It was a quiet, unassuming day when I first jammed with Brendan and Dogface in a rather nice suburban garage in Cerritos. I was just glad this wasn't yet another Green Day or NOFX cover band from suburbia. The music was kicking, and I saw a a lot of talent in those two. Guess they must have liked my playing because next day I was in the band.
A few days after that, Jenny Strawberry joined the band. I was kind of taken aback that a woman was in the band, considering from what I thought of good bands is that they were an almost all-testosterone club (especially L7). But Jenny holds her own on guitar I must say. She's pretty damn good.
A few days after that, Amy joined on bass, and the beta linup was complete. We played a few shows, including one with local furor KYS.
"Rockie" then proceeded to tell us that punk rock was dead, that all the punk he listened to seemed to be meaningless. I asked him what he listed to and he said, you know, punk like No Doubt and Bush. I could barely contain my snicker.
So aside from not being able to hear Jenny's guitar, I guess it went ok. Seemed to me that most of the other bands all were listening to the same radio band, 'cause they all sounded way too much alike. The crowd's enthusiasm left something to be desired of, granted the average age out there was maybe 14, but they could've at least stood up. Nobody got my Powerslave references or any of the Dio-esque caricaturing I was doing except a few of my close friends in the audience. We ended the set with our traditional cover of Louie Louie. People kept telling me I sounded like Greg Ginn, I said that was cool except that I was really trying to sound like Steve Cropper. However, the teenyboppers did cheer alot...guess that's what's important.
Dogface immediately got us another bass player. So I was assigned to pick up the new guy, Andy, and head on out to the next practice. We show up and start. Brendan, Dogface, and Jenny Strawberry are already there, Andy gets set up and we start into Jobhunter. I'll be damned if there weren't tears in Dogface's eyes when we ended that song, 'cause it came out tight. Hope this all works out. The sound was really good and everybody was getting into the music.
Andy, the new bass player, as usual didn't say a word to
anyone, but cracked a smile when
I showed him my lyrics to My Favourite Things
(To do to Becky). Once that broke the ice everything went
well. We got out of there at 1:30 am in the goddam morning
which was way too late for me, since I had to get up at 7:00 am.
Ahh, here's to sleep deprivation and method acting..
Guess we're done with recording the LP's main tracks. Now we just do
some bass and vocals and it's ready for pressing. This is the part of the
music that isn't all that glorious. No screaming moshers, no
"rock
chix," no bright lights,
just a dark warehouse in huntington beach with cold walls for the sound waves
to bounce against. Next week is when the final touches come in.
Things are still hairy over this bass transition. Scheduling is a
nightmare, and complications arose this week from a serious communication
breakdown. Due to schedule conflicts, we are going to only have 2 practices
for our upcoming show; oh well...
indie bands aren't really supposed to practice anyway, right? I am sure
that after a gig under our belt with Andy, things should smooth out. Seems
to me everyone is a bit too jumpy right now. Wish Andy would get a car
soon, though.
Returned Andy's bass cabinet to him. His sister kept staring at
me like I'm some sort of freak of nature or something. Geez it was
really unnerving in a way. Ever seen Children of the Corn? Andy was
no where in sight. I think the younger members of the band (Brendan,
Andy) have more of a life than the older members. Go figure.
Playing tomorrow night at sound arena to practice for the gig. If
anyone wants to see us for a free show, show up to Sound Arena in Anaheim
(520 South Claudina Street). We're usually there from 10 on. A lot
of nameless kick ass bands play there. Especially the band/group/person
I like to call "The Washing Machine". Because that's what he sounds
like, really. One time I was over there all I could here was this
WHOOOMP, WHOOOOMP, WHOOOOMP, WHOOOOSHH. WHOOOMP, WHOOOMP, WHOOOMP,
WHOOOSH. I wondered if Maytag was practicing there or something, so
I looked into the room and it was pitch black with a red flashing light
going on in there. Ok, someone even more demented than me. Maybe it
was concept art. Like the birthing process. WHOOOMP WHOOOMP WHOOOMP
WHOOOMP WHOOOMP, WHOOOSH, KERSPLAT, SPANK, WAAAAAAAHHHHH! Or maybe
even the conception process. WHOOOMP WHOOOMP WHOOOMP WHOOOMP WHOOOMP
OOOOHHH, KERSPLAT, pause..."Well, I gotta go now."
Speaking of that I'd like to take some time out to address Alanis
Morrisette, Sheryl Crow, and all the other female artists who enjoy
talking shit about bad relationships. I'm going to write a album called:
An open letter to Alanis Morrisette, Sheryl Crow, et all.
the main song will be called DUH
it's going to go like this:
You picked him up at a bar.
You wonder why he treats you like shit!
Maybe the next song will be called You date losers or something
along those lines. It would make a good rock opera.
Last night's practice went crappy. Everyone was off time and
I don't think we were into it. For one thing, Brendan has this
habit of not showing up to practice with us; which since he lives
in San Dimas and the rest of us live down here; is somewhat
understandable, but it still puts a strain on us...practicing
without a singer throws me off; and I don't know the lyrics well
enought to sing all the songs; and that throws me off as well.
It didn't help either that she had to be at work by 7:00 am and
the practice went on until 12:10 am. When we were packing up she
had to leave in a hurry and I wonder if she got offended when I
offered to carry her guitar to her car for her. You can never tell
with women. Anyway, I hope the gig on friday goes better.
The best thing all night was the die-hard punker who was circling around
the mosh pit in his motorized wheelchair. I mean that's sort of saying
it all. Like being uncovered in a volcanic land fill, imortalized giving
mother nature the eternal raised middle finger. This guy was circling
the pit with the chair...that's dedication for you. Granted it's several
thousand degrees less than the guy who has to get up for work from 5 am to
10 pm picking strawberries in Riverside for $1.00/hr but it's still some
sort of dedication. Granted it's several million degrees less than the
little kids having to live in an abandoned wing of the Nike factory in china
where they work for $1.02 a DAY making your nike shoes because your opulent
ass just needs to have nike booties to go with your tommy
pull-my-motherfucking-hill finger bullshit, because all you ever do is try
to get pussy in a land of rape and honey.
Ah, but who'm I trying to kid? I sit here stewing in my own brain with
the knowledge that we are spiraling down a path darker than anything Trent
Reznor wishes he can dream of but all I can think about is the big timer going in my
head. We are all guilty of being both the scarecrow and the hypocrite.
Most Johnny-Rotten-Come-Latelies don't even remeber that type of
fear. The fear that no matter what you accomplish in life, in one split
second, the light could tear it all to pieces.
431 hours until isolation. Excuse me if I'm pretty one track minded - but
I can't help it. So the album is done. Yippee. Will it even have an effect?
I know why Kurdt and Brad offed themselves. That's what Needle in My Arm's
about. Partly for them and partly for myself. Kurdt offed himself beacuse he
was trying to speak out against that frat-boy mentality, and when Sigma Chi
started using "Polly" to iniate members into the frat (or as the background
song when they dropped rophynol into the party punch bowl) then I suppose a
little part of Kurdt died. Soon enough when enough parts of you die, there's
not much to go on. Not that it matters. We're lucky we don't get an am-ram
in our backyard when the third world figures out why they can't live comfortably.
When everything is gone what will people say about us? Nothing. Just another
91 X flavour of the month. What happens then? What have we changed? Sure,
we can sing all we want about alienation, but how does that really change the
basic way people act towards one another? People are scared, scared to break
down the walls.
We have walls everywhere. Every cubicle, every office, every home. We
subdivide and segregate everything in a vain attempt to be left alone. All
that angst still does not compare to what the statement "I want my MTV!" does
to the rest of the world? And do we care? When you see those ads on TV with
a fat, out of work, Sally Struthers begging you for money for kids who are
starving in Burma or the Appalachians you just change the channel. I'm not
trying to be self-righteous, because I know I do too. The thing is that we
don't realize that the underlying reason that the third world exists is because
we have finite resources on this planet that the first world is hogging up
and wasting while the third world starves. And it's so ingrained into our
culture that we can't stop ourselves anymore.
God I really hate that goddam verve pipe song
Freshmen.
"I can't be held responsible - it was only date rape." That's the bullshit
that needs to be stopped. Stuff like the Candlebox song lyrics. I disected an old Candlebox
song that I used to like, until I realized that Maybe was about how
some loser mistreated a girl and when she finally was fed up with his loser
ass bullshit she left, and now he wants her back - so he can stick it in her
ass once again... Well, I'm sorry I can't
relate to that kind of bullshit. I ain't blonde, or anorexic, nor do I have that glam-rock
loser cum that most L.A. women are taught to crave. Excuse the fuck out of
me but I've seen more than my share of awesome women supporting losers who
spawn more losers. This whole situation is making me sick.
Dogface was over until 3:31 AM, we mixed down the album to reel;
I think the mix sounded really good over my headphones; and the volume of
the vocals were really good too. I am leaving a lot up to Dogface's mixdown
because I wasn't really actively participating in the mixdown, I was basically
asleep and was only able to give general comments like; "raise the vocals."
"Boost the high end." "Raise the guitar on this part, but not this other part,"
anyway, I hope everything came out ok. I didn't actually have any hands on
with the 4 track, being that I was really tired and that I was falling asleep
preparing for the method acting routine.
431.45 hours until isolation.
Venom envelops my soul like an pus filled boil. The pressure inside builds
the bursting point. Need to channel that anger into something positive
though. Beating on a punching bag or a guitar is the same type of release.
No point being negative...I don't have any justification for that
type of self-indulgent blues trip. Hell I even dislike what I wrote above
because it reeks of the stench of self-pity. The point is to keep going on
because no matter what, this is the only life you get. Cash and carry
philosophy. It's your life, it's up to you to enjoy it.
Best advice on where to pick up how to play a musical instrument? Start with
listening to your heart. Then add pain. Then add realization that your pain
is still insignificant compared others in humanity. Then add that realization
to the compromise you are going to have to come to between your depression and
gratitude that you aren't dying from starvation while watching someone else throw
half eaten big macs away down a trash chute.
Go where your heart follows. That is the most stupidest thing
I've heard in the longest time. Where is there to go? Just when things finally
seem to be working out..time rends all away. Chronos and his eternal march of
destruction. It's that inner voice inside, the inner voice that knows. The one
that knows how it's all going to end. I know how it will end, it's always been
this way, the only thing throwing me off is that my timing improved so much
this time around. But I know how it will end anyway. There's no stopping it.
Progressions and patterns like this pervade my existence; and for some unknown
reason; the powers that be have decreed my fate to be so. I don't know how
it will be; but I know how it will end. It is almost inevitable, and beyond
my control. Not with a bang; but with a whimper...- fade in intro to Pink
Floyd's Sorrow...Here's to the glory of a sunsets behind a city scape.
384 hours until isolation.
And, what have you got...at the end of the day?
Plans within plans within plans. So they said. A self indulgent blues jam
does the rest. Isolation begins now. When they give you your take out your
vaccinations and take out your tonsils and appendix, they might as well take
out your heart. What am I supposed to believe in this world? If things don't
work out, you're screwed; if things do work out you're screwed anyway. Don't
build up any bridges, because that river's always too strong. Don't even
try because trying could bring about failure. And now the method acting begins.
Acting. That's all it is. You assume a role and the curtain drops and the
show begins. You aren't given much of a script either, just parameters, cliches
and the knowledge that nothing really ever works out. No matter how much you
think it can. People will never tell you the truth either. You have to sift
through everything. You have to weigh everything they say, you have to realize
that they have their own scripts too and their own roles, and what they really
want to say and really want to do has to fit their role. But they
try to make it sound nice, and you try to not to hurt each other's feelings
too much, and it all ends nice and spiffy. Everyone drives off and everything
is just so nice and neat because no one wants any entanglements, no one wants
to try, 'cause we've all been hurt before and well no one wants that. So lets
find people who won't hurt us. Oh yeah, and here's the plan - get this - We
won't care about each other that much...that way it won't hurt at all... Then
we wonder why this always leads to stalemate in the emotional chess game we play.
This is the fundamental axiom of the world. Someday the mothership will come
down and pick up the reconaissance mission. Then we can all go home.
I am numb.
To: El Kabong
put on a show worth the price of admission
June 12, 1997
Hammered most of the stuff out in a session last night.
Darrin K, soundman extraordinaire, lent us the use of Nihil
Studios for a night.
He
donated a lot of time to insure quality in the track laydown.
As a result, everything sounded awesome, especially the dreaded
drum mix (4
track owners you know what I mean).
June 13, 1997
Finished up the actual recording of the LP last night. Unbelievably,
the drum sound is even better than the previous night's work. I don't
think most people can understand the talent of Darrin K; considering
all he has available to him right now is an old 4-track.
Most people would have had to shell out the money to
do it on a 8-track or even a 16-track. Being poor and of the DIY ethic,
Darrin made do with several very select mics and his own special program on
his effects rack. Dogface and Darrin handled the live mixing of
the overall sound, with the guitars recorded live along with
everything else in unison.
The main point is that we didn't have to shell out beaucoup bucks for
this undertaking. This is the basis of the whole
DIY ethic.
You make do with what you have because you don't have much to begin with.
June 16, 1997
Got 2 songs now mixed down. Granted they aren't exactly what
Dogface had in mind, but we'll compare his finished product to mine
and see which method had a better success. I don't care whether or
not we isolate each individual track on a 72 track machine with
a 2" head or hang a tape deck from the roof and just hit
record; I just want the recording to do justice to the music. Unlike
the recording quality of many a DIY band.
DUH!
You thought he was so cuuute.
DUH!
You don't realize that's what all the other bargirls say.
DUH!
So your "Mr. Right" has an overinflated ego.
DUH!
Now you're sleeping with an asshole!!!!!
DUH!
You wonder why you're last on his list
DUH!
Can't you see your stupidity?
DUH!
Do you like this agony?
DUH!
Why don't you just pick the guy whose been there all along?
The one who'd cheer you up when you're down?
June 18, 1997
Less than a month to go before some really inspired lyrics,
wonder if the band will last until then. Maybe I'm just
paranoid but I see a lot of tensions within the structure
of this endeavour. Maybe it's the strain of recording an
album; maybe it's just stupidity, I don't know. Andy still
needs transportation, that's probably one big thing. Dogface
seems to be to be permanently in a hurry to be doing something.
And Jenny Strawberry seems not to be having a good month...
people's work schedules are now constantly conflicting with
one another. Helpfully, during the school year this problem with
only jamming late at night is going to be solved. Jenny and I
both have to get up early in the morning to do the method acting
routine.
June 21, 1997
Playing with KYS in Norwalk. All in all a decent gig, although for
some reason I don't understand we went on first. It was the usual
crowd; a bunch of drunk punkers making fools of themselves, claiming
stuff that they shouldn't. Tag crews, gangs, skinheads, fraternities,
really all the same to me...people just need to feel better than
everyone outside their clique. Go figure. Was filming the video part
of this documentary. Got a couple of choice lines from several punker
chicks. I think the best moment was when the Gwen Stefani look-a-like
kept insisting to me that she was doing this to be original.
June 26, 1997
432 hours until isolation. The blind man has been given the repreive to
think about things until total isolation. He who hath seen now is blind.
Suddlenly the world seems a bit more colder with each breath, and everything
seems to be fading to a dull gray. To paraphrase Gibson, the sky above my
life has turned to the color of a TV tuned to a dead channel. Of course
most people don't remember what snow on a TV is, or for that matter the fear
that one day, the Reagan astrologer would wake up on the wrong side of the
bed and get Mr. Alzheimer to punch the football, sending us all into a
blinding white light as we kiss this pranayoga existence goodbye.
June 28, 1997
Pretty much done with all the web design for Ronin/Nihil. Hope this shit
pans out. If this doesn't pan out I'm just going to close that idea and focus
on the 4 other things going on in my life.
June 30, 1997
Yesterday, I was complete, go figure, it was Sunday morning. The soul
healed itself from 2:30am onward, until 12:30am this morning. All the
crap, all the hell, I thought it was over, for a little while. She actually
listens to the lyrics, not many people do. But then the world caught on
but then life caught up with me and the dogs rend my soul to shreds. Now it's
just a question of how to say it. Take a bath in self pity. Learn how to
hide.
What have you got to take away?
A bottle of whiskey, and a new set of lies,
Blinds on the window, and the pain behind your eyes.
- Dire Straits, Private Investigations
July 1, 1997
It is here, now. Everything is back to gray. I was human and happy for 1
day. Now that day has past. Kind of like the day that ended up missing
when the Catholic Papacy redid the calendar. But that day is over. I return
to the grey shades. Maybe it's better to stay that way.
July 21, 1997
Another gig at Malones. It wasn't so bad; more cheers from the Jailbait Pep Squad;
and other assorted punks-with-no-names. At least Rocky the Sound Guy wasn't there.
I guess the sound was ok, but I couldn't really tell because it was too hard trying
to play in 100 degree heat and lights, on a stage that was really not much bigger than
my bed. Also the last band went on for entirely too long, forcing us to hurry up
and play...I hate to be rushed...Also am going back to solid state; tube amps suck;
they are so unreliable, yeah sure they have a great "warm" feeling, whatever, who
cares...if you want a warm feeling go down some valium.
July 27, 1997
From: Darrin Kinney
Subject: Last Night's Show
july 26
some backyard in BFE
something weird happened
a band composed of 5 members
all utterly pissed at the previous band for playing for a hour and a 1/2
one guitarist was anxious to go
both vocalists lost their voices
and the drummer couldn't hear worth shit
- throwing his timming off
(considering he is usually never off)
there raw energy fell upon the crowd
you get my point
i can only hope you guys can actually put on a show like that
infront of the people who matter
with a sound system worth something
with amps tuned right
in a good frame of mind
did you catrch the comment by jamie?
can we go somewhere to just relax - sit down
after the show there was kind of this euphoria in what was left of the crowd
- like the end of a REAL show
damn good guys
Aug 16, 1997
Playing in another backyard party in Downey. Seems how we never seem to break
out of this Midcity circuit. Must be a result of the Mischief booking
technique. But actually the party was decent, and the crowd was much more
enthusiastic than I expected. We played for about 25 minutes until the cops
came and broke the party up. I guess the middle class suburbian neighborhood
we were playing in couldn't stand the wakeup call to see it's own fucked-up youth.
So they called the pig patrol to continue to keep everything behind closed doors
as they slept blissfully dreaming of the 80's and Ronald Reagan.
Aug 20, 1997
If you ever feel too cocky and sure of yourself, if you ever need to be knocked
down from a high horse, I suggest going on flyer patrol. It's this nifty thing
where the band members get to beg people to come to their shows. Given that the
last time we did flyer patrol ended up in bringing the Downey PD to our show,
we thought we'd be a little more discreet this time. Here we were a bunch of
poor DIYers in the heart of the richland of Orange County: Newport Beach.
Don't quite understand how we play in places that don't really respect us but
that's probably due to the fact we live in shitty So Cal. We met with some
success after we'd been snobbed around by a bunch of OC "alternative chicks"
who were busy acting cool and worrying about how to look alot like their favourite
MTV persona. I HATE LA. I swear, I'm at the breaking point. One more thing and
I'm leaving this shithole.
Aug 24, 1997
Yeah another wonderful sunday playing in the hole we call Malones. It was better
this time, no Rocky at all. I guess the Irish powers that be canned his ass when
they realized that a monkey could do his job. We played to a dismal audience of
about 5 people again, all of which I knew by first name. The only good thing to
come out of that night is that we got our friends in for free , which is good because
they were our only audience. That did wonders for our enthusiasm. I'd say band
spirit is at an all time low; almost right around the same kind of low we had when
Amy quit. It's kind of a bummer in that right now, when we
do play clubs no body shows up but when we play parties there are tons of people.
That's the socal trendy scene for you. Unless you've been pre approved by the
holy saints of KROQ you won't get any recognition in the club circuit. And if you
aren't signed by local lables like theologian, skunk, or know, you won't get to play
any decent shows at local clubs. It's all politics and bullshit. No wonder Jello
Biafra said that the Dead Kennedys could never have happened in LA. He's right.
This ain't no scene...this is just backwash from when the first splash of hardcore
vomitus came up in 81.
October 10, 1997
The Pelikan Crack Club. Ahh well everyone flakes who flakes of course and a horse
is a horse you know...but even a horse like Mr. Ed. or worse yet, Boxer in the Animal
Farm, knows not to schedule gigs too far from home.
October 18th
King Arthur's Pub. Fuckin' pigs. Can't even play. Just because OC loves a good republican
fascist. Ended up calling everywhere in town to try to play tonight but couldn't even
do that.
October 19th 1997
Playing w/ Anti Pacifist in Freedom Fest '97 over at the Tropics lounge. Pretty good
Dogface actually does thing the rolled up lipton tea I gave him is a joint. Pretty funny.
We're playing with the Anti-pacifists and some other rich OC band I don't remember. Mc Petey
and i remark how it's funny that the OC band shows up to the gig in brand new cars, one
of which being a benz - the other an integra of course. We laugh silly and talk about
bullshit in front of the bar. Mischief looks bored and tries to swap 3 letter acronym
messages with Mc Petey. "Hey man, what do you think of GBH? FYI? RFP? etc etc..."
October 20th 1997
Over in Linda's Dollhut. Man this place is small. About the size of my flat in fact.
small small small. But nevertheless it's a landmark in the eyes of this star-hungry town.
Sublime, No Doubt, The Ziggens... all the OC people played here. And so are we. We
go on and give it our usual 110%. Halfway through the show we have to do an improve
acoustic set as we blow out the circuit breaker and wait for it to be reset. Afterwards
we meet the guys in The Burnouts and the singer for Mad Parade.
Oct 31st 1997
Gotham Club in beautiful Hollywood, CA. The Idiot Parade is playing a Halloween Night
Show w/ American Gothic. We get there and play for a while. The band after us sounds
exactly like The Misfits, whom (sans Danzig) our lead singer took of early to try to
see. He missed them anyway. After watching the pseudo-misfits, and some of American
Gothic (and their entourage of skinny depressed looking gothic chicks) we left.
November 4th, 1997
In the footsteps of the minutemen we are playing at Al's Bar/Lounge in Los "Shithole"
Angeles. We are sans Danny Mischief. Our lead singer couldn't make it tonight. Bummer;
so the rest of us decided to play anyway. We sounded pretty good - had to double the
guitar and vocal duties though. Thought the show went well.
