Wednesday, August 19, 2009

SkatePunk: I Don't Wanna Live to be 34

SkatePunk was the first music growing up that I could truly call my own. Distributed through cheap Realistic Concertapes, via skateboard kick & push, peer to peer, hand to hand, it had fuck all to do with my hip parents record collections and even less in common with pop radio or a nascent Mtv. It was instead the product of a particular subculture of skateboarding in the late 80s. A time when the now multi-billion dollar international industry was not only a really fun hobby but a de facto statement of social defiance and in many small towns an act of civil disobedience. It was a strange experience as a young kid to have your favorite past time become a minor criminal act but it totally amped up your inherent youthful rebellion and the music kicked in hard and fast to soundtrack it all perfectly.

Unlike previous post-atomic decades, in the 80s we came to a peculiar acceptance with our own imminent nuclear annihilation. This rather mad respect for the world ending at any moment fed the aggression, urgency and uniquely perverse optimism of SkatePunk. If we didn't have long to live there was no time to learn more than a few chords, no time to wait for a record deal or spend a year in the studio honing your magnum opus. Hell there wasn't even time enough for me, as a listener, to sit through a drum or guitar solo. If you were going to fiddle about prog rock style on the guitar I was out of there. I had girls to snog, ramps to ride, curbs to grind, fights to start. And always there was the feeling that time was running out, that dark international forces were out there working hard against me seeing my 21st birthday. I sure as hell didn't have time for 12 minute songs or three hour concerts sets.

SkatePunk was political in that all powers of authority, institutional or otherwise, were to be rejected and should go fuck off! It was dystopian in that the total collapse of society was taken as a given and therefore we should live for today and for each other and the rest of the mess could go get lost. It was about love and loss in so far as those things consumed with such force that the only remedy was to found in a primal shout, a shower of guitar feedback and a good violent dance. But most of all SkatePunk, unlike Punk's first wave, was constantly in motion. There was no vamping it up on the high street in Vivian Westwood, or wasting time eating White Castle and scoping girls draped in heavy leather. We had something to do, skate, and we did it with the same urgency and abandoned with which we danced, loved, shouted at the night and ran from the cops. You can hear it in the music but the songs are only 2 minutes long so listen sharp.






















SkatePunk Vol. 1: I Don't Wann Live to be 34

1. Dead Kennedys - Police Truck(1980)
"Dispatch calls are you doin something wicked?, No siree, jack, were just givin tickets"
2. Circle Jerks - Live Fast Die Young(1980)
"I don't wanna live to be 34, I don't wanna die in a nuclear war"
3. Dickies - Gigantor (1980)
"Quicker than quick, Stronger than strong, Ready to fight for right, against wrong"
4. Agent Orange - Bloood Stains (1981)
"Someday i'm gonna change my mind, Sometimes I'd rather kill"
5. Minor Threat - In My Eyes (1981)
"You tell me you want to be different, You just change for the same"
6. T.S.O.L. - Abolish Government/Silent Majority (1981)
"Wake up to the same old shit, Live your life to suit their fit"
7. Bad Brains - Big Takeover (1982)
"So understand when I say, there's no hope for this U.S.A"
8. The Faction - Skate and Destroy (1983)
"The cops are coming after me, their sons are BMXers, They always try to stop me but urethane is faster than boots"
9. Social Distortion - Mommy's Little Monster (1983)
"Her eyes are a deeper blue, she likes her hair that color too"
10. Suicidal Tendencies - Institutionalized (1983)
"All I wanted was a Pepsi, just one Pepsi, and she wouldn't give it to me."
11. Black Flag - Slip It In (1984)
"You're getting around, I'm not putting it down, It's just what it is, Getting it while it's around"
12. Butthole Surfers - Wichita Cathedral (1984)
"Wiped out wasted Wichita, Cathedrals on my mind, Last time I got wasted there, My poor dog just went blind"
13. JFA - Pipetruck (1984)
"dumdum dada dumdum"
14. Drunk Injuns - She's Gots A Gun (1985)
"Thoughts of tomorrow, Tear me apart, I think of the past, You’re the pain of my heart"
15. D.I. - Johnny Has A Problem (1985)
"Chippin' every day chipin' for the gipper, Chippin' on chippin' on down the line"
16. Toy Dolls - My Girlfriend's Dad's A Vicar (1985)
"He's a Vicar ya know, works in a church"
17. 7 Seconds - Walk Together Rock Together (live) (1987)
"Why don't I buy you a beer? Because I'm not old enough"
18. Dag Nasty - Excersise (1987)
"I'm irresponsible, I'm irrational, it's irreversible, what are you gonna do?"
19. Descendants - All-O-Gistics (live) (1987)
"Though shalt not partake of the dreaded decaf"
20. G.B.H. - Makin' Whips (1987)
"But you're going nowhere ya missing the whole damn point, lighten up, lighten up and we'll rip the joint."
21. McRad - Weakness (1987)
"My weakness is I can't say no, My weakness is I can't let go, So stay with me I'll let you know that love is something I can show"
22. McRad - McShred (1987)
"McSHRED!!"

I'm sure I've forgotten a bunch of great bands and tunes so drop your faves in the comments box. Vol. 2 will be up in a couple of weeks. I just need to track a few things down.

NJ crew - check out Randy Now's excellent collection of old school City Gardens photos & flyers here.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Plastic Moment #6, August 17, 2009, 07:23:00AM

Home, Brooklyn, NY 11211 (40.675234, -73.971043)

Years of habitual repetition carry my exhausted body forward. I stumble through the dark, windowless living room and into the harsh bathroom light. Door closes solid behind me the towel is hung firmly on a hook. I turn to face myself in the mirror and am greeted only by noise. A swirl of distorted images punctuated by the staccato echo of my alarm clock, shut off some time ago but still rattling around my head-space along with the swirling remains of abandoned dream time conversations. There is a Cronkitesque news caster's voice, and another that speaks the gibberish of imaginary Russian. Severed from context they are unintelligible now and left to battle the petulant shrieking of non-existent child. All these words and sounds are echos within a cavernous subconscious, all carrying on beyond their usefulness and refusing to be placed back in to the toy chest where they belong.

I rub violently at my sore eyes and stair out again towards the mirror. This time the visual flotsam and distortion has settled a bit. Looking back at me now, is the contorted and mangled flesh of Franicis Bacon portraiture. A slab of day old flank steak run through a cubist machine. Twisted and abstracted, the horrid pink of my skin under the fluorescents barely signify flesh while outlined grossly accentuated by cold gray stubble and blackened rot.

How to shave a face like this? How to shave in a state like this? Best to leave the sharp blades alone this morning. No great crime committed by wearing a bit of cheek shadow to the office. Turning away from the devious mirror, I summon just enough reason to get the knobs turning and the water flowing. I wrestle off the sweat drenched clothes and toss my body around the curtain and into the scalding shower. The sudden movement throws my balance and I end up slumped forward with my cheek pressed against the wall's cool white tile.

For a moment the tiles dance, fluttering across the wall in waves. Blown by an unseen oceanic breeze, they move with a dainty flutter that betrays their ceramic rigidity. The fiercely hot water brings a touch of sanity with it. The swirl of voices begins to coalesce, begins to sound familiar. Soap in hand I begin to scrub vigorously at my flesh. Beginning with the back of my neck and then proceeding over the skull and down around my ears. The thick viscous film of dream-stuff comes off my body in sheets. Making a loud slapping sound as it hits the shower floor, it begins to pool up around the drain in a swirl of luminous pink and blue. I blow long strings of plasma from my nose and tear ribbons of gelatinous matter from my eyes.

Soon my vision begins to clarify. The voices become singular and then the singular voice my own. I stand up and arch my back in an exaggerated stretch. I tip my head back and let the last of the soap suds slide off of me. The soapy bubbles join the remaining bits of the iridescent dream-stuff and together they disappear down the drain. I turn off the water and pull aside the curtain. I'm ready to begin another day.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Filmstrip Day

My apologies for skiving off and forsaking my blogerating duties. I have some great posts in the pipeline but need to string together a few moments to tidy them up and that probably won't happen until the weekend.

Until then I'll make like a 2nd grade teacher with a hangover and post a film to keep the kiddies quiet while I try to nap it off in the back of the class.

Instead of Gus the Mule Who Kicks Field Goals, I'm playing the rave episode from Spaced which makes me laugh so hard that I fear bodily injury.


Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Gonzo Shaman Kelcey



by the wonderful RaeFox, go there now and bestow your praise and cash offerings on her.

Edit: Rachael has a piece in the finals of a Brookyln themed photo contest. It's neck and neck last I checked so go and VOTE (early and often as the saying goes).