Kurt Cobain Guest Column
I never wanted to be a
martyr. But unfortunately
with my suicide it was
unavoidable. I chose to
end my life as a way of
saying. "So what?" I have
read your letters to Mail
Drop in Thrasher, and by
speaking to you from the
grave, I will try to give
you some insight as to
why I bailed on life and
hopefully relate some
lessons you can use in the
after-life. For the igno-
rant trend monger
Rolling Stone types who
ask, "How could you kill
yourself when you had all
that money?" I will say
only that money is noth
ing without a heart to
spend it. My solitude was
music, but somehow it.
was stolen from me and I
was crowned as the lead-
er of a lost generation.
What a lie. I merely
expressed my angst and
disdain for normalism in
my songs, which hap-
pened to dismally reflect
our putrid society, and
the next thing you know,
I'm God. Like Jesus, I
couldn't live for you, so I
died for you. Do you get
it? Pedestals are for stat-
ues. I woke up in the
morning just like you and
put my pants on one leg
at a time, but somehow
many of you perceived
me as your messiah. The
pressure was unbearable,
I felt like a caged animal
in a solitary zoo and my
final option was a shot-
gun. Do not cry for me.
Do not try to follow my
footsteps. The best thing
you can ever do is live
your own life. Think
about it this way, Jimi,
HURRICANE
Ever took a look at your life and
thought, "Damn, this isn't how I
planned it?" The realization can
either be good or bad, depending
on your point of reference. In
Hurricane's case, it's all good!
For the past eight years, Hur-
ricane has been flexin' his stuff on
the wheels for the Beastie Boys.
As talented and successful as he
is, few would ever guess he start-
ed out as a rhyme-slayer. "The
very first time I heard a rap, it was
a tape of Grand Master Flash," he
recalls. "After hearing him, I tried
rhyming myself, and it seemed like
I already knew how to do it.
Whenever I'd hear an incredible
beat, I'd just start freestylin'."
Of course, Hurricane's speaking
of a time referred to affectionately
as the days of the "old school."
The time: late seventies/early
eighties. The place: Hollis,
Queens. Hollis was the breeding
ground for a number of famous
crews. Besides Flash, there was
Run DMC and LL Cool J. Like most
rap communities, everybody knew
everybody else and would try to
look out for each other whenever
they could. So, when Run DMC
started to blow up, they asked
their partner Hurricane, who at the
time was a rapper in a group
called the Solo Sounds, if he'd like
to be down as one of the body-
guards on the Raisin' Hell Tour
76
(which to this day is considered
one of the best rap shows in hip
hop history) featuring Run DMC,
Whodini, LL Cool J and the
Beastie Boys. Halfway through the
gig, the Beasties DJ, Dr Dre (not
the one from Cali), left the group,
and Hurricane slid in, temporarily
abandoning his dreams of getting
back on the microphone.
When Hurricane reminisces
about the old days, his face lights
up, and his gestures become a bit
more animated. "It was fun back
then," he says. "It wasn't a money
thing 'cause rap wasn't making
much money at the time. It was.
real. I don't think we can recapture
that because you'd have to throw
away the money." After listening
to his self-titled debut as a solo
artist, it's doubtful that Hurricane
would want to throw away the
money. His album's the shit,
particularly the cuts "Elbow
Room," "Four Fly Guys" and
"Feel The Blast."
Eight years seems like a long
time to put your dreams on hold,
but according to Hurricane, the
timing couldn't be better. "It's
definitely been a long wait, but it
seems like perfect timing now that
the Beastie Boys have their own
label. If I'd done this a couple of
years ago," he adds, "I'd probably
be on another label, working with
somebody else." -Rap Lady G
Janis and Sid are all up
here and we have been
jamming non-stop, so the
next time you hear the
wind in the trees, the
crashing of heavy surf, or
maybe the birds singing
a little bit off-key, think
about all of us here in
never neverland rocking
like there is no tomorrow,
because for us here on
the other side, there isn't.
It is hard to write under
six feet of dirt, so I will
make this short and to the
point: Never play cards
with a man named Duke,
banish the word alterna-
tive from the English lan-
guage and burn your flan-
nel before it is too late.
Ignore heroes,
Kurt Cobain
"Do not cry for me."
NINE POUND HAMMER
If the name Nine Pound Hammer
doesn't bring to mind beer, barbecues,
pick-up trucks, blue collars, eighteen-
wheelers and Merle Haggard eight-
track tapes then, well, sir, you just
need a little of introduction. These
four good old boys from Owensboro,
Kentucky, up and took their brand of
bitter, raw and psycho country punk to
the big city of Nashville, and the rest is
history, or sure as hell should be.
You see, it seems as though folks
overseas were the first to take kindly
to our gun-totin' redneck pals. As gui-
tarist Blaine Cartwright tells it. "We
did three tours in Europe before we
ever did one in the States 'cause we
sold thousands of records there but
never sold shit here." Blaine, along
with razor-throated singer Scott
Luallen, bass player Matt Bartholomy
and drummer Bill Waldron, did try a
tour way back in 1986, but, "They kept
putting us with hardcore bands and
that don't always work out too good.
This time around we kept getting put
with funk bands and shit."
Undaunted by bad bookings, flat
tires, early frosts and trends, Nine
Pound Hammer continue to kick out
tunes like "Skin A Buck" and "Shotgun
In A Chevy, both off the rip-snortin'
new Hayseed Timebomb Lp, their third
record so far. At a recent show Back
East, Blaine threatened to "show all
you Yankees how to flip out!" which I
hear they sure did. That came up while
we was chewin' the fat to which Blaine
simply says, "That weren't nothin', we
flip out every night." Let's hear it for
these down 'n' dirty, ass-kickin'
punkers straight outta moonshine
country: SAAA-LUTE! -Mike LaVella
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