Columns - "Friday Night at the Death Club" 01.31.01

Friday Night at the Death Club #6
By: Piss and Shit Fisting a Policeman (i.e. Kenny)

For the past two months I’ve not paid any attention. I haven’t written anything. I haven’t done anything that had to do with this or any other web site. No new zines to report. Haven’t read any magazines, or bought any punk records. Haven’t been to one single show. Haven’t talked to anyone on the phone. It’s been great.

In the past two months we buried a friend, buried a friend’s Mom, I drove a forklift in a cold warehouse, made a bunch of money, dealt with people who were very, very close that want to smoke crack, hit black ice and got into a car wreck, broke my guitar, fixed it, worked on my movie, and began packing up my shit- I’m losing this place. Hey place, get lost.

Actually though, I finally got an angry letter. I was pretty psyched, but then I discovered it was from a band upset about something I said about them in my last column. How typical is that? I’ve been around punk rock for quite a while, and I’ve seen so many bands come and go, that it’s very annoying to find out that people in punk bands still take themselves seriously. Get over it- seriously. Yeah, reviews suck when they talk bad about your band- I’m sorry. It’s fun to place your punk band into the MRR rotating circle and watch the business spin round and round. It’s cool to send out your stuff to get reviewed, cause you know that you’re gonna get a good review if you do x, x, and x. It must be quite a shock to put out a perfect "punk" record and see it got a negative comment on a "punk" web site. But life goes on. No one is gonna’ care next month anyway. The person who wrote this letter to me was also trying to make the point like I was some sort of big time rock critic like Lester Bangs, all full of myself and opinionated with no talent to back it up. And your point is? I guess that was the old attempt to pale one’s critics to take the emphasis off of the critic’s criticisms of you. That usually doesn’t work though, see. It doesn’t matter if I’m a fascist or a sexually deviant psycho- the truth is the truth. Sorry- if it looks like a duck, and acts like a duck, it’s probably a fucking duck. They’re pretty punk though, so they’ve got that going for them, but punk rock sucks. In fact, I couldn’t name a new band that doesn’t suck. Get it? Ducks? No more yankee my wankee…

I just bought a new stereo. It’s pretty sweet. Buying an item like that makes life more exciting. Like when you buy a new guitar or a new skateboard you wanna use them all the time. Same thing here, and after refusing to listen to music for months, I was able to make a really fresh start. The top albums in my dated universe for December:

Graham Parker and the Rumor "Heat Treatment"

Graham is the poor man’s Elvis Costello. I’m poor. I also never had the same reverence for either Elvis, albeit Costello or Percoset er, Presley.

Kraftwerk "Kraftwerk" and "Computer World"

These are the two Kraftwerk records for me. Every time that I put on "Computer World" I am amazed by how much I like it- it’s really one of my favorite records. Shoot- one of my favorite records ever is an electronica LP. Those of you not familiar with "Kraftwerk", this record would be very painful for most people to listen to. It doesn’t really have drumbeats, just series’ of bleeps, bonks, and various other German cold cool. Then you put on "Computer World" and you dance.

Hanoi Rocks "Bangkok Shocks, Saigon Shakes, Hanoi Rocks" and "Back to Mystery City"

This is no surprise, as "Bangkok Shocks…" has been my favorite record for the past three years. I think that "Back the Mystery City" though, is grossly underrated- a couple of the best songs on it like "Ice Cream Summer" do not even appear on most of the Hanoi compilation disks. Retarded.

Kiss "Ace Frehley"

It shocked me when I first heard this record again. I was the biggest Kiss fan when I was a little kid. They were my cousin Don- Don’s favorite band, so they became mine. When you listen to this record though, you remember that under the make up, and under different circumstances, Ace could’ve been in the Dictators. Anton Fig on the drums. Kiss Army!

Alice Cooper "Killer"

They could put every song on this record on any Alice "greatest hits" package. I love "Love it to Death", I totally appreciate the conceptualism that "Billion Dollar Babies" captured and the trend that followed with the band’s next few records, but this is the foot to the floor Alice Cooper record. "Step into the streets by sundown/ Step into your last goodbye."

Motley Crue "Too Fast For Love"

The best Sunset Strip rock and roll album ever? You bet your mirrored sunglasses and ID bracelet it is.

Gang of Four "100 Flowers Bloom"

This is a CD retrospective thing, so I get to use my new CD player, too. There’s so much to say about this, that I think that I’ll say nothing. No, I’ve got to say something- I’m a raging windbag. "At Home He’s a Tourist" is one of the best songs ever. This is one of the best bands ever. It’s hard to keep a proper balance when you’re trying to mix disco music and punk rock together, but they not only do it, they make you wish that there were more disco/ punk bands. Go become gay.

Cold Crush Brothers

Wild style b- boys that are representing the South Bronx to the fullest. This is old and dirty.

Jurassic 5

I can’t begin to express how much I hope these guys help launch a new trend of old style hip-hop. This is crew style, beats and rhymes action in the tradition of everyone from Sugar Hill to DMC, Cold Crush, Force MC’s, Flash, and EPMD. East Coast style, "Take four MC’s and make ‘em sound like one… a lot of people don’t know how it feels to dedicate your whole life to this mic of steel".

Knock on Wood.

My dog Bullets has finally gotten the giant metal rod out of her leg, and will probably not have to become a tripod. This is good news. I didn’t really mind the metal rod that much though, ‘cause it went outside of her body and stuff and she looked like a product of Nazi experimentation.

New President.

I heard that we have a new president. Wow. What the fuck do I care?

Shit, and Touching It.

Sometimes after I take a shit I am struck by the urge to reach into the toilet and pick it up. I haven’t done it yet, though. I’ll keep you all posted.

In More Exciting Digital News.

The Internet is very popular- people love pornography. And gambling; they like gambling.

Detox Police.

Amanda and I have started a new band called Detox Police. We’re playing a show on January 26th in Kent at the Mantis with Crimson Sweet from NYC, the Socials from Cincy, and I think Kill the Hippies and Radar Secret Service. It should be pretty cool.

(The following is part of a column I wrote for this Canadian zine, but I’ve never heard back from them, and haven’t seen the new issue. It’s about one year old, and I think it’s funny how serious I was about music just one year ago. It was this seriousness, mixed with an almost complete lack of anything in punk rock that doesn’t bore me to tears that’s lead to my general disgust. Check it.)

If You Can't Stand To Be In Church For and Hour, How Do You Expect To Live In Heaven Forever? Yeah- You're Gonna' Die.

So this is my first punch in Soap & Spikes, so these assholes that run this fucker want me to introduce myself. I'm honored actually. So here I am. I'm 6'4", have hair like Bobbi Dall from Poison, and will fuck you up for no reason at all. That's why I'm writing this. There's no one even left in my town to put in their place anymore. I'm from Youngstown, Ohio USA, home of bombed out steel mills, crack, suicide, straight jacking, and stupid fucking kids that think they're going to make it better. I want to make it worse. I want to see how low we can go. I want to prove to everybody that we can have dudes getting blowjobs in their offices after closing a million dollar stock deal, while their wives are at home getting fucked by the gardener, and they're so happy, and so rich, and meanwhile everybody else is dying. So they wonder why someone just jacked their Beamer? To feed their kids you pinstriped cocksucker. Or to support a well-deserved drug habit brought to you by their spirit sucking, pile driving fraternity they got going. For all the people I've punched in the face, it's these bank presidents and dudes like that, that I was really picturing. I'd love to walk into a richey rich suit store, find some pompous dildo so full of himself, his Viper parked outside, telling everyone what to do and them doing it because they want rich guy commission, and just kick him right in the dick and rip his shirt and piss on his wife. But alas, I'm a pussy. So I stalk the streets picking on little dorks with their ugly girlfriends and think I'm so great. Every peg is in its' place here already. Maybe I should help them. I could help them see that they're living a fucking lie. They won't listen though, so I'll just keep keying their cars, calling them faggots, and such. I'll keep taking their money, and then go home bored, and covered with tears. That's my introduction.

Motherfuckers, start the engines! It's six o' clock in the morning, I'm drunk as piss, and I'm dragging you all with me on my one way ride to hell. Fuck all!

Wanted: Disgusting punk rock (Previous title- I Don't Even Own a Fucking Pair of Leather Pants).

If you people insist on watering this shit down, please do it to the point where you all drown yourselves. Glam punk, power pop punk, and leopard print toilet paper? Terrible! I hate people in punk bands that want to act as if they want to be remembered as "artists" or "singer/songwriters." People that take themselves seriously are a fucking laugh. You cut your own balls off and then get mad when people make you out for the pussies that you are. It's not about selling records. I don't care about all of your Johnny Thunders' bootlegs that you bought on vacation, or how they've really influenced your new tunes. I went on vacation with my Mom and came home with a hangover and a live Pagans record. We were in New York and I went to see Cabaret and looked at all those half naked people and drank $8 rum and cokes to wash down a $40 cheese plate. I was upper crust that day. I was bourgeoisie. But when I got home, it was business as usual- fucking Piranhas records and $4 twelve packs. You can't deny who you are, I guess. That's why I can't stand this cleaned up, over produced "rock" music passing as punk these days. What, is this all for real now? Shit, no one told me. I'm going to change the world and make a million dollars sounding like a second rate imitation of Electric Frankenstein, then. Or maybe I'll get on a Bowie kick and start drinking wine and writing poems about how my girlfriends dump me because I'm an asshole. I'll start wearing make up to shock my parents and fraternity dudes in my sociology class. It's so clear to me now. Maybe I'll go to college and get a marketing degree to "move units" of my greatest material- ME! Then instead of having a band, I'll do strictly recording "projects", and fly in the ex-bass player from Nuclear Assault to help me "lay down some fresh tracks." During the day, I'll go to hip bars and drink coffee and steel my ego as I eavesdrop on kids at the end of that motherfucker whispering, "Is that Kenny? It is Kenny! I thought he'd be sexier." Punk rock will finally give me what I've always desired- a hot tub. Whoooo!

Breaking All the Rules.

Rules are really fucking beat. Seriously- they suck dick. But in the year 2000, punk has tons of rules. It always has sure, and there has always been some prick like me complaining about it. Well, maybe that's the cross I have to carry. It's my burden, if you will. I'm not going to let these fuckers get away with this. As the new punk underground continues to strengthen its' latticework and reaches more and more people, there is obviously more money to be made. My question is where do these people come from? Someplace else obviously. A world of music videos and Mariah Carrey. A world of spring break whipped cream contests and Jello shots in a multitude of flavors. But they bring the bucks, and even the coolest underground labels have begun catering to their clean tastes and white bread. For what? Make a couple bucks now, fuck up your label, and be back at square one in 2 years. That's fucking weak. Meanwhile, all the really cool, nasty underground bands continue getting ignored, and real punk rock dies. It gets replaced by some lifeless facsimile. Not on my watch, sir! Why do you think that most rad, dirty punk bands break up after 2 EP’s? Because no one will support them. They're left pissing in the wind, discouraged, fighting with each other in a van driving 100 miles on 90 miles worth of gas, hoping they make it home so they can get the fuck away from each other. That's what's killing good, raw punk rock dead. An underground of the underground is the only way out. Take your patent leather creepers, pompadours, Bettie Page tattoos, and haircuts and stick 'em! Brothers and sisters in arms, back into the fucking trenches!

Kenny, You Are a Smug, Sarcastic Little Bitch.

If you people would momentarily discontinue acting like fucking assholes, I might be a little easier to stomach. You started it. I'm ending it. It's like that. God can't save everyone. Really though, I'm a thoughtful young man. I think. I think thoughts. I think about how stupid 99% of people truly are. I think about how I have to bust my ass to afford cigarettes because 99% refuse to wake the fuck up, and I get nothing in return. When I play a show, I break myself and people help break me. We drink, play punk rock seriously, and for that fleeting moment, it feels good to be alive. It's not clean. It's a dirty, disgusting business that rages out of control. It's a pool of gasoline ignited by the sparks that kids bring with them who are fed up with eating everyone's shit, and expected to love it. When I'm done playing and one person tells me that the twenty minutes I spent on that stage made their night, it's all worth it. When I drink too much and try to get on stage to sing "Kid Kisser " with Kill the Hippies, and only manage to knock over all the PA speakers, I feel like a total dick, but it doesn't matter because nights like those cannot be damaged. You can't break that which is already broken. Those nights will scream in my mind forever, and when I'm sad, I just think about them and the nights to come, and I get a boner. 12 hours later, I'm mopping a floor for minimum wage. But I won't change to avoid mopping that floor. "My mind is the machine gun. My body is the bullets. The audience is the target"(G.G. Allin). If a little mopping is what it takes, then Kenny mops. Boo hoo hoo, but it's just not fair though. "It's all a bunch of fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking shit" (Sockeye). Guess what? It is. Guess what else? We're all gonna' die. Fuck your mothers.


Does anyone have anything to say? I’m waiting to hear from someone with an answer as opposed to a complaint. Maybe it’s the Midwestern boy in me. I’m looking to new things. I’m looking towards the future. The present sucks. Maybe that’s just how it is. I’ve always believed in the middle theory. I think your pleasure and pain just evens out, but my thing is to see how high and how low you can go, but still stay alive to tell about it. Please send records- I’m bored. Shock me, entertain me, and brain drain me. I’m still in it to win it, and will be back to tell you about the show on Friday. "I don’t care if she comes, stays, lays, or prays- whatever happens, your toes are tappin’" (DaMone).

Don’t Forget the Joker, and Eat a Dick, Straight Up,

10825 Springfield Rd.
Poland, Ohio 44514, USA

P.S.- Folks who’s labels advertise that no other punk bands have come from a certain town should not talk shit about towns that they know nothing about. Believe it or not, there are places you’ve never heard of that have cranked out more classic punk rock than that town of the kid that your older brother hung out with ever will. Mean Red Linus!

© 2003