Issue 30
August 2007
My name's Mark and I'm an alcoholic. Welcome to my stupid zine. This issue deals with the difficult choices we all have to face in this wonderfully modern world - light versus shade, good versus evil, cock versus cunt, etc. Will you reject the vacant lot of a consumer-obsessed society and ride the rails like Kerouac or become just another faceless, pointless clone nibbling on the stale crusts of the corporate sandwich? The choice, my friends, is YOURS! Gary Simmons wrote all the shit that I didn't write. Please visit www.geocities.com/hiroshimayeah for more showbiz thrills, special celebrity news and tales of urban horror.
�By birth and by culture, I�m a Catholic. But I�m also inspired by different cultures, like Judaism, Rastafarianism, Islam and Hinduism. To me, God should be rescued from religion. God does not belong to religion. Part of the problems of the world come from religions thinking that they have the right to own God. People are lost without a relationship with God and the proof of that is war. George Bush is a traitor to his religion. So is Osama Bin Laden. The Muslim religion is a beautiful, peaceful one. He is committing a crime against Islam and George Bush�s is a crime against Christianity.� � Sinead O�Connor
YESTERDAY'S NEWS
Life doesn't reach me,
sitting here among the cobwebs
and the casualties
pouring poison into stomachs
sick with heartburn and ulcers,
sick with work and no work,
love and no love.
The barmaid in the checked shirt
smiles at you as if you matter,
but only for a moment.
Pretty soon, it's gone
like this morning's hangover
and yesterday's news,
gone like the last note
of a well-loved song
that hangs in the stale air for a while,
clinging onto life
before slipping away.
WEIGHTED DOWN
When did you become fazed
by the simplest of acts;
walking down the street,
swatting a fly?
When did the sickly, sober daylight
become too much for your watery
blue eyes to bear?
Smothered beneath smoke,
adrift in an underwater world of vodka and TV
where an ever revolving cast implores you
to make charitable donations
and consolidate all your debts
into one easy monthly repayment,
you are weighted down
by all of your past hopes and dreams,
silently screaming through the nightmare
of life not turning out as you expected.
But, still, you can't go back.
All you can do is keep moving forward,
keep staring down the daylight
like you stare down the darkness;
unblinking, unafraid,
ready to face the nameless, shapeless form
of histories,
ghosts,
ready to look in the mirror
for the first time in years
with a smile that could shame the sun.
DISSOLVING
We are in a bar
and she gives me a pill
that her mother has been prescribed.
Its name has an X in it
which I find very exciting.
It dissolves on my tongue
just like truth dissolves in cider.
Her mother is American
and she is American
and she also has black skin
which I also find very exciting
and exotic, somehow.
Her braided hair,
her talk,
the view from the window;
all of this combines with the effects of the pill
until I am somewhat bemused
and dreaming of a room
with flickering TV light,
a warm, soft bed
and shadows forming faces
whispering sweet somethings
that roughly translate
as "I love you".
SILENT PARTNER
On their way to a party,
they see him trying to jump off a bridge,
this dishevelled middle-aged man
with holes in his trousers
and worn leather shoes.
He is the silent partner
in a successful business,
owns an American Express card
and drinks expensive whiskey
but it has been years
since he has known love.
They ask for his address
and lead him back there
through the long shadowy streets,
making sure he is settled
before heading off to enjoy their fun.
He switches on the television,
turns it up loud
and pours himself a drink.
Later, the neighbours may complain
or even call the police
but surely even that must be better,
he thinks,
than spending the rest of the night all alone.
13.7 BILLION YEARS OF HELL
Selected Dispatches from an Unwilling Player of God�s Little Game
By Gary Simmons
I was in bed ALL day yesterday. Too much to tell but I went a bit MAD! Lost �5-odd by helping some nice chick through the tube barriers coz this nazi-scum ticket inspector wouldn�t let her in and he yelled at me and I yelled at him and who fuckin� CARES coz the Welsh guys got me booze and entry to the Crowbar so the �9 in total that it cost me pretty much came back� it�s yin and yang, baby! And Carlos has yin and yang TATTOOED on his arm, all new and fishy-like! Sis on phone to mum, all upset coz Marcus has fucked-off to France with Chevy for some bike racing SHIT! Me? I want a little normality from the mayhem (nearly got into another fight, on the bus. White British AGAIN!) Met a guy from Glasgow who had a BOX of champagne on him, like he was cradling a baby! Ate from bins (WRAPPED�in a polystyrene box) and folk gave me chicken and shit� WHY pay? We are ANIMALS and we fight the, so-called, �germs� with our natural de-fence-says! Well, I only do it coz I�m pissed from 12 hours boozing!! What have I become? A HAPPY boy!! Oh, and Gabriella had a baby girl and she�s all snug with Carlos and the stars are in their courses and galaxies are like grains of sand� who are YOU? Who ARE you?! Who are WE??
*
19th June 2007, 4.20pm � Havin� appendix out! xxx
6.27pm - I�m layin� �ere in the lap o� luxury, being waited on hand and foot, surrounded by horny SLUTS in NURSY outfits before being DESPATCHED to the next world. Just �had� gorgeous Indian anaesthetist ask me questions. Yum cunt-gnawin� YUM!
20th June 2007, 1.43am � Had op under general anaesthetic at 8-9pm. Just had a BIG BOLSHY MUG O� HOT STEAMIN� CHAI and 6 custard creams � my 1st food and liquid for 15 HOURS! Well fun!
10.27am � Very tired, very awkward to move. 1 nurse is called Lolita. No TV or radio unless you have a fortune but I just bought a TIMES!
8.26pm � Home, less one ap-pen-dicks� as you predicted! Well, they WERE gonna �let me� stay another night if my blood test was bad. SO THERE!
8.46pm � Just had dinner at home, a YEAR since I came home after M�s landlord found me out! Also; had op on sis�s birthday and 20 years since I saw Guns �n� Roses at Marquee!
21st June 2007, 3.53pm � My bum WORKS! My bum works!! I did poo-poos!! A nice slow chug down the hershy-highway and a FINE bowel stool was produced! One of the best performances the bog has seen since dad�s �piss with drills of blood�. WHOOPY-YI-YAY!!!! If only I could picture-message you a shot of my well-caste turd! My ass is quite clean too. Good old Whipps!
6.25pm � Celebrated THAT by having a kip. STS landing delayed until 8.30pm, or maybe till tomorrow. Storm clouds.
6.46pm � Put some rubbish out for tomorrow�s collection. Impulse 7 V/A tape plays � Bodychoke�s �Whore�. Nice. �Not fit to eat my shit, I control, I control�� WOO!
GEROGARY�S �FINALLY, WORDS CANNOT SPEAK OF MUSIC; THEY CANNOT ELUCIDATE NOR ILLUMINATE. BOTH SOUNDS ENTER THROUGH THE EARS BUT ONLY MUSIC TRAVELS THROUGHOUT AND ANIMATES THE WHOLE BODY. DAVID BOWIE HAS ALWAYS KNOWN THIS.� (SLEEVE NOTES TO DAVID BOWIE�S �SPACE ODDITY� ALBUM, 1972) PLAY-LIST
TOLL-NO DOUBT. Bootleg-of-a-bootleg cassette (�I�d buy this and Necrophilia at Tokyo bootleg shop 198? So, no track lists and no cover!!" says Juntaro Yamanouchi�s insert scrawl and �new mixes of Christ Knows plus extra tracks and �dub� mixes of the album� says one of Broken Flag�s 1985 lists. Get the CD re-issue from juicy Justin at Cold Spring)
JAPANESE TV HEROES �60. Bootleg cassette (Done for me by a Japanese mate, Gunn, these are theme tunes to various 1960s Jap kids shows. You just GOTTA use �Mighty Jack� for your band�s next live intro! Talk about incitement to RIOT!! No idea as to label or date)
TOTAL-BEYOND THE RIM. LP (From the stiff yanky cover, to the sleeve art, the track titles and, of course, the music itself, this is seemingly all from another world. Out-fuckin�-STANDING!! Majora. 1993)
TOTAL-HERE TIME IS SPACE. Double LP (Same generous comments as above, plus I wish I was Mat Bower�s 10 year-old nymphet� er, if he�s INTO such refined diversions, of course. Majora. 1993/4?)
TV SMITH AND PUNK LUREX O.K.-THE FUTURE USED TO BE BETTER. CD (TV plays with the as-above Finnish band to jump-around-the-room effect. KULTA! Hiljaiset Levyt. 1999)
UNCOMMUNITY-BRUTALITY OF FACT. EP (Three creditable, well-experimental/industrial pieces in the vein of NWW/WH�s �150 Murderous Passions�, TG�s �Second Annual Report�, Mr. Rectifier�s er� �Rectifier� 7�, the Eagles� �Hotel California�, etc. Dwarf. 1985?)
UNDER NEATH WHAT-WHAT IS IT. LP (Super-intelligent late 80s semi-detached psychedelia. Awesome. WEA. 1989)
UNDER NEATH WHAT-WHAT IS IT (TOPANGA CANYON LEAD-FREE INNER CITY BLUES SPACE JAM NUMBER ONE). 7� (�Released on Nov. 10th 1989. Deleted on Nov. 11th 1989 to commemorate a live experience at London�s Marquee club. Only true fans will have got this�� WEA. 1989)
UNSANE-S/T. LP (EFA. 1991)
UNSANE-CONCRETE BED. 7� (Makes you do exactly what the sleeve photo suggests you do. Glitter House. 1990)
For Ant. �R�n�R is dead�� and so, I�m told, are you. FUCK IT!! (Unless yet ANOTHER cunt in the Elephant is a�windin� me up?!)
MUSIC
THE HOLD STEADY � CHIPS AHOY! (VAGRANT)
Okay, so record shops are going bankrupt faster than you can say �Can you lend me a few quid please, Mr Branson?�, British high streets are all identical replicas of each other with zillions of Starbucks, Subways and McDonalds everywhere and all �the kids� would rather download tracks direct onto their iPods and into their Nu-Metal/Emo/whatever-it�s-being-called-this-month-obsessed excuse-for-brains than actually GO OUT and BUY it, so the Hold Steady are to be commended for continuing to put out seven-inch singles like this one (as far as I know, this didn�t come out on CD, although I know the band aren�t TOTALLY career-suicidal as they are fully downloadable) with the tasteful cover art and the exclusive B-sides. I got this mainly for �Arms and Hearts�, a non-album track that soars and sears as the band are wont to do on the vast majority of their songs. However, this single also contains an acoustic version of �Cattle and the Creeping Things� which, sadly, falls way, WAY short of the original. Some songs simply don�t SUIT the stripped-down treatment, lads, and this is one of those songs. Still, a very fine single from a very fine band who aren�t showing signs of becoming tired yet after nearly eight months of heavy rotation on my old skool cassette walkman. All together now, �Whoa-oh-OH-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!�
CODEINE � BARELY REAL (SUB POP)
Got a weird letter in asking me to take part in �a government survey of national importance� in September. It�s in a hotel in Edinburgh and they give you lunch and dinner and pay you �125 and even put you up for the night if you don't live there! Weird! Sounds WELL dodgy. Went into town and had a coffee in the Henglers at around 1.30pm. Sent some zines in the Post Office on Bothwell St then went to HMV and got the new Hold Steady 7" then went to Monorail and bought this 1992 Codeine CD for �2.99 and got a free badge! Sadly, it wasn�t a Codeine badge but a Monorail one. Then I got some houmous and pitta bread, some of which I ate while sitting beneath a statue in a sunny George Square. Was in the Counting House at 3pm for a cider, after going to the modern art gallery to pick up a few free copies of the rag that printed one of my poems. Went to the Auctioneers after that, where I had another cider and read the Metro. Was going to go to the Horseshoe next but saw James outside and didn't feel like seeing him 2 days in a row so went to Failte instead for a 3rd cider and to listen to some Pogues. It was pretty quiet but began to fill up a bit as I was getting set to leave. My next stop was the Society Room, where I had a �1.29 pint of 5% Abbot ale and started writing Andrew's letter. Went to the Brunswick next for more cider. Someone had put tonnes of shitty songs on the jukebox so I hid in my usual dark corner and sulked. Got a fritter roll from the Kings Cafe and walked back along Woodlands Road. Stopped into the Halt for another pint of cider then bought 2 litres and some crisps and was back home at 8.45pm. Bumped into John in the hall, who'd just made himself a burger. He came into my room and we drank, chatted and listened to music until 2am. He said he'd had a seizure in James' room the other week and that's why he's not really been drinking much lately (and James is away in Arran with his parents this week). I had some of his vodka when my cider ran out. He told me he needed a trim so I said I�d ask Cat if she'd do it on Thursday.
CATHAL COUGHLAN � THE SKY�S AWFUL BLUE (BENEATH)
In a week where we�ve been subjected to not ONE but TWO televised benefit concerts where, song after song, mediocrity and hypocrisy poured out like diarrhoea flowing from a well-fucked arsehole, it�s mightily refreshing to hear a song as funny, incisive and tuneful as Cathal Coughlan�s �Amused as Hell� (from this superb 2002 CD, kindly donated by a reader of wealth and taste). As a comment on our oh-so modern, celeb-infested, shallow showbuzz society, it would be hard to beat, with spot-on lyrics like �Now there's a purchase to smooth every frown/Trucks packed with catalogues yawn into town/Billboards and flat screens announce all is well� and �The torsos keep gyrating, all tattooed, oiled and waxed/There's been a revolution, paradise is fact/Do they fuck as well as fake it?�, not to mention �Tonight there is a party for a perfume called Despair�, this is just one of 12 incredible tracks of singer-songwritery genius where cellos weep and clarinets croon along to Cathal�s tales of prostitutes, �cultural heritage and TB graves�. There are NO duff songs here, only ones that are less immediately beautiful and brilliant than others. �And Springtime Followed Summer�, �Denial of the Right to Dream�, �Goodbye Sadness�, �White's Academy� and �A Drunken Hangman� are especially breathtaking but, really, the quality of Cathal�s solo material over his previous work with Microdisney and Fatima Mansions has been a (very recent) revelation to me and I can�t wait to investigate his records further. The best lyricist in the UK? Without a fucking doubt!
THE FATIMA MANSIONS � VIVA DEAD PONIES (KITCHENWARE)
Did someone say Fatima Mansions? Incredibly, only a few days after writing the above review, I stumbled across this 1991 CD languishing unloved in the �Sale� section of Oxfam Music on Glasgow�s Victoria Road (scene of much Asian ultra-violence, drive-by shootings and shit). At only �2.49, HOW could I resist? I even told the retarded fuck-wit behind the counter to keep the (1p) change. My generosity knew NO bounds in my week of exile, looking after a friend�s flat in the boring-as-a-born-again-Christian backwater of Shawlands. Despite not having �Only Losers Take the Bus� on it (even though it�s listed on the cover... must�ve only been on the vinyl version, methinks), this is still a rollickingly fine album, one which I used to have on tape years ago. It kept me company on many a bus journey to and from college, I can tell you. It�s more of a wilder ride than Cathal�s solo offerings and, at times, he sounds quite demented, especially on �Chemical Cosh� and opener �Angel�s Delight�, which starts deceptively gently before exploding into a heavily-guitared refrain of �Burn, motherfucker, burn� and ending with the suggestion �Let�s all kill some cops, some bailiffs, assholes�� Brilliant!
MICRODISNEY � CROOKED MILE (VIRGIN)
Did someone say Microdisney? Yes, someone DID! Two reviews ago! PAY ATTENTION! Found this 1987 vinyl album during a mid-afternoon�s browse in Missing for a nifty �2.50. To be honest, I never much liked Microdisney in the 1980s but my recent adoration of lead singer Cathal Coughlan�s solo work means it�s high time I re-appraised them. Not quite sure WHY I wasn�t keen on them at the time but perhaps it had something to do with various hip fanzines decrying them as �sell-outs�, an opinion that seemed to be founded largely on the strength of this very album. Looking through my bag of 1980s zines (now a bit musty, sadly but inevitably), I could only find one glowing review of this record, in the seminal �Are You Scared to Get Happy� zine from Bristol, which reads (in part) �I�m talking SOUL, this is a fucking classic SOUL LP with a burning heart all choked-up on equal proportions of love and desperate LOATHING� I love this fucking LP and you all just turn away�� Well, YEAH! I can�t really compare this to earlier records by the �Disney as I don�t really remember them but I DID have a stirring of recollection upon hearing opening track �Town to Town� (which was also a single). I think John Peel played it a fair bit, if I�m not mistaken. It�s one of those let�s-run-away-from-it-all kind of songs that I�m a SUCKER for. �When the daily parade of the troubles you made gets you down, just consider the fate of the wide open space from town to town�. It�s a great song and it�s not alone. There�s the lovely, pedal-steeled �Our Children� and the catchy �Hey Hey Sam�, for starters. When he�s not wailing and barking like a dog (on the fade out to �Give Me All Your Clothes�), Cathal is singing like an angel with a devil on it�s shoulder and spitting out brilliant/hilarious/thought-provoking lyrics like �When screaming in the street, you use a disco beat, or your audience will flee, and you�ll be all alone�. He also makes plenty of serious points, beneath the jaunty pop thrills, such as �Mountbatten, where is your shame, turning on troops at the Dachau jail�, �I hate the world, I hate my life and this song� and �Look out of the dosshouse window, vote nazi and die quicker� (which isn�t actually a lyric but is printed on the lyric sheet, where he also writes �The only �guilty� ones in the AIDS saga are the ones who chuckled and said it was none of their affair�). The toppermost song to my ears is called �Back� which is teaming with vitriol and a �barbed-wire rainbow� � �This is what we call a rack, moron/You�re just a straight and you ask for it.� Don�t know how I could have overlooked the genius of this band. And this is meant to be one of their more �commercial� releases, so I REALLY will need to seek out the earlier stuff too.
MELLOW DRUNK � ALWAYS BE DRUNK (GREEN FUSE) / CATHAL COUGHLAN � PAYDAY (COOKING VINYL) / MANIC STREET PREACHERS � GENERATION TERRORISTS (COLUMBIA)
These CDs have been lumped together because I got them all one sober, sunny Wednesday afternoon while out �doing� as many West End charity shops as possible. The most expensive was the Mellow Drunk release (at �1.75 from the Shelter shop in Kelvinbridge). I�d never HEARD of the band before but the title, band name and cover pics of pubs hit home BIG style, so I took a chance. Plus, they�re from San Francisco, so I was hoping for something melancholic, in a similar ballpark to Red House Painters, perhaps. Well, there ARE some cellos and sensitively-plucked acoustic guitars but this has more of a UK indie-pop vibe about it. They even cover a tune by the Orchids, which really should have been a bit of a warning sign (and one of the songs sounds exactly like Lennon�s �Jealous Guy� too). It�s not BAD just not all that INSPIRING, either. Shame. The Cathal Coughlan disc (a promotional four-tracker) was purchased for 50p from Oxfam Music on Byres Road. Couldn�t quite BELIEVE I saw it, actually. It�s songs from his AMAZING �Black River Falls� album (which someone sent me on cassette, though I won�t bore you with any MORE Coughlan-related reviews this issue� I�ll just say that�s it�s been receiving a LOT of plays round here lately). The Manics CD was found in the Shelter shop on Dumbarton Road and came sans cover, but was STILL a quid. Never mind. It�s for CHARITY, maaan! This is an album I was always a bit ashamed of not owning, considering I�ve been a Manics fan since 1990/91, when �everyone� at college hated them for being uppity Welsh oiks in spray-painted DIY T-shirts and white jeans. Of course, there�s a few ropey tracks, but also PLENTY of classics like �You Love Us�, �Stay Beautiful�, �Repeat� (�Repeat after me, fuck Queen and country!� � no knighthoods for THIS lot, then!) and the thrilling �Motorcycle Emptiness�, the song that made people realise they WEREN�T just another bunch of talent-free Clash/Pistols-wannabe thrashers �
la Birdland (anyone remember THEM? They were fucking SHIT!)
DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS � A BLESSING AND A CURSE BONUS DISC (NEW WEST)
Woke at 9.25am. Someone had slid an envelope under my door, which contained a cheque for �14 from a magazine that had accepted one of my poems, so THAT cheered me up a bit. Had some cheapo crisps then went out and paid the cheque into the bank. Posted some Kaw 7"s to a radio station guy in Macedonia who�d emailed me. The nice girl in the Finnieston post office gave me a few customs and airmail stickers. Then I went to the Edward Wylie and ordered a veggie breakfast with coffee and toast. It was only 15 minutes before noon so I just had time to eat my grub before the be-suited office hoardes came in for their luncheons. Went to the next door post office and sent a couple of things to the USA. Felt WELL full-up after my massive brekkie. Looked in a few shops. They were playing Iron Maiden's "Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter� in Virgin and, in Avalanche, I picked up this Drive-By Truckers promo CD for �1.99. It�s a pity that none of the useless record shops seem to have the new album by their ex-member Jason Isbell. Went to the Old Printworks for a �1.50 ale on a comfy sofa and a read of the Metro. Next stop was the Crystal for a FRUITY Pedigree ale. Then, after I got a free bottle of water some promo girls were handing out in the street, I went to O�Henrys, Had a cider there and then went into a BUSY Horseshoe for a pint of Velvet. The usual familiar faces were in. Went to Failte next, then the Brunswick, where I stood in my USUAL dark corner, although it wasn't as dark as usual since they'd put a new lightbulb in. Some good tunes on the jukebox, though � Teardrop Explodes and the Smiths (including �Hand in Glove�). Then I got a bottle of Blackthorn cider and went for a final pint in Wintersgills on Great Western Road � the first time I�d EVER been there, amazingly. It�s pretty spit �n� sawdust (in the bar, at least. I don�t know what the lounge is like). It was �1.95 for a pint of Best. Pretty quiet, but all the folk who WERE there were regulars. One woman was getting a bit of a slagging - some guy kept calling her �Miss Kola Kube� and, at one point, she shouted at him, �I don't mean to be rude but FUCK YOU!� I stopped off in a shop for a cheap pot noodle and was back in the flat at 8.50pm. Ate my crap �meal�, opened my cider and watched �Mock the Week�. Then John knocked my door and I invited him in, even though I was in my underwear and didn't feel like drinking with anyone. He showed me the Telecaster he'd bought earlier that day and we chatted for a little bit. I played my new CD a few times and he liked the cover of �Like a Rolling Stone�. Then I watched �Nazi Pop Twins�, a crazy doc about some ultra-right wing 15 year-olds and their EVIL mother and grandfather, who brands his cattle with swastikas.
JESUS WITH ME � S/T (PSYCH-O-PATH) by Gary Simmons
QUACK-HACK�S NOTE: Thank you for your attention. Since this review was written, back in August 2005, many things have changed. Indeed, it would be foolish to assume that it could be otherwise. On a practical level, I am back at home with Mummy and Daddy after well o�er a year of living, Anne Frank style, in retard-infested North Finchley and a further three months �legally� in Archway. Although my financial position is getting weaker, it has always been my policy to produce material that is exactly how I want it rather than to sacrifice honesty for delusions. �I don�t believe illusions, cos too much is real, stop your cheap comment, cos we know what we feel�. Pretty Vacant � Sex Pistols, 1977. Do what you want with me. GEROGARY, JULY 2007.
Allo! Gary �ere...reviewing for you (and ONLY you) from a parental-imposed exile. Exile in godforsaken North Finchley, no less. And I thought ILFORD was bad! (er...it IS!) Ok, if you wanna get the lowdown on my plight, that is the laying on my bedroom floor, naked, in front of my bewildered and no longer loving parents, the failing to get myself sectioned despite 3 police officers and 2 paramedics dan moi boudoir and my being barred from my own home of 40 years...then kindly go to www.giag.lv and/or www.geocities.com/hiroshimayeah and have a butchers at my �Non-Fiction Eviction� essay. MY loif will never be the same again, dunno �bout YOURS!! Nice of Bob to give me a couple of CD�s to review in my seemingly endless torment...I SHOULD be doing a report on 5 audio cassettes for Richo�s Adverse Effect zine but, and fuck knows why, it looks like an unscaleable MOUNTAIN of work to me whereas this CO commissioned review SEEMS to be a piece of piss. Sorry Richo, I really AM a useless fucking cunt, dad was spot-on with THAT observation, it�s all very clear to me now.
Right, enough of all the pretence at self-pity, it makes ya SICK, dun�it?! Yes, yes it DOES. Onto my first INTENTIONAL piece in 5 bloody months, pro-bob-lee more; This CD is, as you can see above, on the Psych-o-Path label which, if memory serves me correctly, I slagged off with venom in CO many moons ago. Can�t re-mem-blur WHAT bands they were...go check it all out with back-issues of CO if you care. Or if you don�t. Alas, I, for one, don�t give a TOSS anymore. (I do REALLY, but I am banned from �my� house and therefore have no access to my oh-so extensive documentations and archives. BASTARD FATHER!!!!)
Jesus With Me are 4 Russians who met in NYC in the late 1990�s and began to jam together, �They wanted to reach to the Higher Spirit, so they called their band �Jesus With Me.� Hmmm...yeeeeaaaassss. It says �heavy psychedelic freakout rock, influenced by Amon Duul I, Faust, Can, High Rise, Keiji Haino and YaHoWha 13� (WHO?!) �As the rehearsals progressed, they noticed a certain Presence� (Wot? Led Zepplins�s? HA!!) �It would happen while they jammed, suddenly It was there, floating in the air, among the noises and sounds. �Jesus came when we played today� Edward said one day.� Or was Jesus just a�breathin� heavy? This lot are deluding themselves BIG TIME BABY!!!!
�Jesus With Me played shows locally for about a year� says the press release�And then one day they stopped playing� WHY?! Were they CRUCIFIED then? Have they RISEN then? Why the fuck DID they stop �one day�? God knows...literally! Eduard Kleyner, guitar, managed to record some of this �enigmatic� music onto tape so, without further obstructions, sarcastic anti-religious and downright cynical comments from hated-by-my-own-family li�l ol� me, let us PLAY (geddit?) the CD.
Into Maggie Ponce�s small one it goes and..Two tracks; first track �Silence in the space of half an hour� is really rather good. Low upfront base, intricate twin guitar meanderings and chugging uphill drums go to make this a choice back-drop of controlled chaos for walking on the water and swimming on the land (that�s King Missile, not me). A nicely unpolished god-awful row with a gritty sleeve artwork that looks like some sort of Earth observation satellite imagery set in sepia and proves that the people/person at Psych-o-Path records do/does have at least SOME taste after all... or maybe this was just a freek-chance-lucky-dip-guided-by-the-light-stumbled-upon signing! Don�t Blow Hole sound a bit like this? Free Jazz for Death Metal heads. Oh� I was just waiting for track 2, �And they sang a new song�, to begin but both these pieces herein just seem to roll into one uninterrupted CD-long episode. (Actually, I spotted the �gap� on my 3rd listen... I�m a fuckin� PRO-ya-KNOW!!) Yep, this is a GOOD CD. Makes one even more curious as to just WHY they fuckin� STOPPED!
Contact: www.psych-o-path.com...it ain�t THAT difficult, IS it?!
GIG
WETDOG � BUFFALO BAR, LONDON, 13TH JUNE 2007 by Gary Simmons
SENT TO MARK RITCHIE � �On tube 2 ChekOut tym o band then i go art show wat sum girl invited me 2 ages ago, then look in buildin cntre THEN 2 Camden 2 maybe c Carlos + bgn mayhem PROPER!�
RECEIVED FROM MARK RITCHIE � �Having a hangover-easing latte in the Henglers. Got a �35 cheque in 4 3 Smiths 12�s. Going 2 c Dave�s new flat 2moro+booze w/ him. Enjoy Detwog. DRINK, SHITE+FUK!�
SENT TO MARK RITCHIE � �i�m not on the Wetcunt gest list so FUK THEM! Goin bak 2 Camden where i blong. Carlos so pist he slap my naked belly+made Gabriella cry. So, no change there.�
RECEIVED FROM MARK RITCHIE � �Yeah � FUK Eggnog. They look SHIT anyway. Had 7 pints in various pubs+found �1. I celebrated by getting 2 litres of Blackthorn! I�ll DESTROY E. Kilbride 2moro!�
SENT TO MARK RITCHIE � �I am bord o London so i ges i�m bord o LYF! Nufin livz up 2 my spoiltbrat xpectations so y shud I wast my precious tym? i want evryfin + i want it NOW! FUK IT ALL!�
RECEIVED FROM MARK RITCHIE � �Bored of London? Cum 2 Glasgow! It�s NEVER boring trying 2 avoid the constant threat of death! Dave rang. He�s got 2 C his psychiatrist 2moro B4 we meet! Yeah!�
NEXT DAY�
SENT TO MARK RITCHIE � �Got up 4 a spoiltbrat luncheon but now BAK in bed. Puked in bog last night, probly frm the �cans frm my favrit store, oh garbage dump..� Now i got the hots 4 Jess!�
RECEIVED FROM MARK RITCHIE � �In Sloanes, a pub i often 4get is here cos it�s up an alley. Paul had his wedding reception here. Got an hour 2 kill b4 i get bus, so.. I DRINK! Cheers! Chilly.�
BOBBY HELL
�You guys have been great! Thanks a lot for coming tonight! We�ll see ya all next time!�
Drenched in sweat, Bobby Hell leaves the stage and a member of the road crew hands him a large, fluffy towel.
�Hey, man, this towel�s WHITE! What the fuck�s up with THAT? It says on the rider BLACK towels only!�
�Sorry, Mr. Hell. I�ll go and speak to the promoter.�
�Yeah, you DO that, pal!�
�Yo, Bobby,� the guitarist calls out from the steps of the stage. �Are we doing another encore or what? They�re going NUTS out there.�
�Nah, fuck �em, man. We�ve done our 90 minutes. They can kiss my ass.�
Pushing past a throng of assembled photographers from the local press, Bobby Hell enters the dressing room and throws himself down onto a plush leather sofa. The room has been decorated entirely to his specifications, in various shades of blue and green with lavender-scented candles burning on every surface. Bottles of mineral water and imported Spanish beer sit in a huge ice bucket in the middle of a function table whose white tablecloth gleams as brightly as Bobby�s cosmetically-treated teeth. A flustered young woman from the record label rushes in with a clipboard and addresses him nervously.
�Mr. Hell, there�s a couple of phone interviews to do, I�m afraid.�
�Aw, I can�t be bothered with all that shit,� he says, gulping down some water straight from the bottle. �Get someone else to do it. YOU do it, man.�
The drummer has only just entered the room and looks startled. Hesitantly, he walks over to where Bobby is seated and says �But I can�t, man. I just did a hit of acid!�
�You only just got off stage! ALRIGHT!� Bobby chuckles. �Well, who cares? It�s probably just for some dumb-ass local hick papers anyway. Go do it.�
Chastened, the drummer exits with the woman from the label, leaving Bobby alone in the dressing room. He can still hear the roar of the sell-out crowd chanting his name from out in the auditorium. Snapping on a pair of expensive Italian shades and a cowboy hat, which were on the rider along with the black towels, he goes over to a full-length mirror in the corner and gazes at himself lovingly. I should�ve worn these onstage tonight, he thinks, before being disturbed by a knock at the door.
�WHO IS IT?� he yells.
The door opens slowly and a teenage girl sheepishly enters.
�Hi, Mr. Hell, I was just� just wondering if you could maybe sign my CDs?�
When he finally breaks away from gazing at his own reflection, Bobby�s face lights up at the sight of the young fan in her tight-fitting blue jeans, faded M�tley Cr�e T-shirt and box-fresh white Nike trainers.
�Sure, baby. Come on in. Would you like a beer?�
�Um, sure. But I�m under 21, you know?�
�I kinda guessed that but, hey, I won�t tell if you won�t!�
She giggles and accepts a bottle from the ice bucket as Bobby Hell pulls out a marker pen and scrawls his signature on her CD covers. Just then, the guitarist walks in, followed by the woman from the label who hovers around with her clipboard for a few seconds before disappearing again.
�Hey, baby,� Bobby says to the fan, �if you wanna have some fun later, we�re staying at the Plaza. I�m in room 312. Ask at the desk for Glenn Tipton.�
The girl stares at him blankly. �Huh?�
�You know, like the guy from Judas Priest? Oh, and if you�ve got any younger sisters, bring �em along too!�
He smirks, high-fives the guitarist and begins to unzip his leather jeans. The fan looks startled, as she nervously sips her beer.
�Sorry, sweetie, but I gotta change. You can stick around if you want, though.�
�No, it�s okay. I need to be getting home. My dad�s waiting outside in the car. Thanks for signing these.�
�Hey, no problem. Remember, room 312!�
After the girl has gone, Bobby Hell slips into a pair of clean denims before returning his gaze to the full-length mirror and absent-mindedly runs his hands along the upper half of his naked torso.
�Hey, man,� he asks the guitar player, who is looking around for a bottle opener, �you think I should buy a race-horse?�
�Yeah, sure. Why not?�
��Cause this chick I met last night was telling me about how it�s, like, a good investment and shit, you know?�
�Was that the chick you banged at the hotel?�
�Yeah�� Bobby smiles, his right hand lingering tenderly on the eagle tattoo decorating his glistening, hairless chest. �She was hot!�
�Totally!� the guitarist agrees.
Suddenly, the door flies open and a roadie walks in.
�What the fuck IS it?� Bobby Hell screams.
�Here are your black towels, Mr. Hell.�
�Oh yeah. Thanks, man. Hey! Why don�t you go see about getting me some fuckin� PUSSY? Pick out some hot lookin� young chicks from the crowd and put them onto the tour bus. I�ll be out there in about twenty minutes.�
�Okay, Mr. Hell.�
The guitar player follows the roadie out into the rapidly emptying auditorium. The crowd of photographers has now dispersed, the only evidence of their presence a few crushed and discarded paper cups littering the dirty floor.
Back in the blue and green dressing room filled with lavender-scented candles, Bobby Hell is once again left alone with his own reflection and a gigantic bucket full of melting ice.
DIARY FUN
woke at about 8.25. all was quiet. i watched 'wright'. it was sunny again. got a couple of photocopies to send to gary in the library. walked into town. got a VLT from grassroots and went into the henglers for a BIG coffee (99p), sitting on a comfy sofa. readied the copies to send with an unfranked stamp. looked in some shops and left some HY! flyers in monorail. got the jason isbell solo CD at last, in avalanche, only about 2-3 WEEKS after it came out!. went to the scotia for a cider. beardy OMP from last night was there, holding court at the bar with several pals. my mad ex-neighbour donald was ALSO in, with someone. he had shades on and white shoes and didn't see me. i was engrossed in my metro. spent �4 on a mark eitzel 'songs of love live' vinyl album in missing (even though i�ve got it on CD). some guy asked me how much a ringo starr CD was (it clearly said �4 on it) and they were playing death metal (i got served by a new guy who was wearing a napalm death t-shirt). had another cider in the john moore. some guy came in, shouting 'does anybody have a mobile phone?' and swearing and shit. i kept mine hidden but he eventually got some girl's and took it outside. a few folk followed him, in case he nicked it. he said he was phoning the cops or something but then, after he'd given the phone back, he started kicking off at this other guy who was sitting outside and i think he threw something at him and a couple of staff members went out and it looked like he was gonna PUNCH one or both of them. he eventually fucked-off about 15 minutes before the cops came. very strange. i left, got a pasty from greggs then went to borders and read an article on whitehouse in 'wire' mag. went to o'henry's and had a cider upstairs then went to the horseshoe and had a velvet standing by the fag machine, with a good view of drunken eyes. cider jimmy was in too. went to failte next and had a standing-at-the-bar cider. some drunk woman was refused service and said she'd take the barman�s photo and tell the POLICE!! brunswick next- it was all dark again in my special corner but i sat at an actual TABLE after a while as it was quiet. had another cheapo cider in nico's next, standing at the bar. then i ran into erren and her mate simon in the street. we hugged, etc. she's working in a nearby starbucks now! i went to the halt for a final pub cider. chas 'n' dave played! was back at 9. ate a cheap pot noodle, drank cider and watched a couple of things, incl. a thing about gay rights. brian sewell, the art ponce. said something good (even though i don't like him) - "i never came out. i still haven't. but i'm slowly emerging". went to bed at about 12.10 or so, i think. next day, i woke at 9. john knocked my door to present me with gary's letter. he was going out to get cash from the PO. some CUNT had left a yellow pages lying open in the hall with 'escort agencies' circled and 'room 7' (my room) written next to it. the only thing i could think of that i'd done to 'deserve' this was watching that gay thing last night. needless to say, i was perplexed and really pissed off about the whole thing. had noodles and a coffee. saw james. he said he's 'feeling great' after being off the drink for the last week. john knocked my door again at about 11.05. i showed him the yellow pages and HE was perplexed too. he came in with his vodka but i said i'd rather go OUT so we DID, just before noon. we went to jinty's and sat in their new-ish beer garden. despite the sun, it was a while before anyone else came out. 2 thuggish looking guys asked me if i knew what a clarinet was (??) and john told me that he was woken up at 5am the other day by 2 cops at his door. james had stopped drinking abruptly and was manically cleaning his room then, during the night, he thought there were people outside his window threatening to kill him, so he walked all the way to maryhill police station in his pyjamas and bare feet, cutting all his feet in the process. the cops took him to the hospital and they wanted to admit him but he wouldn't let them. mad! i don't know why he had to involve john, though. i had 2 ciders, john had a magners and then we left and went to a new place (to me, anyway) called the loft, which is part of the grosvenor cinema. it's really spacious and nice inside with comfy sofas and shit. i had another 2 ciders there to john's 1 lager. we had a heated debate about violent racial crime, john's arguments mainly starting with 'i'm not racist but..' we also discussed 'the yellow pages incident' a lot, as i couldn't get it off my mind. next stop was curlers. a couple of people john hadn't seen in a while were in but we sat on our own. then we went to tennant's bar. it was busy, as it was around 5pm, and mad donald came in and sat nearby, though i don't think he saw me. he looked really drunk. then we went further down byres rd to the aragon, and donald was in THERE too! this time we said hello and then he vanished again. had a couple in there before realising it was after 9pm so we went to haddows and i got 4 cans of strongbow for later. we had a final pint in tennant's (again). all in all, i'd had 10 pints of cider but i actually felt okay. i think it was cos i was all hyped-up about the yellow pages thing. anyway, i got a roll on potato scone from the maggie van when we were walking back to the flat. we got in at 10.45 and john brought his digital 8-track recorder and new telecaster into my room and i tried to see if i could record something, as he's intimidated by the zillion page instruction book. after a while and a bit of trouble, i got something down, just a test guitar line, so THAT was good and i drank my 4 cans of cider and we took some painkillers and chatted and played music til 3.30am. just before he left, he puked up in a plastic bag. next day, i got up at 11.30. walked into town and was in the ed wylie just before 1pm. had a latte. the barmaid gave me a 'collector's card' where you get a free coffee if you buy 4 over a certain time period. nice! it was really busy with the lunchtime rush. i sat by a window. got some reduced grub (garlic bread, pancakes) and water from somerfield and wandered around a bit then went to the counting house for a cider and a read of gary's letter. i enjoyed that so much, i went to the old printworks next for a velvet and some more reading. then to o'henry's for a cider then to a busy horseshoe. i stood near the bogs but i saw drunken eyes was in � cider jimmy WASN'T, but i DID see him in the bank AND I saw dennis walking down the street. failte was quieter but some drunk PRICK with a baseball cap on aggressively asked me if i was ok then, after harrassing some other folk who seemed to think he was WONDERFUL, he said to me, as he made his way to the loo, 'a'right, ya slut bag?' on the way back AGAIN, he just kinda said 'aright?' he was going up to other folk too & saying shit. i was out of there after that. drank up FAST. went to the society room for a 1.29 abbot. the pub quiz had just started but i was reading/replying to gary's letter. after that, whilst walking up a hill, some guy who looked like he'd just finished working in an office said to me 'are you in a good mood or a bad mood?' and said he needed 73p to get home. 'or an all-day bus ticket'! i said, if i HAD an all-day ticket, i'd GIVE him it. had a cider in the brunswick next. it was BUSY. went to the variety for a pee then went into a QUIET griffin for a �2.60 cider. got a bottle of blackthorn and wandered into wintersgills for a �1.93 cider. it was WELL busy with idiots watching a celtic game. i just sat in a corner then fucked off after my pint. was back at 9.45. after a while, i knocked john's door to see if he wanted his gear back but he said no and did i fancy a wee drink? so he came into my room and we drank and played music and shit (he tuned my guitar to open d and i played him some songs and put on daniel johnston/GG DVD)s. i had a couple of vodkas when my cider ran out. we also took some herbal sleeping pills. earlier on, i'd taken an anti-dihorea one. john went back to his room at 4.15am.