Author: kim

TWO STEAMROLLERS FROM fEEDTIME

There was this compilation of mostly current Australian punk & art/noise I bought in the mid-80s called “WHY MARCH WHEN YOU CAN RIOT?â€Â, and it was a mind-expander for several reasons. First, it featured three tracks from the Australian band X that are among the greatest punk rock songs ever recorded – “Hate Cityâ€Â, “Home Is Where The Floor Isâ€Â and “TV Cabaret Rollâ€Â. If you think “X-ASPIRATIONSâ€Â is a masterpiece, and I do – these tracks are even better. I’m going to post all three in an upcoming entry.

Alongside debut recordings from the HARD-ONS (whoopee) and lesser lights, there were also two tracks from Sydney’s fEEDTIME that blew me and many others clean away. fEEDTIME (the small f is deliberate) were a trio who played a propulsive, mechanical, wicked-fast, sometimes bluesy punk rock, sounding like a band of the 21st Century who just happened to be stuck in the 20th. I’d never heard anything like them before, and still haven’t since. A lot of us in the United States took notice pretty quickly, and they got a US distribution deal for their LPs, which were all over the place for a while there in the late 80s. Forced Exposure magazine were a particularly enthusiastic proponent. Me, I thought the LPs were good, but spotty and uneven. In 1987 a 45 came out with new versions of the two songs that were on “Why March When You Can Riotâ€Â – “Don’t Tell Me / Small Talkâ€Â. They were good, just not as powerful and angry & weird as the ones from the 1985 comp that I’m posting for you today. Listening to them now makes me want to dig out the fEEDTIME records for a reappraisal. Anyone have an opinion on how they’ve held up? In the meantime, here’s what I still think were the band’s finest moments.

Play or Download fEEDTIME – “Don’t Tell Meâ€Â
Play or Download fEEDTIME – “Small Talkâ€Â

(both from 1985 “WHY MARCH WHEN YOU CAN RIOT?â€Â compilation LP)

Back from vacation.

I just returned from L.A., where I wore my body to shreds. My heart feels like a baby birds, beating inside of a thin layer of skin and muscle. Also, I need to start coming up with some better posts (see various criticisms in various comment sections).

To hold you over a day, if you are a non-regional reader, here’s the transcript of Sen. Ophelia Ford’s 911 call (this occured right after the incident detailed in my previous post)…

911 CALL TRANSCRIPT

This is the transcript from a 911 call placed by an employee at the Sheraton Hotel Downtown Nashville. The entire call can be heard by clicking on the link at the top of this story.

Dispatcher: Metro Nashville Police and Fire.

Caller: Hey, this is Jeff at the Sheraton Hotel Downtown Nashville.

Dispatcher: Yes sir.

Caller: Um, I have, uh, I need someone to come and take a look at one of our guests. They took a fall out of one of our bar chairs upstairs in the concierge lounge on the 24th floor.

(Caller gives address and phone number of the hotel.)

Dispatcher: And you think they need an ambulance?

Caller: Well, I don’t necessarily know … she’s, she’s extremely intoxicated so I can’t tell.

Dispatcher: Are you with her now?

Caller: I am.

Dispatcher: How old is she approximately?

(Redacted from tape.)

Dispatcher: Is she conscious?

Caller: She is.

Dispatcher: Is she breathing?

Caller: Yes, she is.

Dispatcher: About how long ago did this happen?

Caller: Oh, about 20 minutes ago.

Dispatcher: What caused the fall?

Caller: Uh, intoxication.

Dispatcher: Is she completely alert?

Caller: She is.

Dispatcher: Is she breathing normally?

Caller: Yes, she is.

Dispatcher: What part of the body was injured?

Caller: Uh, she landed on her upper back, neck area.

Dispatcher: Is there any serious bleeding?

Caller: No, no, no bleeding that I can see.

(The caller gives directions to the concierge level and says he’ll meet paramedics. The dispatcher tells the caller not to move the person unless she’s in danger and not to let her have anything to eat or drink.)

Dispatcher: Just let her rest in the most comfortable position and wait for help to arrive.

Caller: OK.

(Dispatcher instructs caller to call back if person’s condition changes. He agrees.)

 

 

THE MIDNIGHT CIRCUS – 80s CASSETTE HEROES SPRUNG TO LIFE

A couple years ago the HYPED 2 DEATH label unearthed a boatload of 1980-83 archival recordings, many of them cassette-only, from a little-known UK band called THE MIDNIGHT CIRCUS. I was fortunate enough to get one, and they had me at hello. The CD, with the compact title of “RICHARD, RODNEY, RASTUS, RAOUL, RODERICK, RANDY, RUPERT”, has a smattering of home & studio & live recordings from this sometimes-tuneful workingman’s artpunk band, who practiced their rough trade at the intersection of early MEKONS and Detailed Twang namesakes THE DOOR AND THE WINDOW. I was a bit surprised, given my immediate enthusiasm for these resurrected simpleton masterpieces, how little attention they garnered, and how to this day I haven’t read a single word of praise about the band that wasn’t part of a sales page or on my own blog. Here’s what Hyped 2 Death themselves had to say by way of introduction:

Midnight Circus are known to a handful of fanatics from the rare Angst in my Pants compilation EP, but they put most of their energy into the cassette-only wing of the DIY movement. Nevertheless, they churned out vinyl-worthy DIY-punk tunes by the score, and unlike most bands that did make it to vinyl -who typically spent most of their money on pressing and printing– the ‘Circus were free to blow it all on recording.

C’mon folks, have a listen – here’s two killers from the CD, which you can purchase by clicking here.

Play or Download THE MIDNIGHT CIRCUS – “Leather & Laceâ€Â
Play or Download THE MIDNIGHT CIRCUS – “The Hedonist Jiveâ€Â

THREE CHEERS TO STATIC PARTY

When Ryan Wells & Scott Soriano, two gentlemen of my acquaintance, decided to start an mp3 blog called STATIC PARTY featuring rare 45s of what they call “punk’s third rail, 1990-2000â€Â, I figured the thing would be pretty solid. What I didn’t count on was just how much terrific spazz/garage/noise/ punk these vaunted record hoarders were swooping up in those unheralded years, and how much stuff they had that I didn’t. STATIC PARTY, about once or twice a week, posts a 45 direct from these fellas’ hallowed stashes, and more often than not, the tracks are pretty friggin’ wild. They’re certainly unavailable elsewhere. If they weren’t doing it, not only would you (and I) not know about these gems, virtually no one else would know either – because I’ll bet dollars to donuts that virtually no one else owns such a dizzying array of garage-influenced punk rock vinyl from that age. I know you can say that about a lot of mp3 blogs (Soriano’s CRUD CRUD, for instance), but this microscene is territory that only Static Party is mining, and I’ve found a large bucketful of new favorite songs as a result of their labors.

Here are three stunners I downloaded straight from the site. All are from Seattle (a coincidence, honestly), and as of this writing, two are actually still available on Static Party itself. They won’t always be – most disappear after 3 or 4 weeks. THE STITCHES are a band I saw in 2003 up there – they put on monkey masks or something & jumped around like goofballs, and never in my wildest dreams did I think they were capable of balls-out raw power like this. (Correction, May 19th – I’m confusing “The Stitches” with “The Spits”. I know nothing about either band, but I’ve been corrected in the comments below – The Stitches were a California band, and I assume they did not employ monkey masks). MAN-TEE-MANS – well, it’s a Rob Vasquez band, post-NIGHT KINGS, and I’m dumbfounded that I sold this 45 back after I bought it in 1994, despite featuring the Great Man and my pal Caryn to boot. I think I was burnt out on Rob’s tuneless “learning to playâ€Â bands, but this sounds like pure genius now, as simple and unadorned as the first URINALS single, and even more dumb. I saw STEEL WOOL a few times back in the 90s, but never did they sound as roaring and loose as they do on “Devil’s Nightâ€Â, which out-Mudhoneys MUDHONEY. Check them all out below and at STATIC PARTY.

Play or Download THE STITCHES – “Cars of Todayâ€Â
Play or Download THE MAN-TEE-MANS – “Man Tee Mans (theme)â€Â
Play or Download STEEL WOOL – “Devil’s Nightâ€Â

And Then…

As if the weekend weren’t bad enough — and it’s looking less bad as I’ve billed out three or four months’ rent in work — I had a real shock on Monday.

As many of you know, I’ve been trying to sell a book based on my adventures as an expat. By the end of last year, it had been through three agents who were awful: first there was the agent who turned out not to be one, then another who held onto it for six months without reading it and only responded when I went to New York to talk to him (a trip which, in most respects, was a total disaster), then one who thought it was a novel (among other weird tics which disqualified her).

A friend suggested a guy who was a former student of his, and I sent it to him next. Twenty-four hours later, he wrote back that it wasn’t the kind of book he could sell. Fair enough; no agent knows all the markets out there. He wrote me that he’d been idly thinking of relocating to Berlin because Manhattan had gotten so expensive, and I suggested he read the blog here for some snapshots of what he’d be getting into. He wrote back and said I’d thoroughly put the kibosh on that idea. He also said he’d just had lunch with a publisher who told him he’d be willing to pay [large amount of money] for a book on [subject], and that it would be perfect for a younger version of [noted scholar].

I wrote him back and said that although I wasn’t young, and I certainly wasn’t [noted scholar], this was a subject I knew a lot about, and I’d welcome the opportunity to take a crack at it. In return, he e-mailed me several proposals which had resulted in advances of over a million dollars for each one. That was more than we’d talked about, but hey, it was indicative of a certain level of quality. I studied them and again I thought, I can do this. So I did.

Not off the top of my head, of course. I bought several books, big ones, and read them. I pored over documents, and confidentially sought help from people I knew and trusted. They, in turn, made very helpful suggestions. I did more research, watching films and talking to others. And I started to write.

It took two and a half months, but at last I had something which, although I felt it needed work, I couldn’t improve upon without some professional feedback. It was 35 pages long, detailed, filled with data, scrupulously researched. On February 15 of this year, I sent it off to him. He replied immediately: he had a pile of stuff to go through, and it would take him probably a week to get back to me. No problem, I said; I wanted his undivided attention.

Just before I went to SXSW, at the beginning of March, I was at a bookstore and there, prominently displayed, was a book on the same subject. I didn’t have the money to buy it, but I did thumb through it to see what was in it. As I’d suspected, it was very much the predictable approach, dull and unremarkable. I jotted down the author’s name and when I got home I fired off an e-mail to the agent, telling him the book existed, and how mine was different — and, I believed, superior — to this one. He asked how he could get hold of me in America, and that was that.

I didn’t hear from him the entire time I was in the States. When I got back, I wrote him — it was now the end of March — asking him when I could expect to hear from him. He said he’d read the proposal and get back to me. At the beginning of April, I asked him again if he’d read it and he said “I PROMISE to read it this weekend.”

A couple of weeks later, I got an e-mail from him asking if I’d heard of this other book. I reminded him I’d sent him an e-mail at the beginning of March. He replied that he was at the London Book Fair and his brain wasn’t working. I figured I’d wait til he got back and then write him again.

The London Book Fair ended on April 18. I waited and waited, meanwhile doing other work to pay what bills I could and keep my own brain active. Finally, I decided it was time to move. On Monday of this week, I wrote and said look, it’s time to get this thing going. I’m losing momentum, I’m getting new ideas all the time, and I want to get to work. He wrote back almost immediately, saying he’d decided the other book would do for the moment and he’d lost interest in the project and wasn’t going to pursue it.

Without even so much as reading my proposal. The one he’d encouraged. The one I spent two and a half months on and waited another three months for him to read.

Almost six months of my life, in other words, down the drain.

There’s nothing I can do about this. What he did was wrong, what he did was unethical, but I have no recourse whatever. And, in a profession based on trust, so much for his “PROMISE.”

I spent the next couple of days feeling like I’d been kicked by a horse. I’d already given up on the expat book after yet another agent I’d sent it to said he didn’t understand what it was — but wasn’t interested in my explaining it. I began rewriting the proposal based on what I’d learned from the other project and then just gave up. I’d spent over two years on it, and was sick of it.

But now I’m without a book project, and magazine work really isn’t happening. As I’ve said before, none of the writers I know have any work. It’s nothing personal except as it affects me personally.

Yes, I own the mammoth book proposal. Yes, I have the names of other agents. Before I send it out again, though, I’m going to have to get that other book, read it, and develop a counter-argument on why mine is better. I’m not even sure I really want to do it at this point; it’s not a particularly pleasant subject, and it would entail my maintaining a presence in Berlin part-time.

Some week, huh?

We have the Ford family. What do you have?

This post is for non-regional readers.  

Yes, there’s the snappy, likeable but confusing Harold Jr., but the remaining members of his family make for an illiterate and corrupt addition to my local news on an almost nightly basis. I hope that the book is epic and done right.

Please read about and listen to the ridiculous rant that Ophelia Ford barfed out earlier this week. Funny, I get the same thing yelled in my face when seeking help at a T-Mobile outlet. Anemia? Sure, whatever spins your way, but it also seems that Mizz Ford suffers from a bad case of C.P.T., and proves that her true calling may have been the JC Penney returns counter.

The evidence is in, so I’m not afraid to ask it: Is it possible for an African American to rise to political rank in Tennessee without becoming unbelievably corrupt? Again, remove Harold Jr. from the equation, and the answer is a resounding “noâ€Â. I’d love to read someone’s defense of this trend. Lay it on me. Our Mayor? Holy Moses!! This man suggested the SELLING OF OUR PARKS as a solution to the city’s debt problem, and that’s Willie Herrington on a good day. Edmond Ford? John Ford? These nuts regularly run people off of the road, sexually harass interns and underlings, threaten people with bodily harm, take bribes, publicly cheat on their spouses….the list goes on and on. The head of our power company (Memphis Light Gas and Water)??? He allowed a Ford family member to lapse on his bill….to the tune of $16,000.00!!! If you are a Wire fan, let it be known that Tennessee’s (and primarily Memphis’) political issues are almost identical to the ones fictionalized on that show.

Are white politicians any better? Of course not, but we don’t have white politicians (except for Warren Zevon fanatic Sen. Steve Cohen), so I run with the available material. When I come to power, however that may happen, I will sentence the Ford family to a year of ruling Olympia, WA.

Last Days

Director Gus Van Sant’s fictionalized take on Kurt Cobain’s suicide is similar in tone and execution (pun unintended) to Elephant, his fictionalized take on Columbine; which is to say, the film is virtually devoid of dramatic narrative, offers little if any understanding of its characters or their motives, and, though its art-film pretensions insist otherwise, ultimately exploits the hell out of its subject matter. Which would be okay if either film were at least entertaining, but, given their source materials, they’re not because that would be, well, exploitative. Both movies are basically punchlines we already know to jokes that were unfunny to begin with.

Anybody can point a camera at someone pulling a trigger; making us understand why and allowing us to experience the sense of loss that comes from pulling the trigger, that’s a different matter. There’s more I’d like to say about Last Days, but, honestly, the movie already robbed 97 minutes of my life. I’ll be damned if I’m going to surrender any more to it.

THE LONE SURFER AND HIS SUPER PALS!

Remember the early 90s surf revival boom? Sure ya do. There was this fella Mike Lucas here in the SF Bay Area doing his darndest to help it along, vis-à-vis a great instrumental surf combo called the PHANTOM SURFERS, some quasi-legit LP releases of old & rare 60s surf monsters, and various one-off projects like this one, THE LONE SURFER AND HIS SUPER PALS. Far as I know it, the band wasn’t really a “bandâ€Â in the conventional sense of the word, more a conglomeration of pals from then-current acts like THE MUMMIES and THE TRASHWOMEN, among others, with Lucas at the helm.

There was one small-batch 45 of revved-up, reverb-dosed surf crunch from them, pressed up in 1993. It was called “Church Key/Horror Beachâ€Â, and it was recorded live at San Francisco’s Chameleon Club. I happened to be in attendance that night, but if memory serves me correctly, I left the premises before they got on as headliners (or perhaps as the mop-up act), as I missed the best part of the night. That was when the band started taunting a pal of mine, one Michael Ashby, who happened to have hair down past his shoulders and was thusly regaled as a “hippieâ€Â. As the tale was told to me, Ashby bravely and verbally fought back for a while as things became more heated, before finally being coaxed to the stage and actually PAID TO LEAVE THE CLUB by the band, for the crime of being a benevolent hippie in San Francisco. Different times, hunh? He actually left the club a few dollars richer, whereupon he came to the place we were drinking that night and told us the story (and hopefully bought us a beer with his new earnings). Much of their repartee is captured on this 45, posted here for your listening pleasure (there’s also a photo of Ashby being paid off on the cover of the single!).

Play or Download THE LONE SURFER AND HIS SUPER PALS – “Church Keyâ€Â