FRANKIE DELMANE- Time Is Gonna Strangle You

COME PICK UP YOUR TRASH!!! NUMBER 23 HAS ARRIVED!!!

Yes kids, ISSUE #23 has arrived, fresh from the fine folks over at Charlie Chan Printing- this issue is a power packed episode full of the great things that make my mind spin- those things only myself and a handful of other crazies can comprehend all at once. Are you one of those? I feel there are more of us than the world knows, so let us unite in our aspiration to discover things that may or may not titillate your senses, shock your soul, or just plain make you giggle with delight. This particular issue comes with 2 CDs- One of my more fabulous mixes of excellent songs from punk to soul to country to glitter to cock rock, and a second CD of my own sonic works, a collection from the previous 10 years, much of which I am obnoxiously proud of. In addition, the first 10 orders will receive a free copy of the newly launched TRASH TV! A DVD of visual delights (akin to that great show NIGHTFLIGHT, from days of yore) in conjunction with the zine's theme of across the board madness. The price reflects rising postage costs, sadly- but if you request it direct from the Amoeba Music Web site, you can order it with free (only in the USA is it free shipping) shipping - at www.amoeba.com. So come on now and support some free thinking, idiosyncratic exploitation. Have some fun, you deserve it.

RECORD STORE DAY TO SEE MORE MIDDLE AGED WHITE DUDES THAN EVER BEFORE

2014's Record Store Day is set to be a record breaking event for the middle aged white man, whose disposable income has tripled in the last 5 years do to his brand new tech savvy job. Concerns and fears were raised by College students this week over being able to actually get the cool, new, limited edition 7" records from their favorite indie bands in light of this year's massive middle aged influx.

"Middle aged dudes are far more aggressive than their younger counterparts," stated Dr. Kilby Rhodes, head of psychology at USC, "They tend to get crankier more quickly, shower less,  and have an enormous sense of expectation that can be frightening." Students at UC Berkley affirm these fears. "Those middle aged white dudes are crazy, " said Sergio Pimentel, a second year Law Student. "They will do anything to get those Flaming Lips or White Stripes exclusives." Last year, a middle aged white dude bit Sergio's hand so badly he needed 32 stitches.

"We are prepared this year" said Jefferson Smith, floor manager at Amoeba Music in Hollywood, "we have plenty of floor staff scheduled to escort the bladder impaired to the rest room 6, 7, maybe 8 times with in the hour- as many of these men will no doubt fill up on coffee, beer, and soda at the restaurant next door, and then demand to use our employee bathroom because they are too drunk to remember the place they just left has a public bathroom for customer use. We are ready for all of it, though we do advise you steer clear when you see one of these middle aged white dudes  in action -between their girth, determination to fill the empty void in their souls, and general displeasure with the way the world turns, you could get seriously injured if you are caught in the cross fire" said Smith, who best handles these situations making sure his store is stocked with middle aged white man goodies to quell any disappointments. "As long as you carry tons of Wilco, Sonic Youth, and Beck records- anything the middle aged white dude cannot get exclusive to that day will be forgotten- these legacy artists are a sure fire "fix' to any middle aged crazy that may occur. 

Such things over heard from years gone by; "What do you mean you only got 5 copies?" "Oh, I'll just find it on line. Thanks for nothing." "It's a Third Man exclusive? Lame."

Record Store Day 2014 is April 19.   

Riki Tiki Tavi

Riki Tiki Tavi

REJECT THE SYSTEM WITH RIOT GIRL RUIN: The Punk Singer (2013)

The Punk Singer is a documentary about Kathleen Hanna, singer of feminist punk rock band Bikini Kill. It details her life in music and art up to the present day. Inside the first 25 minutes I was already acting like a shitty, bullish man- taking ownership of the feminist punk narrative in my own mind, shaming this documentary for lack of historical perspective in regards to this riot girl revolt; Anti-Scrunti Faction, Frightwig, The Neo Boys, Lydia Lunch, M99, The Gits, The Slits, Delta 5, The Raincoats, X Ray Spex, Diamanda Galas- just to name a few. All feminist artists- some far more extreme and bold than any in the Riot Girl Movement. I was chaffed at the very notion that the film begins it's narrative as if that stuff had never existed- that the only historical perspective they offer is the way back 60s Gloria Steinem connect. The cover for Patti Smith's Horses LP did as much for freeing young women's (and men's) ideas about sexuality as a dozen fanzines.

Once I had gotten this out of my brain space, I sat back, shut the fuck up and realized that this is one person's story that explodes into a thousand, maybe a million, other people's stories. That it is a story we can all relate to makes it that much more endearing. The struggle to be heard above the din, to escape our childhood dramas, to be loved, to give love, to create, to help, to force the world to see our vision of ourselves rather than the one assigned to us at birth. The documentary itself is not as stunning and deep as you may want- lacking fluidity, style, a cohesive story telling directive that could have expressed more the explosive, thrilling, intoxicating magic of this time period, the riot girl movement, the pulse and throb of the music. It misses this opportunity entirely. It has a flat, matter of fact vibe- one that engages, but never engrosses. The film also feels one sided- no women from any other scene are represented, or comment on the riot girl movement and how it may have affected them during this period. It would have been nice to see a wider perspective.

As you come to the reason Kathleen Hanna retired from performance in 2005, it becomes a fragile, human drama, and the entirety of the film and all of it's attendant problems are rendered moot, as you see this woman reach to become herself again. The final frame is given to our subject matter- still tough, still energized, still ready to remind those who forget, you don't need anybody but yourself and those who got your back. The rest is just bullshit hype.

DAYTRADERS BROKER PUNK COMMODITIES IN FILM AND FINANCE: CBGB, The Movie (2013)

Unlike Oliver Stone's 1991 film The Doors, the new film about the now legendary CBGB club is a complete piece of shit. The Doors film- as bad and inaccurate as that was- has at least taken on a camp value that is mostly hilarious and fun to watch unravel before your eyes; This CBGB film is so devoid of intelligence or art or plotted pose the only emotion left is contempt, which quickly melts into a sad hypothesis that it may be a propaganda film created by establishment conservatives, to confuse and confound any one interested in the actual ideas and environment from whence this music came.

I could start by picking on the shit bag film making- the flat cinematography, the poor costuming, the hideous make up,  the way in which the film makers seem to disregard any sense of congruency in favor of squeezing out enough of a commercial to sell this era to a new generation of know nothings. This film plays like an extended GAP advertisement for punk. Considering that Taylor Hawkins- the drummer for mall rock stalwarts Foo Fighters- plays Iggy Pop- terribly, mind you- should be a dead give away that this is not a serious film made by anyone who wants to make great entertainment- rather, it seems to have leaked from the bowels of business interests hell bent on draining any sense of danger or excitement, in order to produce a nice, neat, clean package of yesterday nostalgia. The marketing department must be having an orgasm.

Not all is lost, however. The music itself is wonderful-  imaginative, fantastic, galvanizing- it is no mystery as to why the filmmakers have wallpapered this visual calamity with great songs of the era- even if many of them are totally out of synch with timeline and incident. Alan Rickman, as CBGB proprietor Hilly Kristal, brings the only true acting weight to the proceedings, the only performance compelling enough to watch. Donal Logue- playing Kristal's partner- is passable- but the rest of this cast is much like the dog shit that littered the CBGB floor. Much of the cast renders their famous counterparts nothing more than Mickey Mouse teeny boppers with quaint directives rather than the mutant rejects of a society too pretty to tolerate such ugliness. Malin Ackerman as Debbie Harry is particularly awful, avoiding Harry's sweet, adorable sexuality in favor of grinding like a strip club slut. Mickey Summer as Patti Smith is also particularly bad- yet, Justin Bartha as Stiv Bators may be one of the worst portrayals of a known entity I have witnessed.

The story itself is interesting enough to be told, absolutely. Yet, a dramatization such as this- artless, colorless, mediocre- is the wrong way in which to present such a thrilling tale. There is a joy attached to knowing that this music has become part of the fabric of American Pop culture, finally- that all of those sick, crazy, disgusting, strange, weird ideas have made it to the mainstream- but at what cost? When it all gets muddled and mashed into this modern day hybrid of robotic dialogue and ready made trend bait, it tends to cancel out the importance of the thing itself. And even if it is mere entertainment in the end, a film made about it should be equally entertaining. This CBGB movie is not.   

DEATH IS ALL AROUND IN THE DRUG SPIRAL OF LIFE: The Death Of Richie (1976)

One of the single greatest teenage drug movies ever made, The Death Of Richie (titled "Richie" on the original Prism video box) follows a young Robbie Benson on his hell ride through teenage drug addiction, as he cruises around with his wastoid friends popping pills, smoking grass, doing angel dust and LSD and all sorts of goodies that get you good and gone against the grind of the demands of being young and white in the suburbs. Ben Gazzara is masterful in his role as the tightly wound, overly concerned, angry father who desires to have the father son relationship he once had when Richie was younger, now replaced by high school concerns that don't include Mom and Dad. As Richie falls deeper and deeper into his drug fueled, anti social fast lane, the parental concerns become more threatening, intense, and ultimately, tragic. Eileen Brennen plays Richie's mother- bitten lip, furrowed brow, worried eyes- she is in a perpetual state of anguish over her son's behavior as well as the tension between father and son- a tension the typically results in shouting matches and loud threats, followed by Richie's retreat into his secret drug crawl space, where he turns on and stares at the flashing lights and zones out of his problems completely. It is a fantastic, groovy, way out little space. Originally a TV Movie Of The Week, the cast is flawless- 70s child superstar Lance Kerwin plays Richie's brother, with the ever solid Clint Howard and the one of a kind comedian Charles Fleischer as Richie's drug buddies. And the 1976 visuals are wonderful- the pinball arcade, the parks, the clothes, the hair, the cars, the restaurants- it's all there, in glorious, gritty color. Exploitative realism at it's finest.