art, photography, poetry, fiction, fashion, music
Bohemia +May 2014+
I" KNOW IT'S ONLY ROCK N ROLL BUT I LIKE IT
Alice Cooper Ozzy Osbourne Johnny Cash Rolling Stones Alice Cooper Bob Dylan Stevie Ray Guns N Roses Willie Nelson Springsteen Alice Cooper White Stripes Elvis Grail
Ryan Rabbass: and Rockabilly pinup vampires &heavy metal and cookies
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Cover art: Slash, Bob Dylan & Johnny Cash This page, Stevie Ray Vaughan At right, Ozzy Osbourne Next, Willie Nelson Inside back cover, Guns N Roses Back cover, Jack White Artist is Ryan Rabbass of ROCKromatic
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Our Rockin staff May 2014 Volume 4, Issue 5 Editor Amanda Hixson Assistant editing Pete Able Bohemia is produced in Waco, TX. We take submissions from around the world. Bohemia is a thematic submissionsbased publication and self-produced magazine. Our incredible writers include: Peter Able, William Blackrose, Lottie Donahue, Caleb Farmer, Sean Piper, Gary Lee Webb Our photographers are a team and this issue contains work by Jon Goddi of Jon Goddi Photography and Cheri Schaffer of Bewitching Imagery. Fashion editor: Aoife Gorey Bohemia’s HMU team includes Alex Williams, Addie Garcia, & Konee Oliver who did work which is featured in this issue. Props & crafting: Sharon Moore Smirl of Waco Furniture Hospital The Boho model crew rocks various unique shoots with us throughout the year. Buy this. Rip it apart. And tape it to your bedroom walls. www.bohemia-journal.com
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Bohemia Table of Contents
7 Rockabilly - Rock Him Right Bewitching Imagery & Jon Goddi Photography 10 Rockabilly Poetry Mark Fogarty, Safwan Khatib, Jennifer Jefferis 23 Cat Dolan 24 Nighthawks Poetry by Adam Amberg 26 ArtRock N Roll Hoochie Koo by Zach Wallenfang 28 Fiction Tooby Old To Rock Matthew Wilson Poetry by April Salzano, Ed Coletti, Jesse Jefferis 32 Peanut Butter and Banana Article & recipes by Lottie Donahue 36 My Rock N Roll Love Affair Article by Sean Piper 45 Fiction Another Arm of the Green River by Matt McGee 4 • bohemia • may 2014
47 Fiction Redby Jan Ramming 49 ArtRock Gods by Nate Michaels 51 Rock God Poetry Colleen Michaels, Travis Blair, David S. Pointer, MatthewWilson 53 Once Bitten Twice Shy Jon Goddi Photography 72 Grail: Texas New Metal Article by Caleb Farmer 75 How To With a Record Producer Article by Josh Hayward 78 Book Fargo Rock City review by Pete Able 80 Contributors 82 ArtMeg White by Colm Fahy may 2014• bohemia • 5
My name is Ryan Rabbass and I am the artist behind RockChromatic. As a young pup, I spent my days drawing and painting. In high school I got into graphic design, and went on to attend Illinois State University to focus on both art and design. I studied at North Carolina State University for a year in their design program. Once in Las Vegas, I started an apparel screenprinting shop, and then moved into the corporate world, designing for the casinos. I left that industry to start my own design company PR Design, and within this I created RockChromatic to channel my passion for rock music and art. The pieces you see here are created from a revolving mixed-medium process that utilizes both digital and traditional methods. I find a good stance or image of the musician and begin the transformative process. I have different paint and texture patterns that I blend within, and I project and recreate the pieces from scratch as well, which I then may combine with the last version. Often the pieces are printed, then painted on more, then scanned back in. This cycle continues until the piece is sold, so the pieces are always evolving. I also sell my work at local shows such as the Las Vegas Artwalks and First Friday. Overall, it’s just a great fun thing to do on the side from design and advertising. I’m able to listen to all my favorite bands and musicians, and do the work while I rock out. I hope you like them! All pieces, prints, and custom work is also avaialbe. Please check out www. rockchromatic.com or email ryan@rockchromatic.com. Thank you,
6623 L as Ve gas Blvd. Sou t h # 24 5 LV, N V 89 1 1 9 :: P 3 09. 2 87.752 1 F 702 . 852 .0882 www.rockch romati c .co m / r ya n @ ro c kc h ro m ati c .co m
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Rockabilly Rock Him Right Bewitching Imagery and Jon Goddi Photography
Jon Goddi photography
Boho Babe Whitney Brady 2014• bohemia • 7 HMU Addiemay Garcia
Boho Babe Jonathan Newhouse 8 • bohemia HMU • mayAddie 2014 Garcia
<3
Bewitching Imagery
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Flame-Colored Dress by Mark Fogarty
There’s a woman wearing A flame-colored dress. She swings her hips And where her hair strands drop They caress the deep designs Of her missionary dress. I am trying not to think Of the passing of fashion. Nature has given her Every passion. She dances with the men. She dances with the women. She dances by herself, Partnering the universe. She’ll do for now, Even though the crimson sun Has been doused in the bay. This music is immortal, Even without its genius, A painted ceiling without a painter. This is what happens When living fingers touch: The rousing force Of a flame-colored dress.
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Dancers
by Safwan Khatib
the world is molding to the shape of our heels our soft bright heels birthed from the marrow of concrete whispering souls under the black wood floor of the Emerson we are grey-limbed echoes who loom then drift and writhe to mourn the quiet decay of midnight’s mouth wet and rheumatic unable to swallow the loud and invisible blinks of our eyes so we fade
Tutti Frutti
by Jennifer Jefferis
Tutti frutti, aw Rudy The joys of childhood With a dad whose humor Twinkled at memories of you Rock 'n Roll Was as much a part of me As anything Raised to rock But forbidden to roll The wild abandon Is part of my soul
Boho Babe Aoife Gorey HMU Addie Garcia
Jon Goddi Photography
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Jon Goddi photography 12 • bohemia • may 2014
Boho Babe Zach Hill HMU Addie Garcia
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Rockabilly Blues (Texas 1955) by Johnny Cash
I took a tour to Texas And from Waco I called you But day by day no answer And I’m Big Bluebonnet blue I’m singing and they’re dancing But I’m feeling Big D bad
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I’m Sweetwater beat And I’m Texas City sad The rhythm keeps me living But have you heard the news There’s a sad song singer coming With the rockabilly blues
It’s hard to keep on singing When you’re lonesome to the bone 10,000 happy people but I’m San Antone alone One night stands and the man demands
That I get up and go I’m Odessa desperate And San Angelo low The rhythm keeps me living But have you heard the news There’s a sad song singer coming With the rockabilly blues
It’s the same old tune in Temple About the loving I ain’t had I’m getting Beaumont bitter And Amarillo mad I’m giving up on calling you ‘Cause you’re evading me I’m coming home
and if you’re gone I’m gonna be Tennessee free The rhythm keeps me living And have you heard the news There’s a sad song singer coming With the rockabilly blues
Jon Goddi Photography
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<3
Bewitching Imagery
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Jon Goddi photography may 2014• bohemia • 19
s Tea House Location is Texa 20 • bohemia • may 2014 in Waco, TX
<3
Bewitching Imagery
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<3
Bewitching Imagery
C
Cat Dolan
atherine Dolan, aka “Cat,” pictured bottom right, created the red polka dot dress and halter top featured in this photo editorial. Cat is 33, living in Killeen Texas, and married to an army sergeant who is stationed in Korea. Cat sews, crafts, and volunteers at a local hospice. She is from San Antonio and has lived in Texas her entire life. Cat’s grandmother taught her to sew before she passed. Cat feels as though she is carrying on the family tradition. Cat creates many types of clothes; however, she does hold a special fondness for the rockabilly and pin-up style. Her mother tells her that she was born in the wrong era! Cat says that hot tea and her sketch book are her best friends when it comes to designing patterns. Cat’s tip for staying inspired is to try to do something crafty every day! Her husband recently made her a studio space in their backyard with a fridge and air conditioning. She has been designing and creating garments for renaissance fairs and comic conferences. She is hoping to change people’s views on crafting and sewing by showing them what wonderful things they can make!
Photograph by MUAH is Ch Dynamite Dames arlie Girl
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Nighthawks by Adam Amberg
The glass is too wide and the city isn’t lit by moonlight. Amber glows like a cold fire falling seething from street lamps silver silver silver we chat with the man in white who never leaves his roost. Lean soft and drink up, baby you’re wearing red and god I’ve never felt so lonely.
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rock n roll hoochie koo lenfang
Art by Zack Wal
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Love’s the Last to Know* by April Salzano
Four years dead, and I still cannot listen without thinking my father is singing. Seger’s voice, my dad’s voice, matched perfectly in the arena of our living room. My father listened to music like no one else, felt every note like a bass guitar beating in his chest, internalized every line like a story he never got to tell. The opening bars of piano clink, falling rain, joined by an instrument more powerful than any other in the Silver Bullet Band. The lamenting sax, old-time guitar, heavy drums, all such worldly souls revolving the vinyl under a diamondtipped needle on the turntable, transforming Saturday morning into a lonesome windy night.
Too Old To Rock I
by Matthew Wilson
have never known a successful guitarist who retired. Those who fail to make a splash fall without trace from the album charts, but even facing money worries, they will be grateful to entertain a small drunken crowd in some club. Like blood, passion to create something is vital for the mind. Singers make movies nowadays or walk away from the microphone. But not guitarists! At home torturing guitar hero, our children roll their eyes in embarrassment, sure it’s time to put dad in a care home as we jump round the room, pressing yellow red, yellow, green feverishly. They mistake our expres28 • bohemia • may 2014
*Title from Bob Seger’s song from the album The Distance (Capitol Records, 1982)
sionism for madness. Singers stand still, but Gods do dance, firing lightning in all directions. Take this away and we will go mad. So when is old too old to rock? All guitarists are children at heart. Those who ran without direction, for the adventure of it years ago. Guitars are cool, the step up from pirate swords. We don’t want the spotlight, for that is a part of something. We are singular, lone wolves in the shadows, aimed to make the crowd melt, armed only with six strings. Monday - Friday is working for the family, supporting ungrateful children who say we have no taste.
So when should we stop rocking? God bless Keith Richards, when his time is up, he might have mementos lain with him. I’ll bet his favourite guitar will share his grave. Like Robert Johnson we are killed by time or others, but never lack of passion. So when is old too old to rock? When they pry it from your cold dead fingers of course, so rock on, and dance like Gods, before we are old men. And have to sit down to give the world our music.
these old instrumental sugar blues by Ed Coletti
ever that sweet funky groove. listening to Henry Vestine slow-picking “The Stumble” alternating rhythms, I’m dancing, rather I’m reclining with my right foot moving more soulful than my body moves too ponderous to do what my right foot can do now as it jumps to the muted trumpet, someone named Miles, doing a bank job for Jack Nitzsche with Taj Mahal and John
Lee Hooker —sweet— Snooky Pryor taking a walking boogie somewhere in Chicago on his harmonica, always that sweet funky groove right into Jimmy Reed’s “Boogie in the Dark,” sounds like an A-harp, bass, rhythm guitar, drums, and a slide, and ever and always, that sweet and funky groove! Oh, you now! Hound Dog Taylor, you fender-bender. And always with that most riffing denominator, yes, oh yes, you say it now— always and ever, that sweet funky groove
In The Auditorium by Jesse Jefferis
The auditorium at connally high school. I was dead center of the stage, ragged jeans, hospital scrubs stained with my own blood, I would not succumb to the bovine ways of my redneck pears, I was a coyote. My pack with me. I sang ‘rape me’ By Nirvana. Those were my bullets Of teenage angst. These mindless drones Had thrown rocks At me For my Effeminate Long black hair And their slack jawed expressions Of my sense of Freedom In the face of parents, Student council (ha, what a joke!) Would set to right Their ignorance In the face of me.
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“Art” by ZACK WALLENFANG
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Lottie’s Cookies (254) 214-5725 Lorena, TX See Peanut Butter and Banana article and recipes on the following pages.
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Peanut Butter P
aying homage to the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself, this month’s desserts get all shook up by featuring the famed duo of peanut butter and banana. And why not? Together both pack
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a healthy dose of Potassium, Fiber, Vitamin C, Vitamin B-6 and Magnesium, not to mention great taste. Legend has it Elvis’ favorite craving and devil in disguise indulgence started by pairing peanut butter and banana, followed by
and Banana by Lottie Donahue
slices of crisp bacon and a drizzle of honey. This concoction was then layered between two pieces of Hawaiian bread and fried in a skillet, often in bacon fat. Oh my, that’s a big hunk o’ love that will be stuck on you forever! But fear not, this
month’s goodies go from slimmed down vegan friendly to modestly healthy with a few creative twists and shouts. There’s even an overthe-top, Jailhouse Rock Cake that Elvis himself couldn’t help falling in love with. Thank you very much.
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34 • bohemia • may 2014 Photos 32-34 Lottie Donahue
Vegan Gluten Free Peanut Butter Banana Cookies 2 Tbs Flaxseed + 5 Tbs water (let sit 5 min) 2 ripe bananas (not frozen) ½ cup natural peanut butter ½ tsp baking powder ½ tsp baking soda 2 Tbs refined coconut oil melted 3Tbs agave nectar (or maple syrup) Pinch salt 1 tsp pure vanilla 1 ½ cup gluten free rolled oats ½ cup rolled oats ground in processor ½ cup almond meal (ground almonds) ½ cup vegan dark chocolate chips (optional)
Peanut Butter Banana Smoothie In a blender mix 2 chopped bananas (frozen or unfrozen) 2 cups dairy, almond or soy milk and ½ cup peanut butter. (For a thicker smoothie add ½ cup ice) Blend until smooth and enjoy!
Mash bananas then mix in peanut butter, baking powder, baking soda, coconut oil, agave nectar, salt, and vanilla. Mix together oats, oat flour and almond meal and add to banana mixture. Stir in chocolate chips is using. Refrigerate for 5 minutes then drop by spoonful on greased or parchment lined pans and bake 15-17 minutes in preheated 350* oven until slightly golden brown.
Jailhouse Rock Cake This over the top recipe of Elvis’ famous Peanut butter Banana and Bacon sandwich is for a single layer cake. Feel free to double or even triple the recipe to your liking. Cake: ¼ cup unsalted butter, softened ½ cup smooth peanut butter ½ cup packed brown sugar 1 egg 2 tsp vanilla extract 1 ¼ cup flour 1 tsp baking soda ¼ tsp salt 2/3 cup milk (reg, almond or soy)
In large bowl beat butter, peanut butter and brown sugar until smooth, light and fluffy. Add egg and vanilla. In a separate bowl, sift together flour, baking soda,
and salt. Take turns adding dry mixture and milk to peanut butter mixture, beating well after each addition. Pour into a greased, floured and parchment lined 8 x 8 pan and bake in a preheated 350* oven for 3540 minutes or until toothpick inserted in the center comes out with moist crumbs. Cool completely. Frosting: ½ cup unsalted butter, softened 1 ripe banana mashed (not frozen) 1 tsp lemon juice ½ tsp vanilla Pinch of salt 3 Cups powdered sugar Honey or Agave Nectar for drizzle
In mixing bowl, cream butter, banana, lemon juice, vanilla and salt. Slowly add powder sugar until desired consistency. After frosting, top with bacon, toasted peanuts and a drizzle of honey or may 2014• bohemia • 35 agave.
My Rock and Roll Love Affair With the American Hamburger by Sean Piper
I
love going out to see bands. The music – pulsating. The air – electric. The crowd – passionate, like a mad temple crowd worshipping at the altar of rock. It is the perfect night, and I refuse to let it end on an empty stomach. After the show, there has always been one food and one food only that can soothe this restless heart; a hot, greasy, delicious hamburger. Since I can remember, I have been in search of the perfect burger. Whenever I am on the road I look for those greasy spoon grills you hear about in your parents’ folk music. A place where faded paint, memorabilia, and smells from the partially hidden kitchen tell stories that will make you regret all your past food decisions. My wife turned me onto one such local place called Beatnix Burger Barn. She in turn had heard about Beatnix from a co-worker. Word of mouth – that most important ingredient of hamburger adventures – had found its way to me. My life would be ruined forever. This quaint establishment was nestled in an older part of our home town. The interior of the Burger Barn screamed Rock & Roll. Everywhere I looked I found myself wanting to “fight the system,” as doodles and signatures and local artist paintings plastered the walls in all directions. In the evenings I could hear poets or up 36 • bohemia • may 2014
and coming musicians trying out their wares on eager crowds. Owners Penney and Benn were two of the greatest people you could meet. And the smells. Oh God, the smells coming from that kitchen. To this day, the Beatnix hamburger is the best I’ve ever had. The day they closed, their hamburger became my white whale, and I became Captain Ahab, forever searching, obsessed with finding the perfect burger yet again. Don’t get me wrong. A lot of local places get it right, and we should support them. Food has this amazing way of bringing people of different backgrounds together to share these beautiful, dare I say magical, experiences. But it is strange how finding and losing the perfect hamburger left me changed. Maybe Beatnix wasn’t “the perfect burger.” Maybe such a thing doesn’t exist. Maybe it is just a symbol of something greater. When something like that is taken away, you learn to cherish what remains, and it fuels your search for something truly extraordinary. Places like Beatnix make me want to explore the world. They tell me not to head home after an evening rocking at the local music venues. They fuel my love affair with the American hamburger.
Sean Piper owns Gaming With Scissors (See ad, right). He says he is a “wondering soul with a never ending hunger for amazing food.” Traveling at a young age, he developed a taste for the rare and eccentric. Along with documenting his food explorations, he is also an artist, a teacher, and a musician. Facebook: facebook.com/gamingwithscissors Twitter: twitter.com/gwscissors
YouTube: youtube.com/gamingwithscissors
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Another Arm of the Green River by Matt McGee
I
was lying on my couch one afternoon when George called up and told me his wife had left him. “She took everything but the dog and my old bass.” I said “well look on the bright side, she left you the good stuff.” There’s static in the back of his call, like he’s on a cell while driving. “Yeah. Max and I just jumped in the car and we’re coming over to pick you up.” I sat up, ready for adventure. I could see his Aussie hanging his head out the window as George drove. “Where we going?” “I was talking to Max about that. He says we need to go to Vegas.”
T
he three of us were passing through Utah, weakened and hungry on our guys-only excursion. I finally stopped at a dusty steak joint that had been advertising itself for 25 miles on billboards promising ‘A Taste of How the West Used to Be.’ George said “probably means I’ll be chewing some cowboy’s worn saddle.” I popped open my door, letting Max out to sniff at the bushes. George and I stepped toward the joint; the outside was fashioned like a saloon right up to the swinging doors. The sign in the doorway said: Enter at your own peril! George shook his head. “Can’t be that bad.” He told Max to stay outside and
the Aussie obediently curled up on the old wood porch. George and I stepped in and found a table. Local gunslingers turned to stare from all around. I was too hungry to be scared. George pointed at the jukebox in the corner. I strode over and started flipping pages. “Mostly Patsy Cline and guys named Roger,” I announced. There were token Nirvana and Weezer songs. I took out a crumpled bill and aimed for the slot. “Don’t play that.” An old gunslinger was leaned over the bar, his saggy square ass on a worn stool, cracked fingers wrapped around a sweating glass. I guessed that the Wranglers he was wearing were his Friday night gointo-town jeans. George watched from across the room. “Why not?” The old man didn’t turn from his drink. “Tom don’t like it played.” “Who’s Tom?” “Owns the place.” “Tom hate music or something?” “Tom loves music. But he’s gotta’ pay the jukebox guy to have that damn thing in here. We’re trying to show the guy we don’t need it. Now if it’s music you want…” The old gunslinger pointed at a pile of instruments in the corner. A guitar leaned against a dusty standing piano and beside that was a
snare drum on a stand, a lone cymbal tilted at its side. There was one drum stick. “Which one do you play,” I asked. “Me?” The gunslinger finally moved his eyes off his drink. “I play the drum. Course ain’t much of a kit, not like I played in my day.” “Bet you can still whack with the best of ‘em.” The old man rubbed what he hadn’t shaved off his cheek that morning. “Maybe I could.” George, the old man and I ate free steak that night when Tom came in around closing and found us banging out an original and never-to-be-heard-again version of Mudhoney’s ‘Touch Me I’m Sick,’ which the locals thought was hilarious. I made up most of the words and no one knew the difference. George got laid by the barmaid. Someone brought Max scraps from the kitchen. And that old man had a near perfect sense of rhythm, even as he nursed half a bottle of Jack out of Tom’s stock. I fell asleep in a corner booth around 3am, Max beside me, both of us exhausted, the ghosts of a generation echoing in my head. When I closed my eyes, I could see them smiling.
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Red
By Jan Ramming
H
e couldn’t wait to get back to her, but he wondered if she’d still be there. He tried to make up over the phone, but the chill in her voice told him to back off. How much he wanted to hold her, make her believe in him again. He and the band were on a private plane, heading back home after a twonight gig. His bandmate, Derek, serenaded them in the plane’s small cabin, playing Clapton tunes on his guitar. He’d have just a few hours to see her. He hoped that would be enough time, that he would have the right words.
S
he waited in line at the all-night drugstore, sandwiching her purchase between a paperback romance novel and a package of Jolly Time Popcorn. The cashier looked like the mother of one of her students. Oh God. Her breasts were hard and swollen, and she felt a little cramping now and then, down there. Her period was just around the corner, she had been telling herself. The nausea was probably just the flu. She would have gone on making excuses, but a nagging voice inside her eventually pierced her denial like sunlight on a hangover. She was late, very late. She had to find out. He would be back tonight. She was still angry with him for his latest stunt, wondered how he’d wrangle out of it this time. She knew he would be wrestling for the words, when all she needed was that look that said please don’t leave me or I’ll die, and she’d be the one falling. It was almost five years ago, in a roughneck bar just over the state line, where she had walked in out of curiosity and ended up sitting so close that her bar-
stool vibrated. Oswald played bass with a heavy metal country and western band, Mild Bill and the Bad Asses, chain-smoking his way through each set, letting the dead ashes tumble down on his talented fingers. During every break, he stood near her at the corner of the bar and guzzled a beer. She looked through him, past him; shook her long red mane down her back, waited for him to get the nerve. On the last break, he slammed down his empty glass, pushed his dark hair out of his eyes, and introduced himself. He called her Red. She thought, who names their baby Oswald?
H
e felt like he did that first night, when he took forever to get the courage to talk to her. A long night in a dive bar, and then there she was. Mary Louise. He smiled when he said her name. Catholic women were always horny. But this one turned him down for weeks, until his balls turned blue and he thought they would fall off. He never pictured himself with someone like her, didn’t dare reach that high. She didn’t fall for any of his bullshit. He asked her to move in with him, and she told him to grow up first. She made him want to be better. He wondered what she saw in him, how the hell he was going to win her back this time. He hadn’t smoked a joint in over a year, hadn’t touched a beer for nearly as long. Then he fucked up, fell back in his old ways, when all he really wanted was to marry her, settle down, have a kid.
S
he wondered sometimes if he was always high. He would stay out all night, tell her his friends made him do it. He’d smoke too much weed, drink too much beer. He told her he’d quit, then got lazy and sloppy and really thought he had his shit together, thought he could fool her. He’d call her from the road, slurring his words, telling her he’d be late again. Finally she told him to stop it for good or she would leave him. A test, and he passed for so many months, the sober version of him being everything she wanted in her future. She wanted to marry him, find a house, have a baby. Until last week, when he drowned her hopes for them in a bottle of gin and blew away her dreams for them with a $50 bag.
A
blast from behind nearly knocked him from his seat. The plane shook, hard at first and then trembled. He heard the pilot swearing as he looked around. Derek bled from a gash on his head. The other guys looked dazed. “Oswald, hand me a towel or something,” Derek yelled, trying to stop the blood. But they were going down fast, so fast he couldn’t breathe. He closed his eyes and held her there.
S
he got home from the store, and her phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably Oswald calling again. She knew they would have landed by then. She shook as she heard the news, fell down on her knees and trembled. Later she would take the test, not knowing what to hope, hoping she could handle it. may 2014• bohemia • 47
art m o t Cus able avail
Nate Michaels Art and Design facebook.com/NateMichaels.Artist
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Specializing in ink and watercolor portraits etsy.com/shop/NateMichaelsArt
Rock Gods Art by Nate Michaels
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Ladies Night Rush Tribute Band by Colleen Michaels
After the first set, Bob, the light guy, calls us over to play darts and drink beers. Everything is sticky here. Fish fry hangs in the air, greasing the palms and hair of cocktail waitresses who ignore me when I ask for a Molson Light. Just stay for the second set, I tell my friend, kill a little more time. We decide to linger by the side of the stage, marking our territory like nobody’s business and using overt leaning for cleavage sake playing the part of groupies, queens of the one night stand. Regrettably, it’s a Rush tribute band, so that changes everything. Taking out our eyeliner, we underscore crib notes from Spinal Tap, verify the number 2112, wrestle with the lyrics to Xanadu, tell the drummer we know YYZ is instrumental and that Zeppelin is our 2nd favorite band.
After Hours by Travis Blair
When I was young after hours meant Mother Blues, that infamous house on Lemmon Avenue. You never knew who might drop in. I remember seeing David Bowie, Alice Cooper, young Robert Plant – shirt unbuttoned, showing off his bare Led Zeppelin chest.
Remembering Pink Floyd by David S. Pointer
Guitar chords were never meant to soar as retro futuristic asylum vitamins or even pancake euphoria treats, but at age 5 in 1967 when I heard Pink Floyd Piper at the Gates of Dawn it was like sonic powder that could out float a space buzz, and over the evolving albums and years the band expanded awareness often without language during the instrumental parts as if a neurosurgeon was leading a symphony with sound, light-mail and literature
Rock God
by Matthew Wilson
Rock and Roll is the devils melody, of the damned. Those who made men scream, howl their music as the devil plucks their heart, and makes his choir sing. Skulls make his cymbals and tattooed skin is his drums as he fills the flames with music to sing his dark heart to sleep. In the subterranean caverns, he writes his notes in the blood of adulterers. His loyal rock fans fashion ribs into xylophone keys to lift his message to the surface. And give the world his screams.
Once I watched Janis Joplin toke a fat one with T-Bone Walker before snatching the stage and bringing down the house with Ball and Chain. After Janis, I left because that was as good as it was gonna get, and who can resist Waffle House at 4AM when you’re stoned and pissing the blues. may 2014• bohemia • 51
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once bitten, twice shy
Photography by Jon Goddi Photography Makeup Alex Williams Hair by Konee Oliver
once bitten, twice shy The times are getting hard for you little girl. You’re a huffin’ and a puffin’ all over God’s world. You can’t remember where you got your last meal, and you don’t know just how a woman feels. You didn’t know what rock n roll was, until you met my drummer on a gray tour bus. Half way home in the parking lot, by the look in your eyes -- you were given what you got. My, my, my. I’m once bitten twice shy. Can’t keep you home. You’re out messing around. My best friend told me you’re the best lick in town. I said, my my my, I’m once bitten twice shy. - lyrics by Great White
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Vampires will never *lyrics by My Chemical Romance
Can you take this spike? And if they get me and the sun goes down into the ground And if they get me take this spike to my heart and And if they get me and the sun goes down And if they get me take this spike and You put the spike in my heart And if the sun comes up will it tear the skin right off our bones And then as razor sharp white teeth rip out our necks I saw you there Someone get me to the doctor, someone get me to a church Where they can pump this venom gaping hole And you must keep your soul like a secret in your throat And if they come and get me What if you put the spike in my heart And if they get me and the sun goes down... Can you take this spike? Will it fill our hearts with thoughts of endless Night time sky? Can you take this spike? Will it wash away this jet black feeling? 54 â&#x20AC;˘ bohemia â&#x20AC;˘ may 2014
hurt you.
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Vampires will
Save my soul tonight
...And now the nightclub sets the stage for this they come in pairs she said We’ll shoot back holy water like cheap whiskey they’re always there Someone get me to the doctor, and someone call the nurse And someone buy me roses, and someone burned the church We’re hanging out with corpses, and driving in this hearse And someone save my soul tonight, please save my soul Can you take this spike? Will it fill our hearts with thoughts of endless Night time sky? Can you take this spike? Will it wash away this jet black now?
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never
hurt you.
*lyrics by My Chemical Romance
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Closer *lyrics by Kings of Leon
Stranded in this spooky town Stoplight is swaying And the phone lines are down Snow is crackling cold She took my heart, I think she took my soul With the moon I run far From the carnage of the fiery sun Driven by the strangle of vein Showing no mercy I do it again Open up your eyes You keep on crying baby I’ll bleed you dry Skies they blink at me I see a storm bubbling Up from the sea
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And it’s coming closer And it’s coming closer You shimmy shook my boat Leaving me stranded All in love on my own What do you think of me? Where am I now? Baby where do I sleep? Feel so good but I’m old 2000 years of chasing taking its toll And its coming closer And its coming closer And its coming closer And its coming closer
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Bullet With Butterfly Wings lyrics by The Smashing Pumpkins
The world is a vampire Secret destoyers, hold you up to the flames And what do I get, for my pain Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat In a cage
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Scream
*lyrics by Avenged Sevenfold Caught up in this madness Too blind to see Woke animal feelings in me Took over my sense And I lost control I’ll taste your blood tonight You know I make you wanna scream You know I make you wanna Run from me baby But know it’s too late You’ve wasted all your time, yeah Relax while you’re closing Your eyes to me So warm as I’m setting you free With your arms by your side There’s no struggling Pleasure’s all mine this time You know I make you wanna scream You know I make you wanna Run from me baby But know it’s too late You’ve wasted all your time Cherishing, those feelings pleasuring Cover me, unwanted clemency Scream till there’s silence Scream while there’s life left, Vanishing Scream from the pleasure Unmask your desire Perishing
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All Souls
Edith Wharton (1903) I A thin moon faints in the sky o’erhead, And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead. Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways, Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays, But forth of the gate and down the road, Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode. For it’s turn of the year and All Souls’ night, When the dead can hear and the dead have sight. II Fear not that sound like wind in the trees: It is only their call that comes on the breeze; Fear not the shudder that seems to pass: It is only the tread of their feet on the grass; Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop: It is only the touch of their hands that grope — For the year’s on the turn, and it’s All Souls’ night, When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite. III And where should a man bring his sweet to woo But here, where such hundreds were lovers too? Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss, The empty hands that their fellows miss, Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green, Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between? For it’s turn of the year and All Souls’ night, When the dead can hear and the dead have sight. IV And now that they rise and walk in the cold, Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old. Let them see us and hear us, and say: “Ah, thus In the prime of the year it went with us!” Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist, Forget they are mist that mingles with mist! For the year’s on the turn, and it’s All Souls’ night, When the dead can burn and the dead can smite. 66 • bohemia • may 2014
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Repair, Paint, or Mend Your Sick Furniture or Walls
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Wed-Sat 10 to 6
wacofurniturehospital.org wacofurniturehospital@gmail.com 2501 N. 18th; Waco, TX 76708 254-855-4127 may 2014â&#x20AC;˘ bohemia â&#x20AC;˘ 69
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Alex Williams
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GRail::: TEXAS NEW METAL I
by Caleb Farmer
had the opportunity to sit down with Shay Scranton, the bassist for Grail, whose music has been described as “psychedelic punk with a southern demonic desert grove.” The band’s artwork does tend to move in the darker direction, but that’s just Scranton’s preference when it comes to his art sensibilities. He designs all of the band’s graphics and posters. Grail is one of those groups who has a lot of history together, a history interwoven in complex ways before this project even came together. Founding members Clint McCardy and Daniel Beaty first had the idea for Grail, and when Scranton ultimately joined, he brought with him Robert Ramirez who had had drummed with Scranton in the past. Grail is a very raw project, fronted by a sense of desperation in the vocal delivery with a lot of noise present after builds to intensify the mania of the moment. There is the clear nod to the heavy punk and metal genres with plenty of hooks to add memorability to many moments on their new EP One. Explaining how Grail got its name, Scranton says, “Grail got its name from member Clint, who was looking for one very loaded word that is connected with something ancient and cool. The idea of Grail stemmed from the idea that someone can spend their entire life searching for this concept and never find it, whether it is something like the Holy Grail or something that is our own personal grail. Anything you put on a pedestal can be disappointing and sometimes the supreme ultimate truth can hap-
pen as much from the journey for searching as anything that is ever found.” The group has benefited from their ties to the Waco music scene and the Waco Music Co-op. The new EP was mixed at Silver Shoes Studio in Waco by longtime friends of the group Jared Himstedt and Tim Jenkins. It was mixed by another friend and local musician Gaylon Thompson, and the album art was designed by Scranton himself. The EP was recorded at a studio space shared by many of the Co-op groups. Shay stated it simply, “Without the Co-op, we wouldn’t have an EP.” In a similar way each band members employs their areas of expertise to further benefit the band. Scranton handles the online presence along with the artwork. McCarty plays guitar, vocals, writes most of the lyrics and is the originator of most of the bands ideas. Beaty plays guitars and handles booking and creating connections with contacts in Waco and Austin. Roberto Ramerez supplies drums for the group. While Grail has made an engaging and interesting EP, the group especially shines on stage. Their live shows are full of energy and the group knows their material frontwards and backwards, resulting in a tight live set played to precision. The first thing you will notice during a Grail show is that Scranton, the group’s bass player, occupies center stage despite having minimal vocalist duties, and while his boyish good looks are no doubt a major reason for his loca-
tion, his place in the center is more pragmatic. With real estate being at a premium on stage, being in the center gives Scranton the space he needs to thrash and fully embody the music. “I can’t help but play how I always have. Playing music and being very physical and active on stage. Playing with Grail, every single show I am reminded I am not 17 anymore.” When asked about influences, Scranton truly sums up the full nature of the band: “We latched onto the more underground stuff. We saw a sense that it was more important than what was on the radio. We didn’t want to create art that was made for the masses. We couldn’t do it if we tried. It is difficult enough to write a song that are catchy that everyone likes. It is more difficult to write something that most people won’t like and not care who likes it, but we aren’t going to go out of our way to please people and compromise.” Even without trying to be likeable, plenty of people have enjoyed and will continue to enjoy Grail as they get become familiar with this band’s music. You can stream and purchase their debut EP One at http://grail1715.bandcamp. com/ and see them regularly around Waco, including upcoming shows scheduled at TrueLove.
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“This is where the magic happens.”
A
How To Work With a Record Producer by Josh Hayward
musician walks into a bar... Seriously! He arrives early; music on his mind, because he’s playing for a crowd of people for the first time. By the end of the night, he decides he is going to make his music industry dreams come true after playing many successful shows, but he doesn’t know where to begin... That’s where I come in. My name is Josh Hayward and I’m a professional recording/mixing engineer and A&R, owner of Astral Plane Studios. When Bohemia put out the call for a music section, I had to take the opportunity. There is a lot to learn about the ins and outs of the music industry and I hope to help your career as much as possible through these columns. “Where do I start?” is the question most artists have when
they feel they have the ability to truly entertain others with their music. A focused path is the best way to truly achieve one’s goal. The first thing you must realize if you choose to make a career out of your music, (even if it’s a side gig) is that your music is becoming a business, so it’s time to think like a business owner even if you’re just making it for the love of music. The best thing to do is begin with a rough outline of your goals, where do you want to be 6 months from now? 1 year from now? 5 years? Do you want to be a national act? Regional? Studio only? Everyone has different goals and it’s important to get them out onto paper. Once you have this rough outline, you’ll want to come up with a solid business plan to keep you in line with your goals and plan for basic
expenses that come with a music industry career. That means merchandise, production, marketing, etc. You’ll want to make sure to join ASCAP, BMI or SESAC as well so you can register your music with the Dept of Copyright and keep track of royalties. Protecting your music is important because unlicensed usage is a real probability, so it’s wise to copyright your material. You never know what may happen with your music and if someone sampled without your permission, you’d have legal grounds to stand on. This is vital, no matter what level you’re at. Artist or band names don’t typically need legal protection other than a copyright/trademark claim for the name you’re working under, an LLC would be used may 2014• bohemia • 75
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The Beatles with George Martin - Wikipedia
for a parent company you may be promoting yourself under, which is fairly common, so either route you wish to take will protect you from many potential legal issues. This is the beginning of your journey so it’s important you get these details covered so you start off on great footing with all the goals you may have. Being organized in goals is just as important as organizing your practice room, and most importantly, all of it will keep you and your music safe! Once those are in place, it comes down to recording and getting yourself out there through social media, reviews and other promotional avenues as well as radio plays (spins). However you’ll want someone else to handle most of
these other aspects, the reason being: You’re the musician, you need to focus on writing the music, not trying to write it, record it, mix it, master it and distribute it. Industry professionals exist for a reason, use them to your advantage and take unneeded stress off yourself. It’s important to have a circle of people you trust to handle the various aspects of your career and who also help you succeed with your goals. More and more people are trying to do everything themselves and it’s generally not the best choice. I’m sure many have heard of or read horror stories from other artists who’ve gone through some rough stuff or taken for a ride, however it’s important to research the
people you work with rather than work off hearsay. You don’t know all the specifics so it’s best to talk with those people yourselves and make your own judgment and decision. Some are fictional, some are false. The best way to research music professionals is to simply visit their website. You’ll know they’re legitimate based on active blogs, social media accounts, fresh samples/testimonials and more. I hope this has given you some insight on just where to start and how to handle common beginner issues. Plan smart, research and always ask questions!
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e Wild
uth Gon
w, Yo Skid Ro
Guns N Roses, Appetite For Destruction
Ozzy Osbourne,
Blizzrd of Ozz
Fargo Rock City by Chuck Klosterman A Review: by Pete Able
L
et’s get something out of the way right from the start. If you believe rock and roll began with Elvis, peaked with the Beatles, and then began a long, slow, tortuous death culminating with the demise of John Bonham and the release of Led Zeppelin’s eighth and final (Coda’s outtakes doesn’t count, sorry) studio album, then don’t read Fargo Rock City by Chuck Klosterman. If, on the other hand, you grew up with hair metal bands - glam rock if you must, then by all means, pick up what I consider one of the finest manifestos on music’s societal impact ever written. Klosterman, a media-infused romantic of unparalleled genius, waxes nostalgic about his days growing up in rural North Dakota listening to the often shortlived careers of metal bands that dominated 1980’s radio waves. He effortlessly weaves milestone dates of heavy metal with intimate details of his own life, effectively writing a memoir while at the same time chronicling a subculture of 78 • bohemia • may 2014
music that some ignore at best, or revile at worst. Fargo Rock City is an unapologetic defense of a brand of sound that spoke to a generation of mostly skinny, mostly white, almost entirely male teenage angst. Sound crazy? Consider that Klosterman spends the bulk of an entire chapter trying to define hard rock versus heavy metal versus glam metal. He concedes to music critic Rob Halford’s point that much of the subtext in metal bands revolved around anti-authoritarian messages and desires for power, sex, or simple greed. But as he dives into discussions about the lyrical differences between Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley of KISS, or psycho-analyzes Ozzy Osbourne, he finds that, in his own words, “sometimes what seems obvious is not, particularly when you’re trying to categorize what an artist represents culturally.” Ozzy writes in Blizzard of Oz - “the wreckage of my past keeps haunting me / It just won’t leave me alone / Don’t look to me for answers / Don’t ask me I don’t know.”
Yes, sometimes metal was about power. Sometimes it was about wishing you had some. If the bands Def Leppard, Poison, Skid Row, Warrant, and others of that ilk hold a special place in your heart (that you are too embarrassed to share with your close friends for fear they will force you to karaoke “Every Rose Has it’s Thorn”) then let me encourage you to spend a few dollars on the soft copy or Kindle edition of Chuck Klosterman’s Fargo Rock City. Then you too can understand the significance of dates like June 6, 1985 - when Axl Rose fired guitarist Traci Guns and joined forces with Slash - finalizing the lineup of the ironically named “Guns and Roses” for recording Appetite for Destruction. Or dates like December 31, 1984 - when Def Leppard’s drummer Rick Allen lost his left arm in a car accident. Or dates like October 10, 1987 - when....oh come on now, just read for yourself.
Spanish language promotional poster for book, see story (left)
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Contributors Pete Able has been writing stories and poetry since college, or almost 20 years. His screenplays have been finalists with Scriptapalooza, PAGE International, and the New York Television Festival, among others. He lives in Woodway TX with his wife, Melissa, and daughters Joanna and Lila.
Lottie Donahue started baking cookies out of her home 15 years ago and has grown her menu and clientele on word of mouth alone. An avid believer that recipes are merely guidelines, she makes her creations using as many fresh and creative ingredients as possible.
A.K. Amberg moved to Waco six years ago and hasn’t looked back since. He finds the quirkiness of Central Texas far more poetic than any of his pre-vious surround- ings. He’s published in the UK and the US, including a book of original poetry and prose, The Least of These.
Jon Goddi says, “Photography is my calling, my profession, and the thing that will undoubtedly drive me insane someday. I don’t photograph subjects. I photograph the way they make me feel. I’m very raw, bold and edgy with my style.”
Travis Blair of Arlington, Texas, is author of two poetry books, Train to Chihuahua and Little Sandwiches. His work has appeared in literary journals throughout the U.S., England, South Africa, and Australia. He has two daughters, five grandkids, and hides from them frequently in Manhattan and Mazatlán. Ed Coletti’s recent poems appear in Hawai’i Pacific Review, Spillway, and North American Review. His book, When Hearts Outlive Minds - June 2011. Germs, Viruses, and Catechisms published this Winter by Civil Defense Publications (SF). Coletti working on Apollo Blue’s Harp, the poetic-story of music. edcoletti@sbcglobal.net 80 • bohemia • may 2014
Caleb Farmer was born a Hoosier before making his way to Waco TX. He enjoys playing music with his band Cellar Door and collaborating with the Waco Music Co-op. Some of his favorite musicians are A.A. Bondy, Josh Garrels, and Andrew Bird. He’s been writing for Bohemia for three years. Mark Fogarty is a poet, musician and journo from Rutherford, NJ. He emcees the monthly poetry/music readings at GainVille Cafe. And is managing editor of The Rutherford Red Wheelbarrow. He’s published in Hawaii Review, Vietnam Generation, Eclectic Literary Forum, Exit 13, Journal of NJ Poets, Footwork and others.
Jennifer Jefferis has been publishing with Bohemia for 3 years. She paints, writes, and models. Jen has recently relocated to Seattle, Washington with her husband, writer and orator Jesse Jefferis, with their doggie, Gracie. Jesse Jefferis is a poet, activist, and gardener. He works to experience his life in an authentic and humble capacity, acknowledging his shortcomings to do so almost every day. He grew up influenced by punk rock music and lifestyle in Texas and currently resides in Seattle with his wife Jennifer. Safwan Khatib is a 17 year old student and writer from Indianapolis, Indiana. His poetry has recently appeared in Surrealist Star Cluster Illuminations, The Literary Yard, Contraposition, Manic Fervor, and The Noisy Island. Nate Michaels is a visual artist based in northern Wisconsin. Specializing in portraits, Nate’s medium of choice is watercolor and ink, but he has been known to dabble in graphite and acrylic paint. Nate is also available for custom work and can be found at: facebook.com/NateMichaels.Artist
Sean Piper is a wondering soul with a never ending hunger for amazing food. Traveling at a young age, he developed a taste for the rare and eccentric. Along with documenting his food explorations, he is also an artist, a teacher, and a musician. Matt McGee writes short fiction in the local library until the staff makes him go home. His recent collection Leaving Rayette is available on Amazon. Colleen Michaels’ poetry publications include Barrelhouse, The Paterson Literary Review, Blue Collar Review, The Mom Egg, Paper Nautilus, and the anthologies Here Come the Brides: Reflections on Love and Lesbian Marriage and Modern Grimmoire. She directs the Writing Studio at Montserrat College of Art in Beverly, Massachusetts. David S. Pointer’s most recent book of poetry is titled Oncoming Crime Facts. He currently lives in Murfreesboro, TN with his two daughters.
Jan Ramming was a freelance journalist for the Beacon News and Northwest Quarterly Magazine. She dabbles in fiction from her home near Chicago, where she lives with my husband, daughter, and two crazy dogs. Recent Puschart nominee, April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons. Her work has appeared in Poetry Salzburg, The Camel Saloon, Blue Stem, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle. She serves as coeditor at Kind of a Hurricane Press. Cheri Schaffer was born December 19, 1986 in Worcester, Massachusetts. She spent most of her childhood in the nearby town of Sterling. She moved to Texas in the year of 2001, where she has been ever since. Schaffer was introduced to photography through modeling for others in 2012
Zack Wallenfang, Minneapolis, MN, is a graduate from the Minneapolis College of Art & Design with a Bachelor of Fine Arts. He enjoys getting paid for creating things. Past clients include the Target Corporation, Absolut Vodka, Bass Ale, House of Ronald McDonald, Petco, Ecolab, Stand Up! Records, Babyhemyth Productions, etc. Matthew Wilson, 30, has had over 100 stories accepted / appearances in such places as Horror Zine, Star*Line, Spellbound, Illumen, James Ward Kirk Publishing, Static Movement, Apokrupha Press, Hazardous Press, Gaslight Press, Sorcerers Signal and more. He is currently editing his first novel and can be contacted on twitter @matthew94544267.
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“It is a dream inspired painting of Meg White climbing down from her drum kit in the fashion of the Japanese horror classic The Ring”
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“Meg White” by Colm Fahy
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