. If you’d like to check it out and missed

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it on television, the kind people at Operation Clambake are hosting it on their site for you to download. Go to Xenu.net and check the message board for a link.

The Following people are crazy as fuck Dave Chapelle, Michel Gondry and 2/3 of The Fugees. But they all collaborated on the release of Block Party, a movie where Dave Chapelle gets a bunch of his rapper friends to perform and invited random people to a secret location for a concert. The movie is inspired by Wattstax, where Richard Pryor did the same thing. It opens March 3. Just how Satanic is your movie taste? There are an endless amount of websites that analyze movies from a Christian persepctive. But how many sites let Satanists know what movies are appropriate to watch? If your answer to that question is NOT ENOUGH YOU GOD FEARING SHEEP, check out The Sinister Screen: The Satanic Film and Video Review Forum www.purgingtalon.com/sinisterscreen. Rating high on the Satanic side are the Harry Potter movies, Bladerunner, the sequel to The Addams Family, Logan’s Run and every movie made by Tim Burton including Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. Video Pick Freeway 2: Confessions of a Trickbaby Despite the title and similar subject matter, this is not the sequel to the movie with Reese Witherspoon and Kiefer Sutherland according

to the Screen Writer’s Guild of America. While Freeway was loosely based on Little Red Riding Hood, this one is loosely based on Hansel and Gretel. Example: Instead of Hansel and Gretel leaving a trail of bread crumbs that crows eat. Two homicidal girls leave a trail of crack rocks that get smoked by homeless people. And instead of finding their way to a house of candy, they make their way to mexican church run by Vincent Gallo, who plays a Mexican nun that makes child porn in the cellar. This movie also features the worst transfer to video I’ve ever seen in my life. Seriously, it looks like it was recorded from a master VHS tape, to another VHS tape and was then transferred onto another VHS tape which had old episodes of Seinfeld on it and was then pissed on. Amazing. n

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If you’re buying, I’ll have some brains. And if they’re out of that, I’ll just take the fried chicken, please. Maybe some watermelon.

Guts, But No Intestines: Joe Dante’s Homecoming F by Allan MacInnis

rom the minute I heard about Joe Dante’s Homecoming, in which soldiers killed in Iraq break free of their coffins and rise up against neoconservatives and the religious right, I was drooling to see George Bush, Ann Coulter, and Jerry Falwell – all of whom are lampooned in the movie – disembowelled and eaten by war dead. I figured that both the inner logic of the genre and a powerful need for cathartic, bloody justice among liberal viewers made such scenes necessary; and what better fate for Bush than to have his intestines ripped out and chewed on by undead veterans, perhaps while he gurgles “stay the course?” Imagine my surprise, when the film played at the Vancity Theater, to discover that there isn’t a single intestine on view, and that Bush and Falwell escape uneaten! (Ann Coulter does get shot in the back of the head, but even there – you don’t get to see her brains). It seemed a shortcoming, and I had to ask Joe Dante about it. He chuckled. “I don’t think having the president dismembered is really what we’re looking for, here. It’s not about hanging people from trees, as much as it often is on the other side; it’s a sort of wake up call… It’s such an obvious polemical movie that a lot more time is spent on politics than on horror, and of course that’s been a bone of contention with a lot of horror fans, because they go, you know, ‘if you got a message, send Western Union’… but that’s part of the appeal of Masters of Horror – you’ve got 13 episodes, 13 different directors, and people have different things on their minds.” All the same, the reader might wonder, what do the zombies in Homecoming do, if not kill and eat people? True to the pre-9/11 short story on which the film is based, Death and Suffrage, by horror writer Dale Bailey – which takes gun control as its issue, since the second Iraq war was only a neoconservative/PNAC fantasy at that point – the zombies come back to vote. The

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year is 2008 and the decomposing vets pose a problem for politicians; at first, when it’s assumed they’ll vote Republican, they’re hailed as heroes, but when it’s discovered that they intend to vote against the incumbent, they’re herded into pens as a public health threat (it’s a nice touch that the zombies are forced to wear Gitmo-style orange jumpsuits). The problem is that the only way to kill them is to let them cast their ballots, and more keep arriving from Iraq every day. Finally, the government has to let the dead have their say – since, being Republicans, they don’t intend to count the ballots anyhow. The lack of gore might confuse some viewers, but for Dante, the only truly puzzling thing about Homecoming is that it stands alone as the only non-documentary to directly deal with the Iraq war and its effects. ”I mean, don’t you think it’s a little odd that the only dramatic examination we’ve had of this thing is a zombie movie? That a fucking b-movie is the only thing anybody’s done about an issue that’s killed 2000 Americans and untold numbers of Iraqis? …The media has been so complicit in getting us to where we are that, when I took the film to Europe, they were shocked America would make a film like this. There was, like, a five minute standing ovation – not because they thought the movie was so great; I think they’re just relieved that there are some people in the industry in America who haven’t drunk the Kool Aid... That’s one of the reasons it’s not subtle. There’s no reason to be subtle if the only movie anybody’s going to make about the subject is this one – then you

might as well just go for it.” Death and Suffrage author Bailey was happy with screenwriter Sam Hamm’s adaptation. “I’m no supporter of G. W. Bush or his disastrous foreign policy.  I didn’t have any input, though, on how the story was altered.  I wouldn’t have objected.  It’s nice to know somebody is willing to take a stand on this stuff! …I really liked the scene with the zombie in the diner – I think it’s the best scene in the film, because it really highlights the sacrifices families who have loved ones in the service are making.  I totally disagree with the war in Iraq, but I respect the soldiers on the ground enormously, and I didn’t want the episode to make light of their sacrifice, so that scene really worked in that way, I thought.” Here in Canada, where it’s more or less p u b l i c l y acceptable to speak of Bush as a war criminal, to express bewilderment t h a t nobody has assassinated him yet, and to step on his effigy on TV, it may be difficult to comprehend this, but to make a film like Homecoming in the United States right now takes guts. “There’s people who hate me,” says Dante. “I’m a traitor, I should be hung up from a tree. You know, it’s a free country, up to now, and if that’s their opinion, they’re entitled to it, but I’ve already lost one job because of Homecoming. I can’t tell you the specifics, but I was up for something and I foolishly gave them a copy as an example of something I’ve been doing, and the guy who was running the place turned out to be quite a Republican. It was not the right move on my part…” Though the success of Homecoming

There’s people who hate me. I’m a ‘traitor’… I’ve already lost one job because of Homecoming.

suggests that there is “some receptiveness” to left-of centre views right now, Dante notes, “It’s hardly a groundswell, like in the 1970s, when there were lots of pictures made that criticized the war in Vietnam.” And the film has its share of detractors: negative reviews online speak of Homecoming as a “disgusting piece of partisan propaganda” – strong words indeed, given how much more extreme the film could have been. Like other episodes in the Masters of Horror series, currently showing on Showtime in the USA, Homecoming was shot on a shoestring budget in Vancouver during last year’s teacher’s strike. There are a few local cues – Terry David Mulligan plays a Larry-King style talk show host who fawns over his right-wing guests, and Queer as Folk star and Victoria resident, Thea Gill, plays the Ann Coulter character (Dante notes that “ours is better looking;” amusingly, Coulter is depicted as having a taste for kinky sex, which somehow fits). Those of you who missed the series at the Vancity Theatre will have to wait for Anchor Bay’s upcoming DVD box set. Even though he hasn’t made a horror film proper since 1981’s The Howling (scripted by liberal favourite John Sayles, who also penned Dante’s 1978 Piranha), Dante remains fond of the genre. “In times of paranoia and times of turbulence, horror movies have always been very popular, for example, during the 1930s and 40s, or during the Cold War. I mean, if you want to look at societies and see what they’re thinking, look back at their horror movies. It shows you what’s going on politically.” Here’s my vote, then, Joe: make a sequel to Homecoming and do justice to the genre. It’s not too late: have the White House itself surrounded by walking corpses, as the President, family, and staff nail tables and planks to the windows. I even have a title for it: Homecoming II: Dogtags of the Dead. We need to see Bush eaten, Joe. It’s a consummation devoutly to be wished. n

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Live Freaky! Die Freaky! Serial Murder and Sodomy I by Michael Mann

t’s only February and writer/director John Roecker is trying to claim the title of most transgressive filmmaker of the year. In Live Freaky! Die Freaky! it’s 3069 and after “Helter Skelter” happens and society is reduced to rubble, a nomad in the desert comes across a copy of Vincent Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter. The nomad thinks it’s the new bible and misinterprets Charles Manson for our lord and savior while Sharon Tate is a hateful, coke snorting bitch who is pretty much asking to get murdered and have the baby ripped out of her uterus. Oh yeah, and did I mention this movie is X-rated, was all done with puppets and Billie Joe from Green Day is the voice of Charlie? The end result is an instant cult gem that resembles Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on LSD. Produced and narrated by Rancid’s Tim Armstrong, Live Freaky! Die Freaky! also features the voice talents of the rest of Green Day and Rancid as well as members of The Transplants, White Zombie, The Distillers, Good Charlotte, Blink 182, Tiger Army, X, A.F.I. and Lunachicks. It would seem that a movie with puppets reinterpreting a horrific multiple homicide is a far better unifier of California’s punk elite than a We Hate George Bush compilation album. Nerve: How did this movie get made? John Roecker: Back in the day, you had to go to thrift stores to do your shopping because you couldn’t find pants that weren’t bell-bottoms. So I’d go to thrift stores and there’s always so many copies of the book Helter Skelter. I thought, “this is the book that’s going to outlast everything.” So then I took it one step further, that this book is found after the world’s been destroyed and this nomad finds it and misinterprets the book as the new Bible. The Bible was just a bunch of stories that were culled together by a bunch of men. There is a lot of stuff of that was omitted from the Bible that they didn’t want you to know about. So that was my premise. Nerve: So is the movie being received well? Roecker: It is by the fans of the film. It wasn’t received well by the powers that be, like people who are in charge of film festivals and whatnot. They didn’t know that there was an audience for

this kind of thing because it’s a really independent film that doesn’t have major motion picture backing. They were just taken by surprise. It just goes to show that this is a grassroots kind of thing. Nerve: I was reading the Imdb and a lot of people hate your movie. Roecker: Eww, I know. Nerve: One lady wants her money back and thinks it should be burned and erased from the Earth. She wrote it in all capital letters so you know she was pissed. Is this the sort reaction you were going for? Roecker: No, not at all. I’m an extremist so either you’re going to love it or you’re going to hate it. The reviews that are coming in are either “this is the greatest movie of all time” or “this is the worst one.” It’s an extreme movie. It’s the same thing as the Passion of the Christ. When I saw that movie it gave me the courage to go beyond where I wanted it to go. If he can get away with that then I can get away with what I want. Nerve: Is the film banned in some places? Roecker: Yes, definitely. Nerve: What were the reasons given for that? Roecker: “Morally irresponsible.” That was my favorite. It’s not morally irresponsible. It’s a film to make people think. It’s a puppet film and it’s not hateful movie. It’s an extreme movie about how people have to get their point across. And how people like us are manipulated by it. Nerve: Why stop motion? Roecker: Three reasons. Firstly, I love stop motion. It’s a lost art. There’s a reason for that: it’s really hard to do. Secondly, I loved those Rankin and Bass films when I was a kid cuz they have that creepy element to them. And three, there was no way I was going to have my friends fornicate. That wasn’t going to happen. Nerve: Was it difficult working without professional voice actors? Roecker: No, I can only work primarily with my friends. They know my sense of humor cuz we share the same twisted dark sense of humor. I know when I give the script to Billie Joe he’s gonna go “I understand what you’re saying.” So I

don’t have to hold his hand, which I love to do. Nerve: Does he have nice manicured hands? Roecker: He has very soft hands. When I gave it to Tim [Armstrong] he said, “Love it. Just one thing: don’t change a thing.” Which is the opposite of what a producer says. Normally, they’d be like “maybe if you took this scene out we could sell it to Wal Mart.” Nerve: What makes Charles Manson an engaging and salient figure still in the year 2006? Roecker: Because he’s the Boogey Man. He destroyed the whole peace and love thing in the 60s. He was the man who made us lock the doors at night. He was the man who got cheerleaders to kill for him. It’s a terrifying concept. But once again, they followed a man who said he was the Messiah. Why? Because he was a failed musician and he was bitter so he had people take care of things. I think it’s kind of funny that Vincent Bugliosi, Mr. Right Wing Prosecutor, who wrote this book, cemented the fame of Charles Manson by making him into an icon. And he did it for greed. I saw this interview with him and they asked about when Guns ‘n’ Roses recorded that Charles Manson song. He said he thought it was sick that people make money off this monster. They were filming [the interview] in front of his pool. Nerve: What sort of connections do you see between Charles Manson and punk rock? Roecker: Wearing a Charles Manson t-shirt in LA was like wearing a swastika t-shirt in England. He’s a guy that shocks and still does. It was just a person to be like “Hey, this is what the reality of the world is.” I’m sorry the peace and love thing didn’t work, but we live in a very violent society. Also, I’m not condoning what he did, but he never killed anyone. He made his followers kill seven people. Then there’s Henry Kissinger who was responsible for so many more deaths who’s not in jail. Well is it cuz he had short hair and wore a tie? A death is a death. Be it a blonde movie star or a child in Vietnam. Nerve: Has Charles Manson seen or heard about the movie? Roecker: I don’t think they have DVD players in

jail. Nerve: How about Roman Polanski? Roecker: No. Nerve: How do you think he’d react? Roecker: Well he’d react to it. This is a satire. This is a parody and it’s not based on any actual facts. It’s a story loosely based on facts and this person interpreting it for his own benefits and needs. I’m sure the real Sharon Tate was not this horrible person. But the character in the movie has to be an extreme. It’s gotta be good or bad with no middle ground. Like my reviews. Nerve: Who would you rather get hate mail from: Charles Manson or Roman Polanski? Roecker: Roman Polanski. Here’s a man who sodomized a minor. This is a man who is a fugitive of the law. That’s a fact. Nerve: At Jack Nicholson’s house. She was 13 years old. Roecker: She didn’t have condoms. So as a gentleman, he sodomized her. I’m completely against child molestation. Call me freaky and an extremist, but I just don’t think that’s right. Nerve: How well do you think you were able to represent Charles Manson on the screen? Roecker: It’s a fraction of Charles Manson. There are horrible things and there are some things that make sense. That’s just the way it is for a person like that. When me and Exene [Cervenka] did the book on tape of the Unabomber’s Manifesto, she just went through the whole manifesto and highlighted the parts she wanted to read because it was too long. And it made sense. That’s the scary thing about it. It’s what’s in between the lines that is the stuff you should worry about. Nerve: Well how well do you think you were able to represent Charles Manson’s genitals on the screen? Roecker: I based that on myself. Nerve: Congratulations are in order then. Roecker: That’s definitely mine. I’m German and Catholic. Nerve: Finally, is Charles Manson a misunderstood genius or just batshit crazy? Roecker: I think he’s crazy but there are crazy geniuses. I just can’t say he’s a genius because I’ve heard his record. n

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FICTION

Dead Weight By CC Rose

watch Tyler sink another one and slam the empty glass down on the bar. “Hey, sweetheart,” he yells at the blonde bartender. She turns and he points to the 26 of Wisers sitting king-like on the mirrored shelf. She looks at him coolly and pours another. “That’s the last one for you, hon.” He throws a fiver down and mutters, “Aw, c’mon!” Then when she’s walked away: “Bitch.” He looks into his wallet and I can see he’s out of money. He’s mumbling still, “Took my last five bucks, man... these fuckin’.... women, man... hey! Hey! Why aren’t you having one Hawk, my man... hey! Woman! My friend…“ I grab his arm but he pulls it away. “It’s alright, Ty, I’m good,” I try to say but it’s no use. Not on a night like tonight. I nod to the bartender and she pours me one. She puts it down, grabs my money and wishes me luck with her eyes. I slam it back. Tyler smiles at me and leans heavy on the bar. His eyes are barely open now, and I can tell he wants to say something, but for whatever reason he can’t, and then it’s gone. I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, dude,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else. “No, man,” he says. “It’s not alright. She’s not alright. I’m not fuckin’ alright. IT is definitely not alright.” I check the time. The bar closes in 20 minutes. We’ve been at this for what seems like 20 hours. The only thing to do now is convince him he needs to go home. Sleep it off. I’ll get him in a cab and into his place, and then go home myself. It’s not gonna be easy though. He’s probably not gonna be able to walk. And he’s not the kind of guy who’ll accept help in these situations. He suddenly perks up. “Dude!” he says. “Dude... I’m only...” He trails off and watches the bartender for a while. “Hey!” he yells at her. She looks up reluctantly. “Hey how old do you think I am? How old... do I look... to you?” She looks bored. “I dunno. 25?” “Hah!” he yells. “Hah!” He pounds his fist on the bar and laughs obnoxiously. “She thinks I’m 25... Jesus... that’s funny. I’m 22, bitch!” He tries to stand up and almost falls over the bar. I stand up and grab him. “Alright Ty, let’s go, c’mon,” I say sternly,

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AINSWORTH

CONTENTS

The Man That Matters

By Jason Ainsowrth ushering him to the door before the giant bouncer watching us and frothing at the mouth has a chance to step in. On our way out I hear the blonde say, “Big fuckin’ surprise.” “Dude, let go of me, I can walk!” Tyler says, stumbling into the wall. “Fine, just watch the stairs,” I say, keeping one step below him just in case. “Hold the rail for fuck sakes.” “Fuck off!” His legs aren’t working very well. I keep a close eye on him until by some miracle we get to the bottom and out on the street. A homeless guy holds the door open for us and Tyler almost runs right into him. “Watch it asshole!” Tyler says to the guy and when he starts mouthing back I have to hold him away with one arm and hail a cab with the other. Finally one stops for us and I throw the bum a toonie without Tyler seeing. The cab driver is deathly afraid of puke, I can tell. He watches us nervously in the rearview. Tyler’s nodding off now and I reassure the driver that it’ll be alright. My friend is not a puker, and I’ll get him out of the cab. Not to worry. We pull up to his place and his legs really aren’t working now. He’s a formless bag of flesh and it takes me a good 10 minutes just to get him out of the car. I start cursing the shit out of him. You fuckin’ son of a bitch, I say, you motherfucker. Fuck. I finally get him up to the door of the building and fish around for his keys. I can’t seem to find the right one and I try to slap him awake but he’s totally out. I get the door and we’re inside and that’s when he starts puking. I manage to avoid getting much on myself but the hallway carpet is done for. Luckily his apartment is on street level and I get him in there without anybody catching us. Of course there’s a trail of vomit leading right to his door but there’s nothing I can do about that. He’ll have to deal with it tomorrow. He’ll have to deal with a lot of things tomorrow. I put him down on his stomach and grab an empty margarine container from the kitchen. I place it next to him. He’s mumbling something. It sounds like, “Why dude, why? Why now dude, why?” “I dunno,” I tell him, taking a dirty t-shirt from the floor and wiping the puke from his face. “Wear a fuckin’ condom next time.” n

eing born Protestant and English is to office with dignity and beauty, and commenced have won First Prize in the Lottery of Life. to start a career of doing nothing. He retired. I But that’s neither here nor there. have absolutely no idea what his hobbies are. Does anyone else remember Gorbachev? Stamp collecting? Could be. Could be. Raisa Mikhail Gorbachev. “Mikhail” is Russian for Gorbachev died in a non-suspicious manner. I Michael. His wife was called Raisa, which has assume she left issue, legitimate heirs to a new no equivalent in English. I suppose Rachel is Russia. I do not know for sure, and oh my God close, but that’s Jewish, not English. Come I don’t care either. I fully expect he will be on a to think of it, it’s actually an Anglicization of stamp one day. It will be beautiful, noble, and the Jewish version of Rachel. I have a friend sexy to mail Gorbachev. Perhaps it will become named Rachel, come to think of it. Coincidence, a slang term, or idiom. I do hope so. They won’t I guess. I wonder if she’s Jewish. Is it polite to put Andropov on a stamp. No way. That’s what’s ask? Gorbachev would know what to do. His important, really. Yes. nickname was “The Great Communicator.” Well. With that out of the way, why not Mikhail Gorbachev enjoy some old-lady was the successor style Lesbian Erotica. I fully expect he will be on of Andropov. He led I’m so sorry you had to the Soviet for much read this! a stamp one day. It will be of a decade, through “Hello, Trudie!” beautiful noble and sexy to some interesting “Hello, Stella! I times. He was a mail Gorbachev. Perhaps it will love your tight fitting principle supporter top!” become a slang term, or idiom. “Thanks! It of perestroika. And Realpolitic. I don’t emphasizes my care or know what mature breasts!” perestroika means. You don’t care either. Sigh. “Ha-ha! We’re none of us spring chickens! I AM TRYTING TO TEACH YOU A LITTLE Help me get out of these waist high nylons, HISTORY, and you just Volker off like it doesn’t and also stylish old time shoes, with the crepe concern you. soles.” Seriously, though, this is so boring, what “Ha-Ha! In the old days we could leave your I’m writing right now. After Gorbachev became doors unlocked” leader of Realpolitic Soviet in the Kremlin, he “Thanks for taking off my slacks, dearie. did a bunch of things nobody remotely cares What do you think of my…. Lesbian clitoris….” about anymore. Also, he went to see the Pope, Let me get my glasses… mmm, I like this… in Italy. This was highly remarked on at the time. very (cough cough) much.” Gorbachev was not a tall man, and he was “We should move indoors, out of the slightly rounded, but that comes to most men belvedere. “ with age. Balding, he was a noble presence in “No. Let’s put on a show…. Mmmm…. I’m a the Pravda of Soviet Russia. martyr to my vagina….” For a while, Gorbachev soared like an “It’s gone all septic.” eagle, in Realpolitic. But later, he retired, when “Oohhh” Russia stopped being all Communist. He left (lick lick). n

By Dan Scum

CONTENTS CROSSWORD/COMICS

Across 1. Telephone company rogers carrot top 4. South East Asian holiday 7. Dynamite 10. British word for Cunt 12. Father of AC power 14. Carhop’s feature 15. A Santana (WWF) 16. Able and capable 17. Slangy Anuses 18. A Tony (NHL) 20. Apt title of this puzzle 22. Tapt? Yeah that’s right, Tapt! 24. The end of civilization? Yeah that’s.! 25. The root of all stereotypes? Yeah…! 27. January trash item 30. Site of Mohawk – SQ (Securite Quebec) clash 31. How to Traverse the Tulips 33. “Hip” word for “overtly gay”(“Bennett Brauer” “R.I.P.”) 35. Opposite of T’aint 36. Santa’s sitting surface 37. Nazi Racist Americans 38. AC/DC hit 39. Where “controversial medicine” goes 43. Opposite of Detox? Yeah that’s right, …! 44. Gameboy standard 46. Common misspelling of Tauntaun 48. Horton and The Tool Man 49. ____ de France 50. Indian drum 52. Nether region also known as a “choad” and Kuzziff (kuzziff it wasn’t there you’d fall in)

55. Not Tarot 56. ______ Frutti (awopbahba loobopballop bamboom) 60. Exam 62. One of the late Phil’s characters on The Simpsons 63. Royal and Ancient Scottish golf course 64. Quanta of sadness? 65. A speck (not Richard) 66. II 67. Touchdown down under Down 1. Lawyer (abbr) 2. A simpleton 3. Bye bye in Britain 4. Turner, Koppel or Kennedy 5. Spanish buddy 6. Dutch bulb (abbr) 7. Haircut jr. 8. Mine’s Dan 9. Tryon(PGA), Domi(NHL) and Cobb(MLB) 11. Tonte? Yeah that’s right, Tonte! 12. Ilsa Formosa capital(ROC) 13. Costumes and the like 14. Goldigger from “Who wants tomarry a millionaire” (I think) 19. Strumpet 21. Swine who went to market ,stayed home, had roast beef, declined to dine and went weewee weewee all the way home, respectively 23. Bare breasted 24. In golf it’s inferred if you got par after a GIR 25. Indigent 26. Sweet, salty, sour or bitter (MSG?)

28. Lone Ranger’s sidekick, kee mo sa bi 29. One of the Great Lakes 30. Cap. of Can. 32. Form of musical notation (abbr) 34. Tariff levied by the State 39. Lord of the Rings or The Godfather eg. 40. “Hi Matt!” 41. Darn _____! (You are correct) 42. NAGMARA of Tuna 45. 90’s porn dude who fits nicely into my T puzzle 47. Travis of CMT 50. Reid or Patrick 51. Alex Rodriquez 53. Hair remover brand 54. Nicholas or Ivan the Terrible 55. TTT! 57. Do you really want to h___ me? 58. Type of truck 59. Also 61. Put forth effort

Last Issue’s Answers

DUDE! I’M WIGGIN’ OUT! I GOTTA GET SOME AIR!!

TEN MINUTES LATER

FUCK MAN! YA GOTTA DRINK WHEN YOU DO THE SHIT! SHIT YA! HEY... WANNA DO A BUMP?!

SO YOU’RE NOT SKETCHIN’ OUT ANYMORE EH?.

HOLY FUCK DUDE! I NEED SOME AIR!

JESUS TITTY FUCKING CHRIST! NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN!

The Nerve February 2006 Page 27