Comments are disabled, taking a break

Apologies to those of you who are trying to reach me with legit comments. Lately, I am being spammed by two businesses randomly posting links (possibly malign) to products they sell. I want them to fuck off and leave me alone but no matter how often I report them as spam, there they are again, a couple of times a week, at least. There's also an "unknown" commenter who I do actually know who I would block if Blogger let me -- I don't care what he thinks and wish he would get a life. He's been commenting a lot lately (not that I post them or read them) and, fuckit, I'm tired of it. It's like having a mosquito buzzing in your ear.  

So I'm just disabling comments for now. Those of you who can find me on Facebook can reach me there. 

Bunchofuckingoofs, Death Sentence (with Betty Machete!), Fully Crazed and Waste Coast: terrific night at the Waldorf

Crazy Steve Goof by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission 

It's the first thing you see, after you get past Wendy: "Look, there he is, it's Crazy Steve Goof! Whoa."

As we filed into the Waldorf, Crazy Steve was sitting at the merch area. Would he be there later? This could be my one chance to interact with him! I went straight over: "Steve, I'm Allan, the guy who wrote the Straight piece. Honoured to meet you! This is my buddy Adam, he lent me his copy of the Goofs book so I could do research... we're hoping we could get it signed?"

He barely blinked. He calmly, quietly waved it away: He'd do it later, he told me. He needed time.

I am not sure what I said next, but it was along the lines of, "Uh, what for?" I was not challenging him (even I would know better). I was genuinely puzzled.

Low-key, calm: "I need time to think about what to say."

He did this without it being impolite at all. He didn't say no, he didn't tell me to fuck off, just continued to sit there. It was like waking a sleeping lion, which opens one eye, looks at you, then shuts the eye. 

I looked around the Waldorf. I had no idea what to do. Never been shut down that skillfully before! I was kind of impressed but I also didn't know my next line, so I stammered out an inanity about being excited to see the band, welcome to Vancouver, etc., and wandered off into the bar to see what the de-alked beer options were. My buddy Adam stayed with Steve and asked permission if he could sell some copies of his zine, Going All the Way!, which has articles about Toronto punk of the 1980s (we talk about it here). The BFGs aren't actually in it, but Adam did see them, back in 1986, I think he said, at Ildikos, a Toronto punk club of some repute. This MIGHT have been the gig? 

Adam tells that it was a scary rite of passage for a young punk kid, at the time, maybe akin to my seeing the Dead Kennedys at the York, in October1984, back when I barely knew what punk rock was (I lost my running shoe in my first mosh pit that night, having to recover it in a sock foot!). Adam and I agreed with Tesco Vee on this point: the best punk shows always had an element, or at least a FEELING, of danger...

Airock, Crazy Steve, Baby Goof by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

But Adam got the nod to sell the zine and set up a table in back, and we got him a chair, as he commented that he was impressed by how friendly and approachable Steve was. I said nothing in reply. But it turns out there were ample chances to talk to Crazy Steve during the night, and other people had similar responses. My sense of urgency was misplaced: He was frequently seen in the pit, in the corridors. I couldn't get a read on him. He seemed friendly enough when people talked to him, but also surprisingly low-key. I wondered if he was drunk? 

It's been a long time since I've been drunk -- recurrent tongue cancer has made alcohol a no-no, and I've had maybe six beers and one shot (and one glass of spiked punch at a wedding) in the last five years. It's never been my favourite intoxicant, anyhow. But I can remember being very drunk in public, feeling calm inside, like the eye of a hurricane, with everything swirling around outside. Steve seemed sober, but maybe he was one of these seasoned drinkers who you couldn't tell was inebriated, sitting quietly while the room spun? I'm not sure what I expected, but his calmness, his self-contained-ness, his, ermm, palpable stoicism were all somehow startling, not what I had expected. What had I expected? Dunno. Something crazier, goofier? "Sleeping lion" seemed about right.

There were moments during the opening acts when he came to vibrant life, mind you. One time he approached the stage and screamed along from the pit with Death Sentence, who had replaced Skull on the bill. It almost looked like he was going to get up there with the band; and seemed like he knew their songs better than I did! 

beer-soaked Death Sentence setlist by Allan MacInnis

When I'd been told by Bob (who had heard from Betty) that Death Sentence would be playing (and that Betty would be doing a song of theirs), I got excited about the two songs of theirs I actually remember, both off their debut: "In Flames" (which ended up, after an instrumental intro, being their first tune) and "Feel Fucked," which I thought would be an awesome song for Betty to sing. That was actually my first reaction to the news: "Betty is singing a song? Gee, I hope it's 'Feel Fucked!'" 

Death Sentence circa 1985: Pete Cleaver and Syd Savage by bev davies, not to be reused without permission

This, in fact, is exactly what came to pass, later in the night: I got to scream from the back along with Betty -- who had styled her hair and clothing to resemble the departed Pete Cleaver, and changed her name, appropriately, to Betty Machete -- about how "I don't want to love you/ I just want to fuck you up the ass!"

Betty Machete sings for Death Sentence; Syd Savage on the left -- not sure who the bassist is! Pic by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

A question for the guys in the room: when she sang that, I'm curious: did you visualize Betty fucking YOU up the ass? Because I sure did -- I mean, in an abstract way, you understand, nothing actually sexual about it, and not necessarily even me, just, like, everyone in the audience (maybe all of us serially!). But the "you" went out to the people in the room in a way it had not before. I gotta tell you, it was a value-added moment! I saw the original version of Death Sentence once live with Pete, and I spun that EP plenty when I had it, but best as I can recall, I did not ever imagine HIM fucking me (or the audience) thus, you know? I imagined him fucking some other person or people (women, for instance; I didn't know Pete or his tastes but remember wondering if I should be disturbed by his attitude towards women, maybe, which also made that lyric a better fit for a woman to sing). Actually, I also saw them once with Doug Donut leading the band,  and I didn't visualize him fucking me up the ass, either. But Betty made the lyric quite a bit more vivid and real. The "you" of the song became "me"/ "us" if you see what I mean: I/we were being potentially addressed (And I mean, hell, I've even seen her with a penis, and not just during BB Allin sets: she has a few that she whips out when appropriate, it seems, some of them quite intimidating in size [unlike BB's]). 

Suffice to say, Betty should always sing this song! 

Betty Machete sings for Death Sentence by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

But there's interesting news, Death-Sentence-wise: apparently (co-founder/ drummer) Doug Donut is now out of the band. Not sure the story there, what specifically prompted his ouster -- though the guy has a colourful rep, shall we say, my favourite story of which involves him getting in a fight onstage with a certain fellow punk after (speaking of ass-related matters) sticking a drumstick into or, perchance, up the guy's butt (not quite sure how far -- Bob, given a sneak preview of this article, asked me to clarify if it was "just the crack," but put it this way, however far it got, wherever it was stuck, it was not well-received). Wasn't there for that but the guy who told me about it while Death Sentence was taking the stage was definitely chuckling. Other stories about Doug's, uh, hijinks are less fun, though I've only seen/ met him a few times and never had a problem with him myself (I try to base my estimation of people on what they have done around, in front of, or to me, and not just what people say). 

Dustin and Syd by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

In any case, replacing Donut as sole original Death Sentence member now is guitarist Syd Savage, whom I am told had been away from music for a very long time. I guess I saw him onstage with the band back back in the day, too -- sometime between the release of their first EP, which I had, and their second album, which I never owned -- though that's a gig I have a singularly hazy memory of, which almost entirely hinges on an argument I had with a big-haired Gothy punk female as to whether Danny of the Spores or Pete of Death Sentence was the better front person (I remember conceding that, "Okay, sure, Pete has more charisma, but Danny has better lyrics!" To which she responded that she couldn't make out the lyrics, and I probably commenced to quote some. That is exactly all I remember of either band; my memories of that night almost entirely revolve around the Haters, who were on the bill, too, assaulting mic'd metal with power tools, and very distracting/ terrifying/ noisy).   

Dustin Jak by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

I was delighted to be catching the new incarnation of Death Sentence, but Syd's vocals were a bit hesitant to start -- it was probably the biggest show he's played in 40 years? -- and the backup vocals are gonna need work, since the other members all chimed in on choruses at slightly different times, a bit less, uh, "chorally" than is ideal for an, um, chorus; it wasn't surprising to learn this was only their second time playing live together in this incarnation (the first being last week at LanaLou's). But while things were looser and jammier than the previous two Death Sentence incarnations I've caught, they also were very, very potent and driving. And if the singing got a bit wonky at times, the riffing was terrific, more along straight-up rock lines than punk, per se, but very enjoyable.  

Waste Coast  by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission. Note Mr. Chi Pig shirt!

That was a bit later in the night, mind you: they were the third band on the bill. Openers Waste Coast did some fun, vaguely surfy punk and something they even introduced as a country tune (it was about wanting to live and die like Hank Williams, so it was definitely topically country, but it didn't sound particularly like country music to me. Hey, Waste Coast, do you know this song? Yours was the second-best song I've ever heard about Hank Williams, next only to that one [I am not counting that Young Fresh Fellows tune]). 

While Waste Coast were playing, I snapped a photo of two Jaks standing in front of me. The one on the right is Victoria's Dustin Jak Schwam, who had helped with some of the Death Sentence vocals and drummed for one or two bands during the night; the one on the left would later get onstage with Fully Crazed and take a mic. I had no idea who he was when I asked if he minded my using the photo, and not only didn't he mind, he got me to send it to him. He proved to be Brandon Cruz. I never caught his version of the Dead Kennedys (who I only ever saw with Jello singing) and never saw Dr. Know (they did two songs by them, which Adam recognized, with Ken Fleming -- Flemming? Goony, I mean --  joining them on second guitar; I must surely have seen Ken and Willy Jak together in SNFU as well). If you know what Dr. Know songs got sung, feel free to comment....

Brandon and Dustin, by Allan MacInnis

I had been a bit nervous about the Jaks, actually. Some years ago, I'd written a piece for a certain paper involving the Jaks that had some editorial changes made to it by someone who had seen some bad behaviour from the Jaks and maybe wanted to take them down a peg. Nothing quite like finding yourself in a hole that someone else has dug. (Note: I am no longer attempting anal sex references with any of this but find the piece haunted: suddenly "peg," "hole"... I've disappeared up the ass, with Betty and her strap-ons on the left and Donut with his drumstick on the right). I dunno that I've ever been totally absolved for that, and had left the Jaks entirely out my Straight piece on the Goofs, lest any further issues arise. But now I was worried about THAT: would the Jaks be pissed that I left them out of what was essentially their event, the afterparty to some sort of skating things that had taken place?

Brandon and Ken take the stage, while Mark gets in the pit, during Fully Crazed, pic by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

Turns out the only feedback I got from Jaks was from Dustin, who told me he loved the article on the BFGs. There was no trace of bad blood anywhere that I could see. Whew! 

And Fully Crazed are definitely a Jaks band, with Dustin Jak on drums, Willy Jak on guitar, Mark on vocals and a bassist who I assume was a Jak as well (I don't know all my Jaks but their colours were everywhere, everyone with their own handmade patches promoting "Absolute Music" and some very colourful art indeed; Jaks in team attire got a discount at the door). The pit was delightful to observe -- exuberant and playful and kind of nutty; I shot some video but I did not capture the best of it by far. At one point, there was a dude rolling around on the beer-slicked floor, moshing horizontally; there was even a guy who tried skateboarding at the stage when Fully Crazed went on, but this was not the Buddha... 

Fully Crazed by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

The band did songs like "Detention" (about going to jail, which I've never done) and "Vic Goof," with the lyric about how "You've never skated/ You've always been hated" (which maybe could apply to me! I've never skated either). They presented as slightly debauched, anarchic, and very fun to watch live. Alas, they had no merch (Willy explained that the band member -- or whoever it was -- who had it was absent for reasons I didn't store in my long-term memory). So I was marked safe from buying a Fully Crazed record, which is probably just as well (I'm on a prog rock kick lately and prog rock they are not!). But I did buy, a couple weeks ago, a record by Willy's other band of the moment, Hung Up -- another band I would see again, fronted by Ratboy Roy from Alcoholic White Trash, who got a nod in the Straight thing. I guess I can relate more to "Ass Worship" than the topics Fully Crazed covers? (There it is again: the ass!).  

Ken "Goony" Fleming with Fully Crazed by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

One wonders how many bands Willy is in now. He'll be coming over again later in the month with the Keg Killers, to open for the Forgotten Rebels, though he's only filling in, not a full-fledged member. I've asked if he could bring me a couple copies of his punk rock cookbook from a few years ago. TBH, I don't think I've ever seen Willy in a bad band: Dayglo, SNFU, Hung Up... I think I even saw him with the Frostbacks once, opening for DOA in Victoria for a farewell show (one of the few Victoria punk acts I've actually seen in Victoria). I remember them doing a punk rock version of Maclean and Maclean's "Fuck Ya," which was great... Chatted with him once before the Meatmen gig in Vancouver, too, where there were abundant photos taken of him, Chi, Dave Gregg, and Tesco Vee posing together, not one of which have I ever seen online... 

Airock of the BFGs by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

Besides that brief, deflected chat with Steve early in the night, interactions with other Goofs were brief. I said hi to Airock, who gave me a big grin and thanked me for the article. He was (unless I'm wrong) sporting a shirt or hoodie or jacket or such with "In Dirt we trust" written on the back, which is a reference to the Fort Goof alpha dog Dirt, who gets his own section in Dirty, Drunk and Punk: 

Dirt and the dogs, by Allan MacInnis, taken from Dirty, Drunk and Punk

(For more on the importance of dogs to Goof life, see this recently-uploaded clip of "In Dog We Trust," which was not on Youtube when I first wrote this).

Also talked with bassist Baby Goof, who was working the merch area. Baby Goof is a writer himself, and had helped with Airock's answers to my questions, because Airock, it turns out, is French-Canadian! Baby made the excellent point that it was really Dirty, Drunk and Punk that started off a run of profusely-illustrated books about Toronto hardcore, also including Tomorrow Is Too Late. To my surprise, Baby gave me a Goofs shirt as a thank you, which I promptly put on and wore the rest of the night (thanks, man!). Sadly, there was no vinyl on the Goofs merch table either, not even a CD. Adam joked with him at one point -- having bought one of their "Teamwork" shirts, showing the Goofs collectively decimating an OPP officer -- that "The BFGs are an institution, and if you disagree with that, they'll put you in an institution" -- without having realized that it was not just a merch person that he was talking to, but a member of the band (Baby nodded gravely in agreement, I am told). But everything seemed friendly! 

Goose of the BFGs by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

In fact, given the potential for disruption at any punk show, the only weirdness that ensued involved two kids, very clearly NOT Jaks, one of whom had introduced himself to me in a very socially awkward/ special-needs kind of way earlier in the evening; he got into some sort of fight with someone who had seemed to be his friend, and for a brief period, everyone was sort of milling around wondering who was shouting at whom about what; the security guard got called into action, and Wendy materialized on the other side of the room from the door in what seemed a "get me away from there" move (the action was occurring near the entrance). Whatever happened, it caused a delay, and the Goofs didn't go on until nearly 12am. Bob and I decided that we would have go by 12:30, or even sooner, lest we miss the last Skytrain, but waiting just served to build up the tension.

Crazy Steve Goof by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

When Bunchofuckingoofs played -- opening with "Go Get Screwed," which you can see live eleven years ago, with a different lineup of the band, but a similar level of intensity, which is way better appreciated in person than on the internet -- I realized that I had the band wrong altogether. I mean, I expected from the name that they might be a bit loose, sloppy, chaotic, and from the stories about inebriation, thought they might be or seem actually sauced. Not at all: they were totally, fiercely focused, tight and clear and intense. Crazy Steve seemed about as drunk as R. Lee Ermey does in Full Metal Jacket, which is to say, not at fucking all; he seemed stern and wired, intense and kind of terrifying... and totally sober. Aside from that opener, I didn't recognize a single song -- I don't know that I've ever seen one of their albums, let alone owned one, so what I knew, I knew from my writing and from poking around Youtube. But suddenly I understood that they were totally deserving of their reputation as one of Canada's best punk bands. They were not a bunch of fucking goofs at all! 

I would have bought the book about them, or an LP, or a CD, if any of them had been on the merch table. None were (Bob had managed to track down one in the library system, however, so you can maybe borrow it and read it after he's done, if he doesn't, like, liberate it from the system first. He wouldn't do that, though, would he? It's bound to happen, especially now that people are aware it's a collectible, but it probably won't be Bob who does it!). I'm glad that Adam eventually got his copy of the book signed, and excited that, it seems, there is a new album in the works. If they come back, I'll see them again. I was unable to do much to capture the show last night -- my phone was long dead -- but I did catch a clip of Fully Crazed, linked above (Maybe someone in the band can tell me the song titles?). With a Victoria Goofs show planned for September 17th, clips are starting to appear online... so far I've just found Aaron's, but look around...

Jaks jacket by Bob Hanham, not to be re-used without permission

It was a great night at the Waldorf -- sound was great, bands were great, no hassles, and it stoked my resolve to see both the Forgotten Rebels and the Dwarves (with Victoria's Knife Manual) there in the next few months. There is definitely a need for a space like the Waldorf in Vancouver! Thanks to Malcolm for doing such a fine job curating these gigs: long may they run. 

Story for Adrian Belew, re BEAT and the King Crimson / Riverview Hospital anecdote

Hello, members of BEAT. I had been thinking I might try to interview Adrian Belew apropos of the tour, but really, the point of it was just to tell him a funny story about a song, "Indiscipline," that you'll be playing. I secured a home for the story, maybe with an eye on getting comped into the upcoming Vancouver show, but the truth is, I don't have any great questions to ask. Actually the stuff I'm most curious about is either already known or has nothing to do with 80's King Crimson ("Did Bob Dylan ever react to your impersonation of him on Zappa's 'Flakes'? How, exactly, did that come about -- did Zappa know you did a good Bob Dylan and write the lyric for you, or did he approach the band and say, 'I need a Dylan impersonation' and do, like, tryouts, which you won, or...?" ...Hell, I bet that's already known, too... just not by me!). 

I think I've given up. My initial attempts to reach out didn't go anywhere, and I have other writing to do, so rather than trying to figure out what channels to go through and trying to come up with intelligent questions about some of the more daunting rock guitar out there, it's easier just to buy a ticket and tell the story here, in case I can get your attention. It's funny, I promise! (But I may take too long getting to it; bear with me, I'm verbose, and some context is required).   

(General readers who do not know that song should go here before proceeding. Note that the inspiration for most of the lyrics -- by Belew, who also does the vocals -- was based on a letter Belew got from his then-wife, talking about a sculpture she had done. There's a fun interview where that comes up, here; it is also mentioned here. Those with a sharp eye who clicked the first link will notice that the Youtube channel for the song mis-identifies the authorship, not mentioning that the lyrics are Belew's, despite it being the official page; what's with that? [That could be another question, actually: "Did you feel there was sufficient respect for your lyrical contributions, or were they regarded an ancillary to the music?" Or, like, "Did Margaret ever get any credit for those lyrics? Was that a bone of contention between you?" [There is apparently a fan-made film that credits her, "following a disturbed artist's personal satisfaction with her painting"]. ANYTHING so that I don't have to try to ask something intelligent about your guitar playing. Vancouver has Alex Varty for that; I know when I'm outclassed). 

Anyhow, the story involves this guy, beknownst to all King Crimson fans: 

So in the late 1990s, we still had a functional psychiatric hospital in the lower mainland, Riverview. It was already downsizing; many wards had been emptied, following a model of putting the mentally ill back into the community, in smaller group homes or even just on their own (ideally with some sort of supports, but there did seem to be a connection between that policy move and the number of mentally ill people one started seeing walking around Vancouver, probably homeless...). There have been some particularly nasty crimes in Vancouver of late that have led to discussion about returning to a model of incarceration for the seriously mentally ill -- the sort of people who were still on locked wards, back in 1996 or so, when this story takes place -- but even then, they were filming The X-Files and the odd Hollywood movie in wings that had been cleared out (you've probably unknowingly seen some Riverview interiors). Which I think had something to do with keeping the hospital open, because funding was being cut: Hollywood helped keep the place open for longer than the government would have.

I digress. Back then, I was making a slow transition from being a confused, marginally employed acidhead (I spent a few years of my early 20s exploring psychedelics, mostly whilst listening to out-there music, including King Crimson) and devoting myself to finishing some sort of degree (I'd been in and out of university for several years, unsure of a direction) and trying for a career of some sort. For awhile, before I decided that I would get certification to become an ESL teacher, I considered a career in psychiatric nursing; but the academic advisor at the college where I was considering taking the training suggested that before I do that, I volunteer at Riverview to get a feeling for what life was like on the wards and figure out if I had the aptitude or interest or psychic stamina for the job. Seemed like fair advice! So I looked into volunteer positions available, and decided to help with the art therapy program, to see if I liked the work. (I thought that my experience with psychedelics might give me some insight into what it was like to be mentally ill; I figured that maybe I'd explore that as a career, too, as a more creative variant on psychiatric nursing). 

I applied, was accepted, and for about nine months, I would turn up on (I think) a weekly basis and go sit on the wards with the art therapist, where we would make art of our own, and set out materials on the tables and encourage other people to come and make art, which -- if people wanted to -- we could then talk about with them. The actual "therapy" aspect of it was less a part of my role; the art therapist, if I recall, did one-on-one sessions with people, going into depth, but I didn't have that much involvement in that side of things. Mostly I think the idea that the art itself was therapeutic, and it gave something productive and fun for the patients to do, you know? There was a bit more to it than that -- I also helped with a patient "Outsider Art" show, and I got to know a couple of the patients who were on part of the committee to make that happen, but mostly the position involved making art on the wards.  I only have one piece of art I did from that time, a self-portrait in a kettle, inspired by Escher, that I did while waiting for a meeting to begin:

Commence story! ...so one day, I'm sitting on a ward with the art therapist; we have art supplies spread out on the table, and I'm in a mood, feeling like stirring the pot a bit -- because things generally happened pretty slowly, at an "institutional" pace, at that hospital -- so I'm drawing a giant, weird, screaming face on a piece of paper, thinking it might inspire some reactions, get things going, inspire people to make art or at least react. And a tall, skinny guy who looked to be in his 20s wanders over, who I immediately figured was a fellow psychonaut -- he had Christopher Lloyd hair, a beard, a big grin, and an affable demeanor; I had no idea what his story (or diagnosis) was, but I'd seen him on ward breaking up conflicts, keeping things peaceful between people, being generally friendly (but not entirely coherent; his thought processes were kind of hard to follow). And he checks out my drawing and goes, "Heyyy, King Crimson!" 

I looked at the screaming face and could see what he meant; I mean, it hadn't been what I was trying for, but sure, why not? And suddenly -- I'm guessing it was him who started the chant, but I don't remember exactly; I joined in pretty quickly, though -- and this guy and I are chanting together, rather loudly, in the middle of the ward of a psychiatric hospital:

I repeat myself when under stress

I repeat myself when under stress

I repeat myself when under stress

I...

And, like, the other patients are looking over at us "like we're crazy," so to speak. The art therapist (who doesn't know the song) is looking a bit concerned. But the guy and I are both grinning and pleased as punch to be bonding on the lyric. 

A few weeks later, I guess he was out on the street again, because I saw him wandering around on Robson Street. I said hi, and tried to follow his conversation a bit (I couldn't; his mind zipped this way and that, dots in space with no lines between them, impossible to see what the picture was). But I bought him a slice of pizza and have carried that moment with me for almost thirty years -- by far the happiest/ most favourite/ most entertaining moment from my time as a volunteer. 

I guess that could be another question for Adrian Belew: has that line drawn any fun or unexpected reactions? Do you vary the number of times you repeat it, when you play it live? Are there any other variants?

But I guess I'll just go to the concert and see. 

Bunchofuckingoofs in the Straight (and at the Waldorf), Bev Davies in Montecristo, and Cousin Harley at the Rickshaw

Crazy Steve Goof by Cat Ashbee, not to be reused without permission

Wrote a piece about Bunchofuckingoofs for the Georgia Straight that I did NOT expect to be doing. I had put out a request months ago to talk to Crazy Steve Goof, the singer and only original member, but nothing came of it, then somehow stumbled across the guitarist's Facebook account. I wrote him, put in a friend request, then never heard back; I assumed he was just blowing me off, as a couple other people had seemingly done, so I gave up on the piece. Then I just happened to check the message status the other day:  Facebook hadn't sent it because we weren't friends yet. I re-sent it. He replied. Here we are.

Adam Kates did tell a story, mind you, that didn't make it into the article, writing that "The only memory I have of the goods was fear! I saw them at Ildiko's in '87, they used cheap instruments... I felt that by seeing this band I not only felt as a hardcore spectator, but one of the true scenesters. I was initiated!"

The rest of y'all can get initiated on Saturday, unless you're in Nanaimo, in which case, it's tonight. Ancillary note: I got a chuckle out of reading in the Dirty, Drunk and Punk book that Crazy Steve's fear in life is ending up fat and bald in the suburbs (I check all three boxes). 

bev davies and her cat vincent, by allan macinnis, not to be reused without permission

 

 Also newly published, both in line and in print: a new feature on the great Bev Davies (happy birthday!). We talk about some of her best-known photos and I introduce an error to the print version by thinking Roy of Friends Records must be Wimpy Roy. I figured I was having a Vancouver Magazine moment where I was just failing to recognize what Brian looked like at a much lower weight and younger age than I was used to seeing him at; it never even occurred to me that it might be that other Roy, who I never met (it doesn't help that "the other Roy" has cake on his face, either). Hey, wait a sec, didn't that Roy-from-Friends-Records guy sell the Subhumans master tapes to those reprobates at CD Presents? Maybe this is poetic justice! He has been replaced with the only Roy in Vancouver punk worth talking about! 

Actually there are a total of TWO mistakes in the article, but that one is 100% mine. It is fixed online, but people who want to know what else went wrong will have to buy the print copy to find it!!!! The last issue was super cheap at Indigo (it has my tongue cancer story in it).  

I now must convince myself that I will have fun if I go to the Rickshaw and see Cousin Harley and the Stephen Nikleva band do a tribute to Ray Condo. In point of fact, I'm a bit burned out and just want to stay home under the covers and see if I can find a horror movie that will terrify my wife. On the other hand, there is a finite number of times I will get to dance to Paul Pigat playing the "Hadicillin Boogie," so I better make the most of the opportunity.  

Hey, by the way, Facebookers, you can't share the Georgia Straight link to the Bunchofuckingoofs interview in Canada (because it's "news;" seriously, could we fix that shit?). But you can share the link to this blogpiece! Yay! 

The link is this, if you're not sure how to make it happen:

https://alienatedinvancouver.blogspot.com/2024/09/bunchofuckingoofs-in-straight-and-at.html

I am now off shift. 

Ray Condo Forever! (And Paul Pigat this Friday)

 

Sometimes I got nothin' new to say, but this is a must-see show. Glad to see Stephen has been added to the bill! 

Should I do a 20th anniversary show?

If I can still find a room, should I do a 20th anniversary show for Alienated in Vancouver?

It's 20 years this October, ad-free (I've occasionally put up gig posters and such to plug a show, and OCCASIONALLY gotten comps as a result of my writing... but I've never been paid to run an ad or written a piece here BECAUSE of an ad). 

I'm also thinking I'd be better off quitting -- too many pains in the ass, not enough recompense -- but also thinking of marking the anniversary, one way or the other. Even if I quit, I'd at least be going out with a bang (a small one, mind you, appropriate to the Alienated mandate). 

Maybe I shouldn't bother...

Of Cherry Pick, Shearing Pinx, Tranzmitors, and attempted Oi!

Notice: The Tranzmitors (above) All photos by me.

The issue spoken about in the original blogpost has been resolved. Went to see an Oi! show. Left before the main band went on. Had some complaints. They seem to have been dealt with, so why leave them up? But here are some photos:

Ultra Sect

Part Two: Shearing Pinx, Cherry Pick

[I just left the second half of this blogpost mostly unchanged]:

Luckily, I DID have a great time at a show last night, but it was at (sorry, Wendy) the Cobalt, which is being booked by new people (Gang of Three -- not sure who they are, exactly, but I hope some of the bad karma that place has will be washed away by the change; last night's was only the second show I've paid to see there since Wendy's heartbreaking and underhanded ouster circa 2010 -- tho' I've been comped in a couple times). There are never problems with sound there! My understanding is that -- besides the building owners, who I assume have not changed -- there was a single character behind-the-scenes that made people think twice about putting on or going to shows there, but I have no idea if this person is still involved somewhere -- I hope not, because it's a venue I'd like to feel able to go back to without guilt.  I didn't get to see the headliner there (Tamaryn), either, in fact, but I was really going for Shearing Pinx, anyhow, who I have not seen in ages, and never as a four piece (now with Izzy of Earthball and Crotch, and Nyssa, I think it is, of Hag Face). I am not sure how often they have played in this incarnation, and thought some things they did last night worked better than others -- they seem to be in a period of transformation, maybe? I have seen them tighter, but also looser -- but I was really glad to see them again, one way or another, and shot video of their song "Love Jesse," which is supposed to have a heart icon instead of the word "love;" I have no idea how to make my keyboard do that. If the Jesse they're loving is the guy from Twin Crystals, who was on at least one of their albums (Rituals), I actually think I saw him on the Skytrain home last night, by amazing coincidence. Maybe he'd been there, too?

But the truth is, through their set, I was distracted by thoughts of a band I enjoyed even more, whom I'd had no expectations of at all, having never heard previously: the evening's openers, Cherry Pick, who, against the odds, turned out to have been the high point of the night, both venues combined (I mean, the Tranzmitors are way more seasoned and sharper, the best band overall, but I'm taking in the sound, here...). Cherry Pick is quite young, female-fronted, and their debt to Sonic Youth is quite pronounced -- they even did a cover of "Kool Thing" -- but though one senses that they're a unit in their early days of playing live, who are going to only get better with experience and encouragement -- they were totally delightful and engaging. 

I visited the merch table after the singer said she had three t-shirts left for sale, and said hello, blurted something enthusiastic, and asked if she'd been able to catch Kim Gordon last week (she had not, which makes me sad, but I didn't ask why...). I found out that the name of the song I shot was "Pretty Thing," an original which you can also hear in demo form here, and noticed to my amazement that they had exactly one t-shirt left and it was my size (and has a snake on it, albeit in skeletal form, done with bleach -- a handmade work of art for a mere $20, which I simply could not resist and have worn all day).

I hope that Cherry Pick keep going, they're onto something (and now that the Winks are gone from this coast, we NEED a band who brings some Sonic Youthfulness into play). I don't know when Cherry Pick plays next, but incidentally, there is another chance coming up to see Shearing Pinx at the Cobalt as part of a mini-festival celebrating the change of operators. I will definitely be considering that show, if my schedule allows it...

Last Night's Gig: Pit Props, Night Court, Invasives, and Rong

Okay, so it isn't Rampage Over O'Hara's but Byron sure can catch air when he wants to. Sometimes the content saves a shitty picture (thank God). All photos by Allan MacInnis

So I went to a gig last night. It was great! I shot vid of Night Court and of Invasives but had neither storage nor battery to do everyone. Favourite moments of the night:

1. Pit Props -- Calgary folk-punks with a pinch of street punk to their sound and a gift for the anthemic, doing an Indigenous land-back revision of "This Land Is Your Land" (given as "This land ain't your land" with a final choral line of "This land was stole for you and me"), as one of their many politically-minded crowd-pleasers in their set. They also did a song about punching transphobes in the face ("Devils in the Bathroom:" great title), a queer pride tune (title now forgotten but fun at the time), and another that I didn't catch the name of about the toxic drug crisis. They know their audience! They had some tuning challenges early on but the longer they played the faster and defter they got and people who I'm sure did not know them at all before last night could be seen singing along with their choruses. Nice to know such a band can come out of Alberta (whose culture I suspect is better repped, generally, by Jerry Jerry and the Sons of Rhythm Orchestra, say -- a sort of Randian rockabilly/ surf gospel... who I also love, mind you, but like the man says, I contain multitudes.)

2. Night Court saving me a 3XL t-shirt that was apparently partially inspired by my interview with Emilor for the Straight about her busted finger; the X-ray imagery plainly depicts her injury -- zoom in if you dare and examine her pinky! -- as well as Jiffy's busted tooth (which was the victim of both a microphone and a skateboard fall, and is now apparently under repair). It was nice to see Emilor dancing in the pit, too, doing high-kicks to Invasives songs (none of which did I document).

3. Invasives -- who I have not seen in far too long -- doing "Animal Skin," my second favourite song off Desk Job at Castle Dracula, as well as a deep cut off Robot Stink that I obviously have to get to know better. Got some great photos of the Slack brothers and fished a bit in Byron's pond for deets about Dead Bob plans (I got no actual bites but I saw a big fish moving under the surface, if you see what I mean. Not quite sure what sort of fish or if I'll ever catch it but it looked sizeable). 

Damn I hope the rising tide of Dead Bob lifts the boat for Invasives, Rong, Ford Pier and -- well, Pigment Vehicle aren't exactly active but who else would like to see a vinyl reissue of that stuff? (Start here? They probably have played a bigger role than any other band in my descent into prog). 

4. Rong, restored to their full line-up (= without Emilor on bass), doing a toughened cover of Lisa Lougheed's "Run With Us," which I probably knew in the 1980s and never would have imagined myself loving quite so much as I did last night --- to say nothing of their sludgy "The Ships," which somehow I hadn't paid as much attention to on the record. Fun to note that they apparently have some sort of "Hollow Weenie Pee" (say it for the double meaning) coming out this October, and played a song about being a monster for us ("No Humans Allowed" might be the title; I wonder if they're also fans of Nightbreed?).

It was fun being greeted at the gate by Kristy-Lee, too! 

Also fun chatting with James of Bison, Brock of the SLIP~ons, Jeffrey of Tranzmitors (playing an Oi! show at the Waldorf tomorrow), and Ford Pier (who has been providing some guidance on my tentative forays into the music of Rush). I also really liked some of the graffiti on the Green Auto bathroom wall, but my favourite scrawled slogan ("Be Gay Do Crimes") was not as photogenic as some of the other scribbles and stickers: 

Tomorrow it's a peek into see Shearing Pinx at the Cobalt, an early show that seems like it will let me get to said Oi! show. In fact, it's early enough (= a real smart move) that you could probably see most of Tamaryn's set and still make it to the Waldorf in time for at least the Tranzmitors. That's the plan, anyhow. 

Lots of stuff going on this weekend (Accordion Noir festival on Sunday, too, admission by donation). I don't know if any of it will top Thursday, though (that was a pretty great Thursday).