NOTESfromthe
UNDERGROUND
The long-awaited, much-anticipated release of
Nashville Pussy's debut LP has arrived, and it
lives up to and exceeds all expectations. With no
breaks between songs, each assault bleeds into
the next, leaving the listener stunned at the two-
axe attack that lies somewhere between Lynyrd
Skynyrd and The Dead Boys. Imagine your
inbred cousin Jethro, clad in his overalls and dirty
as fuck, high on meth and runnin' around the
front yard catching chickens and pulling their
heads off. The LP's called Let Them Eat Pussy, and
it's on Am Rep. They've also been touring like
hell, playing record stores if they can't get a lus-
cious, lascivious, licentious treat. Not only
y that,
but they could just be the nicest future rock stars
in the world. Go, see them. The
Hellacopters have just
released their second
LP, Payin' the Dues,
on Sweden's
White Jazz
Records. It's a
smokin' slab
of carnally
charged
rawk that
could seri-
ously pass
for
the
mythical,
missing MC5
LP (just take a
look at the '5
ripoff photo in the
beautiful gatefold LP
cover...). A little less punk but
heavy as fuck, these Swedes ZEKE
could stomp over 99% of what
the
around the stage like Blur's Damon
Albarn on crystal meth. I was surprised
at the strong melodies in their songs,
expecting much more of a straight-out
noise assault. I dig their tunes a lot and
they are undeniably an absolute riot to
watch because they are all about 17 (ok,
maybe 18) and they act like naughty, hyperactive
children. Keep in mind that Cummins has already
furthered his own status as a possible legend by
breaking his leg when he landed badly after
leaping onto the stage at a gig opening for No
Doubt at London's Brixton Academy. The singer
actually managed to finish the song while lying
on his back before he reportedly passed out from
the pain; he had to be stretchered out of the
venue by the medics in front of 10,000-plus
screaming teenagers who gave him a standing
ovation and were promptly convinced that he
was God. He then proceeded to show up and
play the next night's gig in a motorized
wheelchair. In SF Cummins pushed the envelope
by completely tearing the fuck out of the stage
equipment and destroying it to the best of his
abilities while the band played their last song,
a punked-up version of The Beatles' "Hard
Day's
's Night." He then threw the amps into
the drum kit, ripped a shitload of light-
ing wires off the ceiling, and proceeded
to grab all of his bandmates' mic
stands and hurl them at various
frightened audience members and
amused fellow bandmembers
onstage. Then he ran off the
stage and threw up technicolor
chunky vomit all over the floor of
the club. Bloody proper rock and
roll show. I would recommend
checking out this traveling disaster
waiting to happen when they hit a town
near you. Jill Stempel... Some years ago
during the filming of Fear Control Cinema's
"X-Facto," our crew had travelled to Mike
Ranquet's small ranch outside Seattle, which
housed an enormous ramp that was to be
expanded into a giant of death that would
awaken during the first annual "Day in the Dirt."
This was a gathering of many talented vert
skaters from several states and all their friends,
as well as the lineup of Seaweed and the origi-
nal 7 Year Bitch crew among others. It was to
be a day and night of rowdy drinkin', skatin',
destroyin', litterin', druggin', fireburnin' chaos,
and it was. I never expected the following year
to be the same, but when Zeke jumped on the
small platform from the previous year, I could
only think that this is the best fuckin' punk rock
band assembled since punk shows were a physi-
cal threat. Yet these guys were a bunch of fun-
loving speed junkies who were fucking up the
imite and the
ranch as skaters soared past the limits and the
bust. When the bass player was
cops made
jail
whipped by a bottle of Bud square on the fore-
head, all he could do was keep playing, return
fire, and jump up and down as blood covered
the grin on his face-that was style. Driven still
by high octane nitro, Zeke is frequently touring
back roads in all their glory with shows at places
like the Bottom of the Hill in SF, where they
recently played with The Loudmouths and
The Candy Snatchers. Of course, it looked to
be another "get off your ass you Frisco pussies"
show until the joint erupted into a vortex of
gearhead motherfuckers and all the innocents
had to seek shelter in the back via crawling on
the bar. If they motor into your town, get there
early because they could play a fifty song set in
fifteen minutes and you don't want to miss the
last of the holdouts. -James Jackson
passes for rock and roll on these shores. Wild
Billy Childish may go down in history as the
most prolific album-producing entity ever,
although he largely maintains his cult hero sta-
tus. Two of his latest include an LP entitled
Messershmitt Pilot's Severed Hand (from the sin-
gle of the same name...) on Damaged Goods and
a collaborative effort with Dan Melchoir enti-
tled Devil in the Flesh on Sympathy Records. The
former is similar to prior Headcoats work-stri-
dent, loud, obnoxious, insulting and offensive-
and is quite good. The latter is steeped in tradi-
tional blues stylings. The two divide songwriting
duties by side and trade off on vocals. Minimalist
and pleasing. Speaking of minimalist blues, T
Model Ford's latest single, the second in his "For
the Love of Jesus" series, features an upbeat lit-
tle number called "I'm Insane" about goin' to
for kickin' a man's ass. The B-side is a slowed
down moaner of a piece called "Morning
Gown." The blues are alive and well in the
underground. A pleasing little 10" EP to keep
your eyes out for is Rocket 455's Sees All,
Knows All, Tells All (on Get Hip). Low-down
garage punk from Detroit that reminds me a lit-
tle of NW legends Dead Moon. A perfect dose
of the sixties, it's jangly and melodic at times, a
little rough at the edges at others. It's a finger-
snappin' hip-shaker that'll please even the
choosiest punk. -Wez Lundry... Symposium's
First-Ever American Show at Bottom of the Hill in
San Fran on Wednesday, February 4th, 1998.
The band only played for about thirty very
extremely loud minutes, but they made a power-
ful impression. Frontman Ross Cummins jumps
When the Candy Snatchers come to your
town, it would be wise to get caught up in
their whirlwind of fury. They are seriously the
best band I have seen in a very long time,
which says a lot considering the fact that they
only played for about 15 minutes when I saw
them, due to technical problems. What was up
with the bass? "It got beat up in Austin, Texas,
the other night, because some rednecks.
stomped on it I guess," according to Willy.
The reason none of the other bands lent them
their bass is that they were truly scared.
Hailing from Virginia Beach, VA, they've
been around for five years, mingling with
the skate scene, including Henry
Gutierrez and his band, The Lost Tribe.
What else is going on in VA Beach? "A lot of
music, but mostly people just getting load-
ed," said Matt, the guitar player. Jim Beam
is the drink of choice among the Snatchers,
but that night they were doing the Turkey
gobble 'cuz the bar was out of Jim.
Rounding out the lineup is Sergeant
Stash on the drums, and Larry on the mic.
They've already got one barnstormer of an
LP out on Safe House, with another
planned for Go
Kart and a 10-
SNATCHERS
inch on
Man's Ruin,
both due in the
spring. They'll be recorded by Andy Slob of
The Slobs in Cincinnati, if all goes well:
"There's only so many times we can abuse him
before he wants us to pay him to record. All
of his appliances in his kitchen are pink. It
makes you wonder..." says Sarge. "The Slobs
kick ass though," Willy is quick to point out.
The Snatchers also have a bunch of singles,
and I can attest that they're all worthy. You
can find most of 'em on a recently released CD
if you missed 'em the first time around.
THE CANDY
They're on tour right now, and they look at
it as kind of an extended vacation, which is
good. What's bad is the fact that the van has a
couple of holes in the floorboards and Sarge
lost a few cymbals through them. "When we
bought it, we got it from some old guy with
tattoos of anchors on his arms, like Popeye. It
was real nice, but we've had it for 8 months
now, and now it's like a fuckin' port-o-potty,"
says Willy. What's in the tape player? The
Chesterfield Kings, The Humpers,
Nashville Pussy, Marty Robbins...
How would they like to die? Willy would
like to be eaten by a shark. Matt would
rather burn, Sarge would rather drown, and
Larry would just rather get syphilis and
die. Why? "It'd be a good way to go... 'Why
are you going to die?' 'Well, I got some
pussy..." Wez Lundry
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