* I tend to think of this guy as what America, at our worst, looks like to the rest of the world. However, this is a pretty interesting article
* Here’s the only piece of writing I’ve seen that wonders why it was an Eagles Of Death Metal concert, specifically, that was attacked in Paris
The Dils : Class War
A unicorn on Moon Street
I understand that the Falange don’t really have any power anymore, but it’s still freaky to see stuff like this
This is the house where the fish lives
Posters near the Plaza De Toro
Farmacia y Laboratorio Juanse, at the corner of Calle de San Vicente Ferrer and San Andrés. You’d have to be SUCH an asshole to write your shitty tag on something this beautiful. This storefront dates from 1924.
* A trunk of perfectly-preserved letters from the 17th century (amazing paper, amazing wax seals)
* Are these the last days of British bands touring America?
* When I was a kid, I delighted in listening to records at the wrong speed – 45s at 33, 33s at 45 .. my friend Lem’s parents had an old turntable that played at 16rpm, and we very much enjoyed playing Chipmunks records (especially Chipmunk Punk) at that slow speed. Here is what it sounded like.
* The rise and fall of college rock : how yuppies and NPR gentrified punk – new writing by the always entertaining Ian Svenonious
* OK, OK, more ruin porn
* “Forbidden Zone isn’t for everybody. I don’t know if it’s the level of absurdity or craziness, but it threatens certain people. They just go berserk, hating the film, and others loving it to the same degree for the same reasons. You know, life can sometimes be absurd.”
* The current status of every murdered rapper’s case
* The popularity of music genres, 2005-present
* Quite an interesting article if you want to know how most of the stuff around you got there
They’re going to drop like flies now, the really great ones I grew up with. Especially those who burned so brightly – the various fabulous, colorful, undeniable-song-making rock stars who were born in the 1940′s and 50′s, who were worshipped by, well, we’re talking about the first Motörhead lineup, the original trio, so, boys, mostly, born in the 1960s (us).. so, “You have burned so very brightly, Roy Batty”, or the live version of Both Ends Burning by Roxy Music, or whatever. (they fucking drank like fish every night, and they snorted cheap speed, and that’s why they’re dying, and, have you heard No remorse? And, unless Forest Hills, Queens is some sort of diabolical radium superfund site [and it may well be], why are most of the Ramones dead, while most of the much, much older Rolling Stones are still alive?)
But, so, I was a punk rocker. And there were zero other punk rockers in my high school, but there was this kid Corky, a metal fan. We had a hilariously antagonistic relationship at first – built into this budding friendship was the fact that nobody else would have either of us, and nobody else in the whole place cared one bit for aggressive music. We ribbed each other. He had home room one period before me, and would draw elaborate Ozzy and Black Sabbath pieces on his desk, which I would proceed to sit at, erase “Sabbath”, draw “Flag”, repeat, repeat, etc.
I had heard the metal I was allowed to like at that point (seen pictures of British punks with Motörhead shirts), but had not gone so far as to purchase the actual music (like, on vinyl import LPs) yet. We started to trade-lend records to each other (shit, Corky, thanks for not scratching my Minor Threat 7″s, the fucking things are worth thousands of dollars now), me receiving all kinds of fantastic new knowledge, Venom’s Black Metal, Exodus’s Bonded By Blood — and one day, he shows up to school, and presents me with No Sleep ‘Til Hammersmith and Ace Of Spades, Bronze Records import albums with the shiny British covers, and says, “Here, I found these in the trash, you can have them.”
Certainly, the studio version of Ace Of Spades is the immortal track, but my jam, in them days, was the live version of The Hammer. I got into metal, and Corky became a punk, and then a skinhead, and then the leader of the Chicago SHARP skins, I kid you not. Years later, Philthy and I had the same storage space in L.A., and he used to drive in there in a goddamn pink Cadillac. I kid you not. Man, rock stars.
Allen Toussaint : Last Train
Allen Toussaint : Southern Nights