MOOM PITCHER REVIEW! THE KID, STARRING CHARLIE CHAPLIN AND JACKIE COOGAN (1921)

OK, I will admit that I went into this one just knowing that I was going to hate it if only because of Charlie Chaplin's status as some sort of comedic ideal that frankly hasn't been relevant to anything for years. Yeah I know as Brad Kohler would have said, I don't have to hate Chaplin just because Dick Cavett likes him but still, after all of the reams of sensitive retrospectives regarding the man's films and the fact that he was such a living god as far as cinema and comedy went to the point where he was allowed to make unfunny films for years after his shelf life expired...well things like that kinda do somethin' to a fella like me and not exactly in a positive way. All of that sophisticated NEW YORKER spin on the guy we've had to endure for years makes me want to eschew anything related to Chaplin even if it is his very early work at the Keystone studios. At least that was an era which I'll admit was the only period of the guy's career I wouldn't mind being front and center for if any film retrospectives would happen to be playing 'round these here parts.

After letting loose of all of my anti-Chaplin prejudices (at least temporarily) I decided to dive head first into this much lauded feature of his and---uh---well, maybe this film wasn't the art house beret and stale Doritos affair I sure thought it would be!  It wasn't anything that I would praise to high heaven hallelujah and hosanna-style true, but I managed to sit through the entire film while being able to eke out some enjoyment which is more than I can say about some of the current offal passing as cutting edge entertainment I may have caught a glimpse of.

THE KID is undoubtedly an early-twenties dish-it-out comedy/melodrama typical of the time, the kind of film that would soon go out of style by the end of the decade when the old guard would get wooshed away with a crop of new stars reducing 'em all to supporting roles in some East Side Kids film. It begins with a young woman, played by longtime Chaplin somethingorother Edna Purviance, being released from the Home for Unwed Mothers  carrying her new package so-to-speak into an uncertain world. Boy can you see all of the heartstring-tugging that went into that opening...I guess people felt sorry for sluts and bastards even way back a century ago. Anyway Purviance, in a fit of conflicting emotions, leaves the little stranger in the back of some ritzy limo which gets swiped, and when the culprits discover the turdling in the back they do the right thing, mainly drop it in a decrepit alleyway right next to the garbage. But as you and everyone else watching this would expect, Purviance has a change of heart and wants her bundle of not-so-joy back but hey, it's too late sister. Anyway it serves you right dumping the thing in the first place!

Now's the part where Chaplin, once again ramming his little tramp persona into the ground, finds the baby and after trying to pawn him off and even considering tossing him down the sewer does the worst thing imaginable and raises the foundling himself. Five years later the kid turns out to be budding child star Jackie Coogan and of course the two get into the usual romps and tumbles (including the old one where Coogan breaks windows and Chaplin steps in to repair them gag), all culminating in the scene where the welfare agency takes the kid away in what I guess is a real tearjerker of a scene given how a whole slew of documentaries love showing it repeatedly.  Everything eventually come to the kind of a head you would expect from a 1921 silent film custom made to make the sophisticados chitchat over while the suburban slobs have a good laff at all the pratfalls they've been seeing from Chaplin for a good seven years already.

Overall it ain't a bad film, but there's a slick veneer of art and culture here that might have worked with DW Griffith although with Chaplin it all seems too "Victorian" and perhaps what I would call "stilted". Like its trying way too hard to elicit the proper emotions which might have worked with some, but definitely not with me or undoubtedly even you. I mean, I am a guy who is still wowed and devastated by Griffith's BROKEN BLOSSOMS in my own cornball aw shucks way, but I had a real hard time enjoying the gags and felt no emotion for Chaplin, Coogan or Purviance...sheesh, but I probably couldn't have cared less what happens to the protagonists who could have fallen off a cliff for all I care.

Let's face it, despite what all of you aging film buffs and pointy-heads believe in your black heart of hearts, by this time in his career Chaplin was bigger than life and him making THE KID was pretty much akin to John Lennon recording IMAGINE...that was a rather middling album with a few downright turdburgers tossed in (if there were any enjoyable tracks on that one I'm not sure...it was so long since I last heard it) but who other than some fanzine punks or maybe some gonzoid writer of the day would want to go out on a cliff and admit it?

When it comes to silent era comedic pathos I'll take a short like MOVE ALONG that was released by Educational Pictures a good five years later. This one starred a way lesser known comedian, Lloyd Hamilton who was great at playing a flubdub-like character, and who out there in readerland who hadda search for work mostly in vain and was one step from being kicked out on the street couldn't jibe with the frustration (humorous at that) which the down and out Hamilton goes through here. I dunno 'bout you, but I find MOVE ALONG a film that succeeds with all of the button pushing that THE KID does, only way better because it doesn't come off like it's trying to be Tiffany's. More or less the bargain basement where all the real good items can be found.

Even the dream sequences seen in both films are an important filmic lesson...the one in THE KID had nothing to do with the plot and only works for me because we get to see Chaplin tempted by the oh-so-obviously underage Lita Grey who I'd bet was doing the dirty deed with Chaplin even then long before he eventually knocked her up good and hard four years later. At least the dream sequence in MOVE ALONG works as an essential part of the story showing Hamilton and the woman he loves from afar in a brief oasis from a life of downright failure and frustration. Find out for yourself whether I'm once again on-target or flopping like a fish out of its elements since I posted both films below...as the old saying goes, YOU be the judge and knowing you guys well, have you never NOT missed an opportunity to cut me way down to size like you've all been doing lo these many years?

BOOK REVIEW! SYNTHS, SAX & SITUATIONISTS, THE FRENCH MUSICAL UNDERGROUND 1968-1978 BY IAN THOMPSON (Roundtable, 2025)

Brad Kohler tipped me off to this recent entry into the annals of picking up the pieces scattered by the rise and falls of various musical scenes that flourished throughout the great Lost Generation Mk. II. You know, the cadre of music/art/scribing in the realm of the O-Mind that I relayed to you a short while back that pretty much made up the spine the held the musical/literary/artistic underground together throughout the late-sixties at least until the early-eighties.  I can always use more and more information on those acts from those days considering just how much that era produced a music of back-brain stimulating energy, a music of unspeakable intensity despite the Pleistocene-level technology these practitioners often had to tolerate.

You regular readers all know just how OCD I am for these groups who were aping various Velvet Underground and Detroit ideals back when the Velvets and the whole Michigan scene were still showing signs of inspiration (at least before the time when doofs like me discovered it), and that's one reason why I decided to latch onto this particular effort. I always have to try and sate my never quenching thirst for information and music that might thrill me to the marrow of my skeleton but sure won't help me get ahead in life!

Author Ian Thompson does what I'd call a fairly good go at it chronicling the edgier portion of the French underground music scene beginning with the May '68 Parisian rabble-rousing until the late seventies when it seemed that all of it fizzed out a good decade or so later. It is the kind of read that does sate some of my OCD attitudes and passions for this breed of sound and OK, a good portion of the music and people who work their way into this story really have nothing to do with the entire BLOG TO COMM reason for being but at least there are parts of this tome that really make a person like me sit up straight. In other words, this is the perfect book to peruse during my timely toilet dumps, the only time I can snuggle up with a book these days so I better stock up on the Milk of Magnesia.

I'm sure you, like me, are more than just gung ho wanting to know more about those acts that many people in the know these days refer to as  "proto-punk"...especially the ones who have so far seem lost to time. The groups and their camp followers who were listening to the Velvets, Stooges and Beefheart while all of your comrats were snuggling up with Sweet Baby Jesus or whatever his name was. There's a lot of that here, of course mixed in with those acts which you sure wouldn't want to see cluttering up your by-now aged record collection but be thankful for what you get. 

Now, many of these non-punk types are worth your time and temperature reading about as well as listening to such as the pre-Urban Sax Lard Free, plus Magma have always been a good enough act if you think of them in a jazz rock instead of a proggy sort of way. However I must admit that acts along the lines of Mahjun and AME Son really don't perk my petunias while some of the more electronic efforts mentioned might as well be Emerson Lake and Palmer for all I care! 

But the acts that would appeal to the average BLOG TO COMM reader are what making snatching up SYNTHS, SAX & SITUAITONISTS well worth the usually exorbitant fee you usually will pay for these specialty type of books. Red Noise (group leader Patrick Vian can be seen razzing a cop on the cover) get a whole chapter that's crammed with enough spine-tingling information to make those of us who got their Futura album wish these guys stuck around for another 12-incher. Daevid Allen's Gong also gets a whole slew of pages devoted to them which I find snat given just how much of a late-sixties time capsule Allen was and remained for the rest of his existence.  Fille Qui Mousse featuring Henri Jean Enu, editor of noted Parisian fanzine PARAPULIE, gets just enough space to remind me to latch onto their TRIXIE STAPLETON album in the hopefully near future, while the infamous Dagon, a group that really could be considered a punk rock biggie in the early-seventies underground Gallic scene get a nice chapter in themselves which has me craving for more than just the four-minute snippet on the 30 ANNES... box set. 

There's more than enough pertinent information to perk up your antennae true, but I at least hunger for more. Patrick Vian's brief tenure as a member of Metal Urbain is totally ignored making me just wonder what was going on when he was in the group, while very little is mentioned regarding Mahogany Brain who I at least would have considered an important part of an early-seventies punk rock underground. A band legendary in the French underground, Crouille Marteau, also get the here and there asides which is criminal considering just how much a part of punk history group leader JP Kalfon was, what with an array of acts that too are unfortunately under-documented and most certainly under-recorded. Maybe another time, and at least we should be grateful that people like Jac Berrocal and Thierry Mueller got more mention in these pages than they probably would anywhere else on this planet.

Lotsa free time indoors what with the inclement weather we're encountering here in the tri-county area these wintery weeks. Good for me.

At least spending time with a classic rock (not "classic rock") fanzine of the seventies while a variety of musical modes play on really is something that puts more'n just a li'l smile on my face. Total "back-brain stimulation" which only takes me back to the better portion of my youth, the one I missed out on because I was too young and too restricted to be a member of the Lost Generation (Mark II), which might or might not have been as "romantic" as the one that gave us F. Scott Fitzgerald (did you have to read THE GREAT GATSBY junior year in high school? Did YOU get bored out of your mind?) or Harry Crosby, but it was just as lost as those two ever were.

'twas 1964-1981. Give or take a few years. And if you knew the who/what/when/where and whys of under-the-counterculture living you were in solid. Not exactly in solid with the beneath the outkids set of which I was a member (in fact, the only member), but with the total eruption of sight and sound right smack dab in front of your face. Not that it was jumping out right at'cha...you had to look and perceive in order to discover and appreciate it. 

The earliest rumblings could be felt if you were part of a less-cloistered existence, and the music that gave forth ranged from the fever-mad visions of everyone from John Cage to Charles Mingus on the highbrow end and the Trashmen and Wailers on the opposite pole. Sure it would all blur into one mass of total energy as the years progressed but back then lines were drawn and frankly, if you were 180 degrees separated back then you still were on-target in your own inner gyroscopic way.

The first real burst came with the Beatles arriving in the USA and the floodgate of rock 'n roll's second generation pouring right into the sanctity of your own den. The Pandora's Box you glad opened up and dreaded closing because you knew what the alternatives were (mainly NO FUN AT ALL!). The sound and vision grew as time spiraled on and although at the time nobody could have known the fragmentation was beginning. West Coast easy going denim versus East Coast energy and suburban apathy. The kids who got suckered into that whole right on relevancy trap and its fecal leftovers versus the ones who were straight into the O-Mind. Boundaries were blurred and crossovers were aplenty, but one could tell which side one was on by the records that were owned. EVERY GOOD BOY DESERVES FAVOUR and TAPESTRY on one side, WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT and FUNHOUSE on the other. Albums catering to the worst aspects of pampered youth injected with a distorted awareness of existence versus albums that were playing with life energy forces (or might as well have been). And as we all know the former unfortunately was prevalent while the latter was limited to various small enclaves of kids whose minds definitely were on the right track. Hence "lost".

Things were sure swimmingly swell for the former, but the latter got by (and was the true harbinger of future success) if he, like I said earlier, knew where to look. And at times the enlightened moments did peek up from the haze of an FM radio that might have contributed to the Lost Generation's rise but cut them off cold as the seventies "progressed" (remember when free form meant you could hear the Deviants and Flamin' Groovies in between Crosby Stills and Whatever That High-Cheekboned Cube's Name Was?  FM radio really was that universal in its tastes until the Pantsiosization of the form eventually got hold in the mid-seventies) and the cool sleek darkness seemingly had a bright and antiseptic light shined upon it. People who claim to be "in the know" often dismiss the early-seventies but it was a time that high spirits like T. Rex and Alice Cooper rose from their catacombs and helped make existence a whole lot more pleasurable.

Like I said, there were small enclaves of the cool all over the United States and perhaps this entire planet of ours. Sheesh, if Communist-controlled Czechoslovakia could produce a total Detroit rock primitive attack like Umela Hmota you knew that this power was a lot stronger than anyone would have thought. 

What killed it? The inevitable fractures and the general high energy drive turning into a jaded miasma. The more astute probably saw it coming around the time punk rock sorta shifted into new wave which some say became a brand name more than a movement. Not totally sure of that but for me the demise of the New Lost Generation can be recognized by the final closure of Max's Kansas City (the Sainted Mecca) late-December '81 and by the prophet Lester Bangs' unexpected but somehow fitting demise a good four months later. After that I for one, bred on the fury that was being churned for the previous X # of years, felt adrift looking for some sort of light which I found rumbling during the middle portion of that hideous decade. The arrival of groups like the Scientists and other Antipodean efforts soon to burn out into oblivion inspired me enough to even crank out a crudzine to pick up the loose pieces and chronicalize my own musical lusts and obsessions. I mean, with punk rock turning punque to the point where the entire movement went 180 from healthy cynicism to a radical altruistic froth that makes the original hippies look well balanced in comparison, SOMEBODY HAD TO!!!

Casually thumbing through a by-now ancient issue of ROCK NEWS as well as reading the Peter Laughner box set book while listening to choice sides from that particular collection brought this rambling yet etapoint diatribe on. Of course it has been hiding within my psyche ready to break out like ringworm but sheesh, sometimes the yearning to be young and born a good five/ten earlier than I was and front and center for the under-the-underground does form one of those gagging lumps in the throat. Makes me feel more'n just sad that I'm an old shit and far away as possible from the birth of the sound, feeling and direction that used to keep me alive, at least spiritually. But thankfully it flashes me back to those days, without the bad memories of school, people, life... Sheesh, can you believe that for the people who were in the right place at the right time life was actually this good?

But after all of the above's said and done, would you consider Peter Laughner the Fitzgerald of this Lost Generation and Lester Bangs the Crosby or vice-versa? As usual you won't even bother giving me any of your needed insight.

***

Speaking of on-the-ball sixties/seventies nonconformists who were abused and forgotten for their offensive and thus healthy natures, who woulda thought that it's been fifty years since PUNK MAGAZINE made its debut? Not only that but that the publication exists in the here and now??? I sure wouldn't have, but stranger things have gone down in this world of ours so just about anything is possible, and in good ways as well.

Got the last two issues recently and well like, if you was a fan of it way back when you're sure to be a fan of it in the here and now. The mag ain't as "scabrous" as it used to be back in the seventies when offensiveness was fun and oftentimes mandatory (sheesh, even Adny Shernoff seems all shame shame shamed by the things he used to write!) but these new PUNKs sure are worth the time and trouble (not much of either, actually) to get hold of. 

The twenty-third issue has a whole slew of information on a few current day punk rock groups that I never heard of which is no surprise considering how my interest in most all of these groups had dropped off ages back. Not that any of this really matters to me because given how most of these acts seem rather flopsadoodle when compared with the punks of the sixties and seventies or at least too late to do any good, I'm glad that they are up and about contributing something to this pitiful world of ours. Sure it's all a case of too little too late, but at least their hearts are in the right place.

The most recent one's devoted to the boho side of New York history complete with an article on the Fugs (who were always punk rock anyway), the beats (great article in that it has that personal howdoyoudo feeling that the better personalist writers out there seem to have) and....more current punk rock groups who I sure hope ain't "punque" one bit! It turns out that this issue of PUNK is a joint effort with a much newer magazine called MANI which I think is a groovesome twosome idea even if I for the life of me know nothing about what that other mag is supposed to be.

Only real bouef...no tasteless cartoons that are offensive and bound to get the goats of the vast array of Affluent White Female Liberals (AWFL's) out there. I love how that stuff gets a whole lot of people into offended mode, especially when these same people are the most put-offing specimens to walk the face of this planet of ours.

You want 'em? Try 219 E. 10th St., Suite 4D, New York City, NY 10003 and maybe John Holmstrom will autograph your magazine like he did mine.

***

While I'm on the subject of rock 'n periodicals well...it seems as if Brad Kohler unleashed on us his first issue of DUMB AND READY PIGMEAT only yesterday and now he's got another one already out!!! The cudzine revolution continues with this effort done by somebody with obviously a whole lot of time to do nothing but jack off, and although I know that idle hands are the devil's workshop I wouldn't have expected anything to come out of Satan's printing press along these lines. This next-to-debut issue's got a hunk of Jim Shepard of Vertical Slit fame's autobiography and a review of Spacemen 3 and I get the feeling you will like it. Enlarge the cover picture and get all the information you need on how to obtain your own copy.

***

Interesting fact I heard about Rudolph Grey...I am told that he keeps a picture of Stephen King on his wall for inspiration. He figures if that jerk can make it big then anyone can! Really sweet, hunh?

***

While I'm at it let me say that I love the way this country is tearing itself apart and not just at the seams, especially the way you see protesters on a frothing rampage as if someone tied wet leather straps to their testicles really tight which is maddening enough but just wait until those strips dry and REALLY sets 'em on a suicidal rampage! Scrotal leather binding of the mind so-to-speak. I only hope I live long enough to see the big comeuppance that will result in an entirely new nation, hopefully with me at the helm (I mean, who else will there be to pick up the pieces?).

***

FANZINE WANT LIST --- TOTAL OBSCURITIES (IN FACT, THERE IS DOUBT THESE EVEN EXIST!) MOST DEFINITELY NEEDED!!! PHOTOCOPIES ACCEPTED! WILL PAY BACK ISSUES FOR THESE!!!!! (Also peruse some of the earlier want lists on this blog which more or less are still filled with rare necessities.)

THE GROVE GAZETTE (1971 England --- Pink Fairies, Hawkwind, Third World War, Broughton...)

HEAVY BRITAIN (1971 --- Stackwaddy, Broughton...)

THE RAW DEAL (1971 England --- blues rock, Stackwaddy...)

HEAVY DUTY (1972 England --- Stackwaddy...)

GUERILLA ROCK (1971-1972 England --- Third World War...)

OUT DEMONS OUT! (1970-1971 England --- Broughton)

THE ELECTRIC DRUID (1971 England --- blues rock, Groundhogs...)

DO IT! (England 1971 --- Pink Fairies)

***

Time for the reviews, and I managed to scrape up a few since the last "major" posting a few weeks back. Thanks again to Bob Forward and Paul McGarry for the donations.

Asgard-TRIVIALITIES ONE-SIDED LP (Rise Above Records, 341 Archway Rd., London N6 5AA England)

It's sure swell that a whole passel of heretofore unknown recordings from various seventies under-the-underground rock 'n roll acts are finally coming to light, and given how dank-like rock music has been for quite along time the more of these discoveries the better. Here's a rather recent entty, a one-sided acetate in fact, from an English trio who made some inroads into the bright lights of rock music success but unfortunately flopped. Given the Marvel Age of Comics minded throngs who cluttered up England at the time it's no wonder they were named Asgard, three up-and-comers were pretty good even though at times their obvious Nice influences seem to get the better of them.

But don't let that scare you off totally, for in between the stylish organ riffs you can hear a hint of "96 Tears" trotted out, and these guys ain't irksome like  a good portion of these seventies prog groups could get showing off all of their "talents" for dorks who confused slick playing and tastefulness with good music. In fact Asgard come rather close in spirit to krautrock obscurities  Ainigma and Siloah in that there's somewhat of a garage band spirit in their approach that makes this effort somewhat palatable. Some Canterbury moves can be discerned, and who wouldn't want to listen to an early-seventies rock act who claimed the Velvet Underground as a major influence (you can tell that my buttons are being pushed bigtime at the mere thought!). Nothing to play day in and day out, but still suitable for an occasional musical romp when you want something different in the usual mix.

The sound is great too with none of those crackly pops you usually hear on these ancient acetates. That's definitely a miracle considering how the disc this release was taken from was found in disarray in the drummer's garage and had to me meticulously glued together.

***

Can-LIVE IN PARIS '73 2 CD-r set (originally on Spoon Records)

Reviewing something like this live rarity can become somewhat redundant, and in my hands they usually do. But to try and break away from the usual high-fiving hosannas maybe I should just tell you that I really like this set which some would consider was captured at Can's height. But between you and me, can we really know what that height was? Damo Suzuki is naturally in fine form yabbering his indecipherable talking in tongues while Michael Karoli once again proves why all of those English punk rock guitarists were were getting their best moves from him. And Irmin Schmidt must have been the John Cale of the act what with his accomplished yet garage band performance while Holger Czukay and Jaki Liebezeit make primitive rhythms sound so advanced you thought they were recorded in outer, not inner space. Which you all knew, but I have to fill this review up with SOMETHING eh?

***

Kluster-ERUPTION LP (Bureau B Records, Germany)

Can't find my Cee-Dee of this so I thought this was a good excuse to get hold of the vinyl version which suits me fine since I have more access to my records than I do those shiny tea coasters these days. But hey, whether in Cee-Dee or vinyl form this German electro-acoustic music is definitely a sound of resensification that tingles those nerve ends just as well now as they did back when I first introduced you to this breed of stew ages back. Clanking rhythm mix with Varese electronics and even some Sun Ra flashes thrown in, and if you (like me) got hell playing Xenakis during your teenbo days wait 'til the folk (or at least your grandbastards) get an earload of this! 

***

AME Son-CATALYSE CD-r burn (originally on BYG Actuel Records, France)

It ain't like I was anxiously awaiting grooving down to this particular effort considering just how progressive rock ain't my kind of poison unless its German and then its krautrock and not prog. Naturally I was right given AME Son's debt to the fruitier aspects of the musical quest...oh, some of this is actually pretty good but the Jethro Tull-inspired moments (of which there are more'n just a few) sure shy this away from being some early-seventies punk rock masterpiece that I'm continually on the look out for .Y'know, the kind that got European reviewers to draw parallels between those kinda groups and the Stooges, and only the most on-target of o-minds were writing about 'em in such glowing terms back then. Nothing I'd recommend you buying when there are more important things like suppositories you need in your measly existence.

***

The Guess Who-LIVE AT ELECTRIC LADYLAND CD-r burn 

I know I shouldn't be listening to this radio show that was first broadcast a good 51 years back...y'know, "American Woman" and all that. I once told a Canadian that I didn't really cozy up to this group if only because of that song and he did not understand why. I told him what if some group came on the radio singing "Canadian woman...you're ugly, you stink, nyah nyah nyah"...like, what would you do? He asked "what?" and I said "BURN DOWN THE RADIO STATION, THAT'S WHAT!" I don't think he quite understood but then again I don't think any of you readers understood a thing I've written since I began my illustrious career even though for the life of me I can't imagine ANYONE being that stupid..

Anyhow keeping all of that anti-Amerigan blah out of the way (like they don't need our ghetto scenes...have any of you been to Toronto lately???) I gotta say that this FLAVOURS-era Guess Who is what I'd call pretty interesting, engaging, rocking and dareIsay captivating. Eclectic too with some jazzy moves here and non-gagging pop elements there. Sleek harmonies too. At times maybe this is way too slick for the ears of the everyday BLOG TO COMM reader (if there really is one) but what would you expect from a multimillion dollar group on the brink of total annihilation anyway? 

Sure there are tight harmonies and bouncy rhythms but I'm sure you would have been hearing the exact style of music being  played by a bunch of outliers at CBGB at the exact same time. It's steady pop rock, hard and swinging at times, and although this ain't something I'd wanna play consistently for a long period of time I gotta admit that the tunes here beat a lot of what was happening on the radio (AM & FM) at the time. After hearing "Long Gone" with its hard rock swatted spider melody (ruined by the drum solo) well, I'll forget "American Woman" at least until the next great depression.

***

THE PRIME MOVERS BLUES BAND CD-r burn (originally on Modern Harmonic Records)

Here's some more of the Erlewine brothers and Iggy's mid-sixties blues band doing it down and home-like dirty just like on their other Cee-Dee that I can't find in my collection for the life of me. You all know that I'm not what you'd call an aficionado of the blues like a whole lot of them ethnic white urban types who try their darndest to be Wafrican Americans, but that doesn't mean that I can't show solidarity with all of those Caucasoids who like to appropriate black moves, or at least do it in their own melanin-deprived way. Naturally the standard Iggy fan knows all about this (and his showstopping rendition of "I'm a Man" that wrap things up) and naturally most of them would prefer the Stooge as he's been presenting himself since '69, but for those who want to dig in deeper this is a good 'un.

***

The Kidney Brothers/Peter Laughner CD-r burn

I coulda sworn I reviewed this long ago, but then again as you all know I swear a whole lot. This burn begins with Robert and Jack Kidney of 15-60-75 notoriety doing an acoustic blues that really helps soothe the savage manboobs. Nothing at all as raucous as the Numbers but quite good (and avoiding of the usual pratfalls) considering white people did this. The Laughner recordings might have been taken from some German radio broadcast or at least the gal announcing it sounds rather Ilsa-esque, but it's a mix of stuff that's been out for ages. If you're any sort of true rock 'n roll obsessive you heard it all before and a million times at that. You'll want to hear it again and again because as we all should know a new Peter Laughner's not coming our way anytime soon. I mean, we've had bad luck with some of the new Velvet Undergrounds and new Stooges who have.

***

Even though I'm an independently wealthy sorta guy who doesn't have to worry about the bills getting paid and where my next snack is coming from, I would LOVE to get back all of the money (and more!) that I frittered away putting these back issues of BLACK TO COMM out. You all do know that I didn't have to put 'em out and that you didn't have to buy them, but considering that I did release them out maybe you should be considerate and do things right and just on your end. Anyway I've got 'em and you need 'em and like Kim Fowley once said, "that is that".

TIME ONCE AGAIN FOR FANZINE FANABLA!!!

You though/hoped I forgot, huh? Well, here are a whole batch of music fanzines (Golden Age of Rock Writing or not) that I just know you'll want to know more about, and given just how hard these mags are gettin' to latch onto please do feel grateful, bub! 

Unfortunately, most of the fanzines from the aforementioned GA that I oh so desperately want and maybe even need were printed up in rather limited editions, sometimes on spirit duplicators or ditto'd. Who knows how many of 'em were thrown away by some mom prowlin' through her son's room looking for pornography. I guess fanzines were just as fair game. I'd sure like to fill up those gaps in the ol' collection and am in the market for loads of rarities, but after a spell of thinking I figure why bother! I mean, how long do I really have on this here planet and it ain't like I'm gonna hold and cherish these later editions the same way I do items procured during my younger days! But sheee-yucks I'd sure like to read 'em!

Not only that, but there are entire genres of rock fanzines that I sure do need to know much more about especially now that I'm in my front porch and rocker years and wouldn't mind finding out about 'em before I make the great leap into that cruddy flea market in the sky. F'rexample, I sure could use a whole lotta them early/mid-seventies French fanzines that were plugged into the underground decadent current of the day...the kind like the one Patrick Eudeline mentioned where he copped Michel Bulteau of Mahogany Brain fame's want ad for a drummer and the two spent hours talking about everything but drums! I have some issues of PARAPLUIE and I saw via Ubupopland the one that the Pole label put out with the Mahogany Brain article I  translated about a decade back, but there's gotta be more out there just begging to be eyeballed! 

Golly ned, but I sure do welcome any information (personal or not) and even leads as far as obtaining any of these publications...I'm sure someone out there reading would want to be nice to me FOR ONCE IN YOUR PATHETIC LIVES and lend me a helping hand, or even foot for that matter. At this point in time I'll take any appendage you have.

Like I once said many a time, if any of you were making the kinda rags that I'm on the lookout for and don't want to send me some, if not all of your wares well, do you REALLY want to go to your graves without experiencing the honor and glory of having the world remember you and your efforts which have until now been washed away by the tide of utter banality?  Face it bub...get your mag mentioned in this blog and well...if somebody does happen to read this they'll know who you are and might even like you for it! But given the state of humanity these days I doubt it.

***

When I do happen to get hold of a much-desired seventies-era rock 'n roll fanzine you can bet it's toss the confetti time 'round these parts. And with the third issue of COWABUNGA you can also bet there's a lotta tiny bits of paper to pick up because this mag definitely was one of many that delivered on some rather good scribing at a time when it seems that most rock mag readers were more enthralled with the ROLLING STONE style of laid back haze whose odor lingers on even to this very day. 

Unfortunately COWABUNGA editor John Koenig doesn't have much to write about in this late '74 edition of the mag, but his few fanzine reviews are enlightening to the point when I sure wish I could scoop up the third issue of INITIAL SHOCK if only for the article on the various mid-sixties garage bands who managed to make their way out of the Midwest. The cover feature on the Astronauts (the Colorado surf group, not the anarchist punk rock band) was nice in that sorta just discovering 'em way, and I sure ain't complaining about the long review of the November issue of CREEM that reminds me of just how good the mag coulda been when their writers didn't drop the ball. Perhaps this was due to some of the contributors who eventually showed us all just how jerkoff they really were (no names mentioned, but I'm sure you know who these miscreants are) but still a good portion of your favorites managed to deliver in ways to make most all of us feel all warm 'n glowin'.

Editor John Koening's musings are also a hoot to read as he ponders what has happened to all of his favorite fanzines that have seemingly kicked the bucket, as well as what happened to THE NEW HAVEN ROCK PRESS's Jon Tiven, once a person who made many an appearance in the pro and fanzine publications of the day but who by the middle portion of that decade must have done a Houdini. I did get a kick out of Koening's editorial praising the various fifties rock 'n roll revival groups since he believed that they would spur kids on to listening to the real thing. Funny but Greg Shaw once felt the same way and said so in an issue of WHO PUT THE BOMP! a few years earlier. Anyway, it is somewhat amusing to see Koening lump together such definite grease band acts like Sha Na Na and Flash Cadillac in with Brownsville Station and the Flamin' Groovies, the latter two who I never saw as fifties revival acts in any wayshapeform. But if Ron Weiser thought the Groovies were on the same level of revival rot as Sha Na Na, well...

I can always use more fanzines like COWABUNGA in my cluttered up bedroom, and hopefully a few more will sneak their way into my abode and save me from the curse of stumbling across some rather dire rock writing that one can find on the internet. Hope more of these manage to make their way into my life but you know how blue I'm gonna turn holding my breath until some actually do! 

***

Now here's one of those fanzines that it seems everybody knows about but nobody (at least that I know of) has ever seen. An ambitious one too, and even though THE LITTLE SANDY REVIEW does not necessarily deal with rock 'n roll music it still is something that any true fanzine aficionado would want to sink into if they claim even in the remotest to be a fan of the form.

Well known and perhaps even loved in folkie circles, THE LITTLE SANDY REVIEW was an endeavor that really must have been a labor of somethingorother given that the thing ran from 1959 to 1966 and that the editors (including future ROLLING STONE contributor and otherwise good guy --- he got Lester Bangs back into the pages of that rag --- Paul Nelson) managed to get it out on a regular basis...somewhat.  Of course I know that 99.99999...% of you readers could care one whit about these world saving strummers and for the most part neither can I, but who could deny that all of the effort and love and post-hours paste up that went into this thing resulted in a mag of real beauty and downright funtime reading. And, that is, even if you could care less about what you're reading about. 

Well, they also covered those long-forgotten blues and backwoods country strummers and I don't mind reading about those innovators!

This 'un (#30) is a digest-sized issue with over 100 pages filled with a plethora of reviews, snide attitude, and photos taken by noted snapper David Gahr, a guy whose gypsy pix make it to these pages even if for the most part gypsy music is not mentioned in the slightest. On the cover is Maria D'Amato, a member of the Jim Queskin Jugband who would later be known to one and all as Maria Muldair, once they scrubbed her up and gave her some modern clothes. "Midnight at the Oasis" was far from what she was doing in the mid-sixties and I'll betcha that if someone would have told her that she'd have a laid back radio hit in a few years she wouldn't believe it either.

I really got into the brief snide reviews and neat historical trip into the hardcore nature of the sixties folk movement even if for the life of me I wouldn't buy a good portion, if any, of the records reviewed or patronize the artists who recorded them for that matter. Too bad a mag along the lines of THE LITTLE SANDY REVIEW didn't spring out of rock fandom for that really would have boosted the movement manyfold.

***

After all these years I gotta admit that I really have grown to appreciate THE FAT ANGEL GAZETTE (here simply called FAT ANGEL). Sure it is a typical early-seventies English kitchen table production with a heavy California prejudice that doesn't quite appeal to my own tastes, but editor Andy Childs and crew are somewhat open to the type of music I tend to appreciate and well, this mag does have a swerve to it to the point where I'm willing to read an article on a group even if I don't care for the band one whit. This fanzine always did have more than its share of West Coast San Fran fan-drool attitude true, but then again its also got the early-seventies punk spunk ideal that also manifested itself in everyone from the Deviants to all of those Ladbroke Grove groups who were always heard rehearsing "Waiting For My Man" when you'd walk past their enclaves.

This ish (#7) is just as good as the others even if the Grateful Dead take up the cover just like they did with the rest of those early-seventies English fanzines. Yes, San Fran rules hefty-like here, but then again the Dead article is readable, not as good an historical and opinionated rundown as the one Nick Kent did in NME but swell enough The Mad River piece made for an intelligent if brief history of the group that of course would be surpassed by future articles but whaddaya expect given this was 1972. 

The reviews rank high if only because none of them have that getting high on life early-seventies dipsterism that was being sledgehammered into an entire passel of kids who should have vehemently resisted. There are even some moments of downright SURPRISE here...take the review of Alice Cooper's KILLER done up by a never heard of before and probably never heard from again person named "ashley" who wrote these just gotta get'cha all hot and bothered words:

For high-energy rock, Alice Cooper ranks with the MC5, the American Dream, the Velvet Underground, Pink Fairies, and all the other tasty bands that seem bent on doin' our heads in.

Dunno about you, but I tend to get all warm 'n toasty when I read words like that! And I didn't even mention the page-long review of the then-current two-LP Velvet Underground collection (the one with the imitation Warhol lips cover) that had just made its appearance in the record racks there and (with a greatly inflated price) import bins over here!

***

While we're in the land of dental atrocities here's another entry into the fanzine realm albeit one that came out at a much later time than the one mentioned above. Sheesh, but wasn't Europe just brimming with fanzines, some of 'em good and other eh, and although I don't exactly know where TEXAS HOTEL BURNING fits in (or even what the title means---probably the title or lyrics to some song that's slipped my rather slippable mind) I gotta say that I find it somewhat..."there". This mag came outta the Land of Scot and despite my reservations I'll be man enough to say that it is a fair enough effort. Nothing near the quality of THE NEXT BIG THING mind ya, but a nice little effort. 

Maybe there's not enough here for this Amerigan to appreciate (steeply ensconced in the way things are over there) but otherwise OK enough what with pieces on the Buzzcocks (one of those career roundups which read like NOW IT'S MY TURN TO WRITE ABOUT 'EM! which is cool enough for me), the Severed Heads (who I never heard given their early-eighties artpose moniker!), Eurovision (???) and Ivor Cutler! That "article" seems to be a letter to the mag from a 62-year-old guy and I can hardly read it the print is so small and my eyes are so weak, but this very same guy is the reason why I bought the mag in the first place! Well, it's a nice enough way to spend a few moments out of your life and considering some of the competition at the time (mid-eighties) its pretty hotcha.

***

Now back to the land of men with big tits, mainly AMERIGA. It shouldn't be much of a surprise to know that there has been a whole load of important rock 'n roll gulcher out there that I have missed out on over my many years of trying to keep you (as well as myself) INFORMED. But like I said, it would take about a few thousand me's to go through everything, available or not, that is important to the entire cause of rock 'n roll as an unchained form of suburban ranch house expression. But when something of interest does hit the boards and I'm in a position to grab hold of the thing well, you can bet that I'll go to town on it the same way Elton John did changing his young charge's nappies.

Here's one fanzine I never even knew existed until very recently. You all know that most of the time I'm "out of the loop" as far as these things go, but when I find a long-gone item that is worth the time and effort to dwell into boy can you bet that I'm going to go full hog into my OCD mode which might be good for my own sense of rockist splendor but bad for my wallet.

The funny thing about SAVAGE DAMAGE DIGEST is that the entire name brand went from internet to print and not the other way 'round like the effort you're now reading. Frankly I gotta say that the concept of fanzines in the here and now is financially verboten (at least for depression-era wages me) and that having to wait months to get some information out that can be disseminated immediately these days might not be quite the way for one to express themselves, especially if one has an ever-dwindling bank account. But sheesh, if it just ain't great having a fanzine to read in the privacy and comfort of your very own bathroom, and just try to drag your computer in there when you're up for taking a dump (I don't have one of those smartphones that remind me of Phineas J. Whoopie's 3-D Blackboard.)

It must have cost a bundle to put these out what with the slick paper and fine layout. And not only that but the actual contents are something that go lock 'n groove with the entire concept of high energy rockscreeding what with articles on everyone from Brinsley Schwarz, Hamilton Ontario's Teenage Head, Gene Vincent and even some of those newer thingies that never did excite me but wha' th' hey... The first ish has a cover story on Link Wray's early-seventies post/Raymen and pre-Robert Gordon years which is a subject oft overlooked in rockism circles, while #4 even sports an interview with former Electric Eel Brian McMahon, done back when the guy was trying to re-ignite his career, that's quite informative but not so much as the one that was done in issue #21 of my own crudzine! But whatever, these mags are worth the look see if any should happen to turn up wherever these things happen to turn up these days.

***

A number of folk over the years have actually come up to me saying "Chris, you mean you never ever read an issue of __________?". And yes it is true. Hey, it's not like I was a pampered upper-class trust fund kiddie like most alla ya readers, and in no way could I have afforded to purchase even a slight portion of the top notch magazines that were catering to the more underground than thou crowd who were definitely richer beyond my wildest dreams. I mean, I once held an issue of MATTER in my paws for a good fifteen seconds and didn't get Jim DeRogatis' better than the rest REASONS FOR LIVING long after that publication had breathed its last. I never (even to this day) read most of the big 'uns like, say, TRULY NEEDY and although I wonder if I had missed anything important by not latching onto these rags I console myself in the fact that I'm positive very little that would interest me appeared in such publications. Kinda like the ol' fox and the grapes story, but unfortunately it rarely makes me feel any the better because of my past (and present, and future) financial hangups.

  

One of these many upper-echelon fanzines that came out during my early days of struggle was STRANGE THINGS ARE HAPPENING. Dunno if you could call this 'un a fanzine in the strictest sense (well, it does sport a barcode on the cover which should be a tipoff that this ain't exactly one of those kitchen table projects) but it sure has that fanzine spirit that propelled more'n just a few rags throughout the eighties and beyond. Nice slick cover, typeset innards and some of the more palatable names in the fanzine biz do pop up in the mix. Besides, its nice to know that there were some magazines that catered to the true blue rock 'n roll subset that were actually worth pouring through!

The contents seem to be custom made for those of us who either lived through or were retroactively enthralled with the wild mid-sixties of rock "coming of age" or whatever them intellectuals called it. Suits me fine even if there are way too many fanzines and webpages etc. that have been doing that for years, but be honest for once and tell me that we always could have used more, eh?

Slapping Krazy Kat on the cover with an actual article and strips inside was an interesting enough move as was the selection of acts STRANGE THINGS ARE HAPPENING chose to feature. A somewhat eclectic choice too what with the Dukes of Stratosphear battling it out with Genesis P'Orridge and the Weirdos and beach moom pitchers fighting it out with Syd Barrett for precious space. It was mags like this that sure made me feel inadequate with my own crudzine knowing that, given my slim finances (selling scrap metal for money to publish the thing) and general pariahness I'd never get something like this outta my own gassed up bedroom cut/paste/collate/staple efforts.

***

First there was SNIFFIN' GLUE, then there was SNIFFIN' FLOWERS, and now (actually the mid-eighties) there's SNIFFIN' ROCK, the third in a line of sniffin' fanzines that ought to say something regarding these home-produced efforts, only I really couldn't tell you what at this time. It's a nice and sturdy thing, comes with a flexi-disc (which is lacking from my copy) and it concentrates on some of the better and meatier rock 'n roll sound and sway of the day. It sorta straddles the same areas of rockist concerns as THE NEXT BIG THING did 'round the same time, and considering the nice print job and the mag's overall spirit this one did rank as one of the highlights in that failed attempt to keep rock 'n roll alive before it ALL fell into that horrid ditch of appealing to the worst aspects of youthdom extant (cleanliness, straight minds and hearts...). Yech...

***

In past "fanablas" there were a quite few reviews regarding a rather spiffy English fanzine entitled PANACHE, a mag that was definitely at the tippy top of the 'zine realm as far as content, layout and general fan-oriented attitude went. So like, what's keeping me from giving this should-be legendary mag yet another plug? Haw, the joke's on me because this particular PANACHE is not the same one that photographer Mick Mercer had been putting out since the late-seventies but a totally different effort that came out of the wilds of San Francisco! 

Considering that there were a number of fanzines entitled WHITE NOISE and at least two goin' 'round calling themselves NEW AGE why not a pair with this particularly neeto title that conjures images of class and style, something a few fanzines out there sure coulda used a whole lot more of.

Gotta say that this PANACHE does not quite sway me the way that Mercer's effort did. Like a whole lotta these nineties-on publications the layout is too slick, the writing tepid (certainly not of the post-Meltzer growl or suburban slob energy that makes HOMEMADE SHIT such a highly-anticipated read) and for some strange reason I don't think any of the staff nor their readership could fathom the deep down beauty of a song the stature of "I Heard Her Call My Name". Still gets hefty points for featuring the should-be-infamous Japanese gal group the 5678's on the cover. The rest though, is just too new (with all of the negative connotations that might imply) for my own personal sense of sartorial inelegance.

***

More honest than George Washington me must admit that this issue of REAL STUFF ain't one of those grab me by the psyche fanzines in the way a whole number of these self-produced efforts tend to appease my own warped sense of rockism. However I should say that this English effort does get the points for layout, the ability to wrangle interviews with biggies like the Go Gos, Wall of Voodoo and that guy from Drinking Electricity whoever they were not to mention devote a page to San Fran scenester Vermillion Sands listing her past accomplishments and interests. Bonus points for a two-page retrospective on the GTO's who sure needed some rememberin' at the time. This is issue #3 in case you're keeping count.

***

I never knew that Ireland produced their own version of ZIGZAG. It was (is?) called HEAT and as far as copping the look and feel of ZZ they sure did a fairly swell job what with the flippant writing and coverage of things both pertinent to the cause of "rock 'n roll" and not. Most if not all of the text was lettered a la THE NEXT BIG THING and as far as covering alla the new and hipster sounds that were comin' outta the late seventies go they seemed to be about as much on the ball as all of those English weaklies that the rich Amerigan kids could afford (but not me --- have I told you about my financial straits lately?!?!). It's what you'd expect meaning there's no heavy emphasis on the grittier underground thud of the day and the records you would expect to be reviewed most definitely are, but it sure filled its purpose filling the locals in on a whole load of music from a local perspective. I'm sure that more'n just a few kids o'er there were mighty grateful that HEAT came along and if I were in Ireland at the time I guess I would have liked it a whole lot as well.

***

The mid-eighties were just filled to the brim with fanzines dealing with a whole slew of rockist-related genres both past and present. I sure do recall a whole buncha 'em out there that would have broken the bank had I decided to snatch 'em up. MAKING TYME is one I missed out on back then and to be truthful about it this is no great lost because this issue, although somewhat good, is rather predicable. Then again so is this blog so who am I to act all huffy puffy about it! 

Given the title you know where these guys' loyalties lie, what with the stories on the by-now infamous Eyes and Syn along with the always neeto to read old ads which remind me of what life and attitude used to be like before the hippies hadda come in and lovey dove everything up. News and reviews regarding the revival groups of the day pop up and although this scene, just like every other teenbo craze out there didn't last too long and looked somewhat foolish within a few years there's a whole load of positive vibrations regarding them days just oozing from the pages. And I should talk about hippies given what I have just written (I mean..."positive vibrations??????")!

***

If there's one word that should be forever banished from the English (or any other) language it's "nostalgia". Hokay, I think that "iconic" and "gender" should also be forever omitted from being uttered by those in on the latest in cool cat vocabularies as well, but for today let's talk that first word I brought up which only reminds me of all of those television shows and movies from the seventies that were being made about the earlier portion of the century to the point of nausea. Not that there's anything particularly wrong with that, but people back then seemed to be nostalgic for all the wrong reasons! Take the obsession with things "fifties" which was hotcha stuff from the very late sixties and even well into the eighties...now there was plenty great about the fifties but these things sure weren't being played up in any of those moom pitchers or tee-vee shows that I was viewing way back when. 

Take the music of them days f'rexistence...loads of rheumy-eyed memories of some of the soppier moments in fifties music were always being trotted out in these various productions as examples of the best that era had to offer. You couldn't escape hearing songs like "The Great Pretender" and "Little Darlin'" whenever you'd eyeball some fifties-oriented program or moom pitcher feature way back when, but where in blazes was the real hard and earth-moving sounds of the day like "Green Mosquito", "Red River Rock" or "Tall Cool One"??? Like Greg Shaw somewhat said, a love of fifties rock 'n roll (or in my case television, comics, mooms) was NOT nostalgia but just an appreciation of good, hard-hitting media that just happened to bop more'n a few young 'uns right between the ol' psyche. And with recording artists like Helen Reddy and Barry White cluttering up the charts really, who could blame 'em?

So why'n heck was this particular fanzine entitled NOSTALGIA anyway? You got me because like there's nothing calculated to extract the warm 'n toasties outta either the depression-bred old folks or the baby boom ingrates in these pages. Sheesh, a mag with Carla Bley on the cover has about as much to do with nostalgia as Howard Stern has to do with good taste! 'n not only that but there's not one attempt to dig into the more superficial elements of just how ginchy groovy leather jackets and skirts with poodles on 'em to be found. Why the heck this mag was called NOSTALGIA is way beyond me although I'd bet'cha that an explanation can be found in some other issue.

I liked the Bley interview where she discusses plenty of the JCOA/Watt Records efforts, and the article on the psychedelic era of the Pretty Things' career was actually well written even if not much if anything new is sheds on the subject. It also is good to know that Arthur Lee was still remembered in the waning days of 1975 but sheesh, Traffic were always a boring bunch to listen to and I can give not a whit about anything Andy Frazer might have had for breakfast let alone had to say. While I'm on a rampage perhaps I should mention to you that anyone who would even THINK of giving space to the likes of David Crosby and Graham Gnash ought to check into the re-education camp of his/her/its choice. Otherwise I gotta say this is a pretty nice although not engrossing fanzine attempt and hey, it could have been worse as we all very well know given some of the offal that has crossed my eyes these past few years, if not longer.

***

Unfortunately this particular ish of 3:AM (Vol. 2 No. 1) just didn't thrill me the way that the one I reviewed in the previous Fanabla sure did. Probably cuz there ain't enough rock 'n roll in it for my tastes, and although I sure like reading about those old horror and pre-glitz films that I'll never see in a millyun years I also like editor Joe Johnson's takes on various musical maniacs that I either grew up with or sure wish I had grown up with. 

Sad to say, but there certainly is a lack of that CREEM (classic early-to-mid-seventies CREEM that is) styled crazed coverage here, the kind I strive for in my own scribbles (usually missing the target by miles but YOU just try it!). We sure coulda used more of that "gonzo" writing back when fanzines like this 'un were up and about in the dank 80s, 90s, 00s, 10s, but all we got for our troubles was Parke Puterbaugh. Eh, why should I complain since 3:AM's a great li'l homemade rag that does succeed with what it delivers and like, why quibble considering the plethora of downright turdburger reads that have been produced o'er the past few decades awlready!

***

Back in the seventies people would put out anything and claim it to be a fanzine. That's just what Cy. K. Delic did here and if I ever saw him on the street I'd definitely pulverize him for attempting to pass these five one-sided pages as a publication of any sort of worth. Very little text here other'n some brief mention of a Devo fan club and a local somethingorother who had just passed on, but otherwise I just don't get the idea that clip art collages and pix lifted from the newspaper are really worth the time and bother even if your thoughts are clean and your heart is pure. Aw shucks, it's just a nice and I assume freebee tossout so why don't I just leave the thing alone...I mean, it ain't hurtin' anyone!

***

I believe I've owned this issue of INSIDE OUT ("volume 1") ever since it hit the stands or wherever they sold fanzines back in those days and like well, I'm too lazy to check into my box of long-gone out of print rags to find out. If not well...here's a mag that looks more like a high school literary magazine than something devoted to the better portion of sixties rock 'n roll and yeah, the material mentioned in these pages is older than Methuselah and has been through the wringer more'n just a few times. Despite all that INSIDE OUT will get'cha all remembering just how fun and exciting it was reading about them groups that we could only dream about hearing (by the late-seventies the flea market stands with the passionate sixties-vintage albums had been all cleaned out), but reading about 'em while keeping a good lookout was a fine way to pass the time.

The inside repro job ain't the best but back then ya hadda work with whatever you had at your disposal (the reason why the type in my early issues went from tiny to even tinier given how the copiers at my disposal only had three settings), but editorette Beverly Paterson sure was lucky to wrangle interviews with Paul Revere, Sky Saxon and two of the Standells! I hope this bit of duty in the service of humanity counts in her favor when she's up for the Nobel Prize. Sheesh, if they gave on to Barak Obama they'll give one to anybody!

Paul Revere sounds gracious enough considering the at-times curt words he had for his former singer and bonafide teen idol Mark Lindsay, and Tony Valentino and Larry Tamblyn from the Standells kinda remind me of a coupla old fogies on the front porch talking about The War Between The States even at this early stage in the game (1987). Of course Sky Saxon is his old sunlight self talking about the animals and how others swiped his ideas for fun and maybe even profit. If you've been listening to these guys ever since you can remember, these chit chats almost come off as if they were being told to you by a personal friend you've known all these years, and if admitting this makes me out to be a sentimental old fanabla I do try to keep that under my hat even though said hat seems to slide off in windier than usual weather.

Not only is INSIDE OUT a fine representation of what the creme de la sixties was all about, but just how fun it is remembering about it all a good twentysome years later when we sure could have used a lot less MTV and a lot more high energy in our lives.

***

And finally well...it ain't a fanzine but I paid for it and I gotta stick it in this blog someplace. LID was an early '00's glossy magazine that, from what I could tell, came off like a mostly picture mag with some dialogue that was aimed at the New Yawk chi-chi crowd who like to show off just how down with the ethnics they are while dining at some of the most expensive places imaginable. 

Well, that's the impression I get of it and well, I had the idea that this Andy Warhol retro ish would've been something that would have definitely benefitted my entire nervous system. It does have some rare snaps and tries somewhat to capture that hotcha 60s/70s Warhol attitude and feel, but actually I got the same irritating upper class snob feeling from this that I got from those late-eighties ART FORUM magazines that were crying Chicken Little over Jesse Helms threatening to off a whole load of artistes' gravy train grants as if these people actually had to be supported rather than go out and make themselves a living doing something more attuned to their talents like digging ditches. 

Sheesh, I liked it back when art was stuff like Chris Burden and guys who could paint lifelike enough pictures of nice looking nude women, but anymore I could care less 'bout these effete snobs making all of these socially aware creations that have the meaningful lifespan of a flea. The strangest thing about it all is that even Warhol didn't approve of all those socially conscious better-than-thous who were cluttering up the art world in the eighties, and if the guy's been posthumously canceled for his opines I have yet to hear about it!

Well, at least the pages weren't perfumed.