Saturday, March 28, 2015

The Island of Misfit Bands

Being in a band, in gambling terms, is never a sure thing, and make no mistake, a band is a gamble from start to finish. The odds on a band’s success rise higher and higher every day, especially since rock music’s lost its ability to command the marketplace.

Endless investments like musical equipment, rehearsal studio rent, demo recording costs and so much more bring back virtually no dividends at all. It’s a wonder bands stay together for as long as they do. This blog pays tribute to those bands that only hung in there for an album or two but still had so much to say.

A band can’t be judged on its staying power. Some bands release one album after another with the same songs like a sausage factory. There are other bands that put out one masterful album and then all the others thereafter are weaker than shit. It’s like the man says, you have your whole life to write the first album and only six months to write the second one.

I’ve compiled a list of my favorite two album wonders of the past twenty years, and here’s a brief sampler of them:

1. Darker My Love – a pretty good modern freakbeat band out of Silverlake, California. Songs like Talking Words, Summer is Here, and Northern Soul have a dark, reverb drenched sound with great melodies and cool vocals. On their website they sort of allude towards a “Maybe we’ll play again, maybe we won’t”. Maybe they should.

2. The Quotes – In an earlier era these boys would have been called power pop but with guitars and singing as ferocious as this (shades of The Reigning Sound) it’s just great, noisy rock ‘n roll. Hailing from Rotterdam, Holland, their songs like “Mass Produced” and “Lipstick” will blow the roof off your house and they even kick out a great cover of The Cynic’s “Help You Ann”.

3. Volt – Brought to you by In The Red Records, their press release claims they’re from France but the female singer sings in German with great songs like “Alles Neu” and “Testbild”. Imagine a cross between Kraftwerk and Boss Hog, with a synthesizer fighting a slide guitar for dominance in the noisy, distorted mix. Scores extra points for covering The Tyrades’ “Couples”.

4. The Hex Dispensers – To date they’ve only released two full-length albums and I wish there was more. A classic punk band with a Joey Ramone sound-a-like and melodies to kill for like “Channel 13 Is Haunted” and “O.B.I.T.” There’s also a great punk cover of Gary Numan’s “Down in the Park”. More!

5. The Brides – If The Misfits were more glam than punk they’d sound a lot like this Brooklyn, NY band. With a keyboardist named Julia Ghoulia, they sport some great songs like “Noir Aware” and “Got It” with Ghoulia’s sharp gothy organ screeches. Check out their great album “Sofa City Sweetheart” on eMusic.

6. Post Junk Trio – If Morphine turned into an instrumental band following the untimely death of Mark Sandman it would sound exactly like this. In fact, you could file this next to any Morphine album and fool your friends. Their album “Chinatown” is outstanding with tracks like “The Dog’s For Sale” and “Fun”. Love that honking baritone sax. More!

7. Tipsy – weird electronic lounge music from San Francisco, their two albums are essential listening even if you don’t care for lounge. Their sonic dreamscapes are total ear candy, especially the “Trip Tease” album. They also have some heavy hitters guest star on their records, like Ralph Carney on reeds and Vince Welnick from The Tubes on keyboards. I also saw a theremin and sitar credit on their albums. Well done!

Other two-album bands I like but didn’t get much information on were The SG Sound, another wild lounge band with some great tracks like “Jump The Shark” and “Sirens of Venus”, and Penthouse from Ireland who sound like some crazed cross between Jesus Lizard and The Birthday Party. Then there’s also Elevator Drops from San Diego on Time Bomb Records and a few others I can’t even remember any more.

In closing I just want to say that taking a chance on a short-lived obscure band can be more rewarding than listening to yet another wheeze from a band that’s been around too long. I won’t mention names, but the shorter lived bands sometimes have more to offer than the stodgy old ones.

Saturday, March 14, 2015

The Andy Seven Update

Now would be a good time to take a break from plugging men’s fragrances and free downloads on You Tube to let you know what's been going on lately. I'll start by letting you know that my latest novel Every Bitch For Himself has a new, revised cover (seen above) as well as a rear cover that's pretty awesome to look at, too. Both feature illustrations by the great Rebecca Seven.

Every Bitch For Himself still retails at $4.99, which is still a great deal compared to the overpriced paperbound books glutting the shelves at Barnes & Noble. Plus the book totally shreds, as Gore Vidal would say.

In addition to the Andy Seven page I created on I've also created a Cockfight page in honor of my band that played from 1993-1999. The page contains some cool photos of us as well as a few mp3 tracks for you to listen to.

Cockfight was a great band that played lo-fi punk with some brain shredding guitar sonics and played clubs like The Coconut Teaszer, The Abbey, The Garage, Club Lingerie, and Raji's, to name a few. You can find the page here:

I've also begun uploading full length films on You Tube which you may enjoy. I've kept the film selections pretty varied, running the gamut from modern rock films like The Year of My Japanese Cousin starring Selene Vigil of 7 Year Bitch to a 1941 Shemp Howard solo comedy Ghost Crazy to noir classics Naked Alibi and Desert Fury. All movies are unavailable for sale on DVD so there's no bootlegging involved. You can find my channel here:

Wranglers' Canyon is almost complete and should be finished by April with a July release date. I promise a pretty big surprise with this edition - it will be a lot different than anything I've done before. Like the two other novels it will be an eBook via BookBaby.

Unfortunately I haven't had a lot of time designing clothes for myself lately but I plan on remedying that soon. I have a few designs up my sleeve that I'll be working on soon. Pics will be posted up as soon as they're all stitched up. All I'm going to say is I hope you like leather.

Saturday, March 7, 2015


A few years ago I joined a social network site called Blurt and for a while it was great. It was real people reviewing restaurants and stores all over town, and unlike most reviews it was irreverent as hell...."The halibut steak was so nasty even the cockroaches turned their antennae up at it and crawled away in disgust"....No restaurant was too low for reviews..."If you're going to make a Jumbo Jack this bad hold the pubic hairs, bro..." Not exactly Westways magazine material.

The reviews made me laugh more than made me hungry and I was hooked. The site got crazier and crazier, too. Not content to just review hot dog stands and gourmet sushi houses, the reviews extended to car washes, pet groomers, and even ventured into the Oscars, procrastination, and Heaven itself. Blurters even blurted Heaven.

There was a Blurter from Chicago named Crazy Alice who occasionally reviewed LA places and she was very funny and had a trashy attitude. Not the usual nauseating LA princess on Blurt, just a dame with a vicious sense of humor. I friended Crazy Alice immediately.

Unfortunately Crazy Alice was a little too much trashy and she was placed in Blurt Jail, meaning suspension from posting privileges on Blurt for ten days. Big fucking deal. A breath of fresh air and the philistines would rather suck the carbon monoxide of predictability.

As soon as Crazy Alice got out of Blurt Jail she got real loud about stupid and it reached a fever pitch to where she got kicked off Blurt for good. More people, the more acidic critics, were getting suspended or outright kicked off from Blurt for not kissing major ass to the shitty restaurants and night clubs that abused customers but still managed to drop a few dollars to Blurt for online "protection".

One night I got a strange PM on Blurt from someone in Chicago named "Lars". All it said was, "Hi, remember me?" The next day I got a friend request from a Blurter named "Lars". Why would I be friends with someone named Lars. Intrigued, I went to his profile and read a few of his reviews.

"This was a decent enough bar, but after all is said and done I would rather dine at home with a nice steaming plate of lutefisk".

"The theater was comfortable but not as comfortable as my shack with five different varieties of herring".

Every review ended with Lars regaling us of his love for cold Nordic fish delicacies. Somebody was pulling my chain, and I let her know. I PM'ed "Lars" and wrote, "Welcome back, Crazy Alice!"
She wrote back, "You caught it faster than anyone else".

Back to her old tricks, Crazy Alice, I mean Lars continued tearing up the poor city of Chicago with her brutal but funny reviews. And with pickled Norwegian fish, even. It was a fun ride for awhile but Chicago wasn’t a big enough city for her to hide in. Someone caught wind of her return because after two months she was taken down. Lars was no more, pickled fish and all.

I continued writing my reviews of restaurants, shoe repairs and record stores, with the capper being that the Los Angeles Times called me for a comment on the closing of the Virgin Megastore, based on my Blurt review. That was pretty cool.

Everything was going okay, what with my attending a few parties thrown by Blurt for Elite Members Only – I earned mine from talking to the LA Times representing Blurt. A nice sideline while I worked in the Executive Office of the LA County Board of Supervisors. But those were different times.

One day I got a PM from someone on Blurt called “Mona”. I didn’t know anyone called Mona. I clicked on the PM and there was a picture of a classic Beverly Hills fake blonde woman who looked like she stepped out of a real estate advertisement. All the message said was, “Guess Who????”

“Lars, I mean Crazy Alice, is that you?” I asked. She sent me back a PM saying that she was now using her real name (yeah, sure) and she moved her account to Los Angeles instead of Chicago. “I made too many enemies in Chicago”. No shit.

I definitely saw a Modus Operandi in her social networking skills: In the beginning Mona reviewed places sporadically, still being funny but kind of keeping a cool front. But social networking being what it is the yokels, I mean Blurters took her perky blonde photo seriously and assumed that’s what she really looked like. Consequently a lot of the guys added her to their friend list, not realizing what she really was.

And boy, did she play it like crazy. Back to her old tricks, Mona hit the Blurt message board with a raunchy ferocity that split her following straight down the middle. I stayed out of the way because I knew what was to come, yep, you guessed it: Blurt Jail. Apparently she made a few less-than Princess remarks about female bodily functions and an angry Blurt Diva blew the whistle on her.

The days later Mona got out of Blurt Jail and everyone, mostly her Blurt slaves rejoiced like Solzhenitsyn released from a Siberian gulag. “MONA’S BACK!!!!” “WELCOME BACK, MONA BABY!!!”

Don’t think her head didn’t expand like a weather balloon from all this adulation, either. She fancied herself the Queen of Blurt without ever attending an LA Blurt social event. She couldn’t. She was still sitting around the snow in Chicago, Illinois.

As we all know when heads get swollen the old friends either are forgotten or eventually turned against. Mona, no longer needing my worthless LA friendship, began trashing my reviews. “What a great time waster, Andy S.” “Andy S. you’re so tacky. What are you talking about?”

I began wondering what Mona actually did for a living - when she wasn’t posting her magic all over Blurt she sent me chat prompts on Gmail. “Can you believe these idiots? I actually have them believing I’m a real girl living in Beverly Hills. And how weird is this? Rhonda Z. who says she’s straight wants to make out with me, isn’t that funny?”

I hated her Lonesome Rhodes bragging routine because I knew and liked some of these people she was laughing at. Of course she added, “You know I’m only telling you this because I can count on you. You wouldn’t give me away”.
“No, I wouldn’t”, meaning I wouldn’t crawl as low as you ever would.

Meanwhile, the Blurt slaves were all fawning over her – “Oh, Mona, are you coming to the Blurt Party? I’ll take you even though you aren’t an Elite Member”. Ha ha. For once she got real quiet.

I started avoiding her reviews and her profile page with her new avatar being a picture of Faye Dunaway from Bonnie and Clyde. The tagline read, “I’m running this cell block at Blurt Jail”. Yeah, fuck you too, Mona.

And then the strangest thing happened: Mona’s reviews came out less and less. When they did they read more like childhood reminiscences. “ When I was a little girl I went to the Santa Monica Pier”…”The La Brea Tar Pits scared me as a little girl”…the girl from Chicago pining for old Hollywood. Then they just simply stopped.

I wrote a review complaining about a specific Fire Station that harassed all the women in my neighborhood, including my wife. This review created a shit storm of a furor on Blurt, so bad Blurters threatened to have me kicked off the site for good. It got pretty ugly, and I knew my days at Blurt were numbered.

One day at work I got another chat prompt on Gmail….from Mona. She said, “What a bunch of fucking hypocrites. Did you know I was raped by a fireman twenty years ago? They aren’t heroes. What a bunch of bullshit”.
ME: Thanks, Mona. I wasn’t going to war against the entire Department, just that station.
MONA: I know that. Those Blurters are just a bunch of clueless assholes, blowing the whistle on you just like they did to me in Chicago and now in LA.
ME: Are you in trouble again?
MONA: Yeah, some girls on Blurt have it out for me. Well, fuck it. You probably noticed I haven’t posted in awhile, huh?

ME: Yeah. Are you in Blurt Jail again?
MONA: No. Mona’s days of drinking and drugs have finally caught up with her. I’ve been diagnosed with cervical cancer.
ME: Oh, fuck, that’s awful.
MONA: Yeah, I have bigger problems now than Blurt Jail. Aw, fuck them anyway. If they had any idea what I really looked like with my gray hair and glasses they wouldn’t give a fuck about me. Well, fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke. Mona’s in a lot of trouble.

(Personally her rap about sympathizing with me and her terminal sickness had an Andy Kaufman vibe about it so I tried to tread lightly and not take the whole business too hard. Fool one person and you’ll fool them all, and I didn’t want to be just another one of her stooges.)

Once she let the cat out of the bag about being elderly, aka closer to my age, we talked about bands from the Seventies we used to go see, her favorite story being about Edgar Winter’s White Trash at the Hollywood Palladium. We were friends again.

One week later, I got another Chat prompt from Mona:
MONA: Can you talk?
ME: Yeah.
MONA: It doesn’t look good. I’ve been sitting here all day on the laptop bored off my skull. I have this nurse who’s sticking all these needles in me. It sucks. Yesterday he had to bathe me because I was too weak. I’m not used to guys seeing me naked and there’s no sex. Ugh.
ME: That’s bad. I’m getting off Blurt next week. I’ve had enough of their shit.

MONA: You’re better off. I get friend requests every week from stupid guys, it’s ridiculous. Well, it’s bath time, kid. Talk to you later.
ME: Okay, Mona. Hope you get better.
MONA: It’s not in the cards, but thanks.

I knew the joke was over when she chatted with me a few days later.
MONA: It doesn’t look too good. I can’t hold my shit in, literally, or my food or anything. I just chat with people all day but I can barely do that anymore. I’m too fucking sick.
ME: That’s fucking awful, Mona.
MONA: I hate doing this, but look. If I don’t send you any more chats or anything, then you know the shit’s hit the fan. Here’s my brother’s phone number: 312-555-6666. We were never very close but since my illness he’s been coming around and helping me. If you don’t get any more messages call my brother and he’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?

ME: Alright, Mona. I’ll pray for you.
MONA: Good, throw in a few fucks and shits in for good measure. Bye now.

The chats stopped as predicted. Sick of the online harassment and mob mentality, I pulled out of Blurt for good. It was just as well; the more subversive reviewers all got reported and harassed to the point of either quitting or just being outright kicked off the site. It just turned into a champion ass kissers website.

Of course I checked the message board before leaving and there was a topic called “Where Are You, Mona???” From what I figured I was one of the few that got this bit of news, with everyone else left out in the lurch. Actually, from what Mona told me the only ones who knew of her illness were me and someone else from LA and a couple of Blurters from Chicago, otherwise it was pretty confidential.

Three weeks went by and not another word from Mona. It didn’t hang me up but I couldn’t help being curious. Finally curiosity got the better of me and I found her brother’s phone number and dialed it with my Virgin Megastore phone.

“Hello?” a man answered.
“Hi, I’m a friend of Mona’s and I’ve been trying to reach her. Do you know where I can find her?”
There was a pause at the other end of the line.
“No, I’m sorry. My sister died last week”.
“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. Well, thank you anyway”. I hung up.… took Blurters about a year to realize that their hero Mona checked out for good. How they eventually find out I don’t know. Maybe somebody finally broke the news after being sworn to keep it hush-hush. I don’t know and I don’t really care.

God damn Mona. I think about her from time to time because I can’t forget her. There’s something so simultaneously sad and disturbing about people like her. People who go on the internet for a little love and acceptance, committing social larceny by hiding behind a different name, a different picture, and even a different gender just to find some kind of acceptance.

The internet is an endless mine field of internet frauds, tens of thousands of lost souls lying about who they are just so they can be somebody’s hero, pretending to be and do things they will never achieve because they’re more frightened than the people they show off to.

And the ritual goes on every day, friend requests and people dumping friends and making friends with people they’ll never meet and flirting online with their fake pictures and their heavily guarded personal information.

Yeah, I think about Mona all the time because there’s an endless line of unhappy people who can’t see any sunlight in the darkness of their monitor screens, so they have to become someone else. Mona with her gray hair and glasses, the burnt out party animal who ended her last days conning young hipsters on the internet and feeling she had the last laugh. It makes me sad to think that there are people who think there’s some payback because the disguise only amplifies the loneliness.

The information superhighway is littered with roadkill, people who need to con every day just to score points and seek acceptance, resulting in a virtual Tower of Babel where thousands all speak to each other in different languages, never listening to the other person with the outcome being complete chaos of hellish proportions. Have fun with your social networks, everybody, but just remember that it’s all just a bad dream. Just like Mona.

P.S. is still up and running, with their patented tagline: REAL REVIEWS, REAL PEOPLE.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Now Playing ABSOLUTELY FREE on You Tube - Jailhouse Edition

Some people like their Oz and some people like their Orange Is The New Black but I like my prison dramas with a Seventies exploitation flair, and thanks to You Tube and the people that uploaded them you can catch the two most notorious prison films of the Seventies: Short Eyes and Fortune and Men’s Eyes. Both films could play in a double feature at a movie theater and not appear redundant because both films are very different from each other. Let’s take a look at both films:

Short Eyes (1977): Written by Miguel Pinero, who also has a small role in the film, the movie begins with a Curtis Mayfield song, who also shows up as an inmate in the film, too. Crazy! Short Eyes takes place in the Manhattan Men’s House of Detention, more commonly known as The Tombs, where actual filming took place.

The characters are pretty well-sculpted: Don Blakely as the intense Black Muslim El Raheem, Shawn Elliott as the two-faced bully Paco, and Tito Goya as the young and pretty “Cupcakes”, highly desired by the inmates for some shower room booty. Poor Cupcakes, his girlfriend’s waiting for him on the other side!

After watching the inmates cutting up for awhile the focus turns on Juan, brilliantly played by Jose Perez. Unlike the rest of the inmates Juan questions the difference between right and wrong and struggles inwardly with his demons, striving to take the high road just to maintain a semblance of sanity. Nothing challenges his principles more than the arrival of a new inmate to The Tombs named Clark Davis.

Clark Davis is the focus of the focus of the story, flawlessly played by Bruce Davison (Willard, Last Summer). Clark Davis is an angry black/Puerto Rican’s dream come true: a privileged, blonde white man who faces a pedophilia conviction for molesting black & Puerto Rican girls. Davison, newly admitted to The Tombs, confesses his obsessions and crimes alone to Juan without a touch of guilt.

His account of molesting the little girls makes Juan bang the panic button because prior to Clark’s confession he thought he had a clear handle on ethics. Clark wants Juan to promise him he’ll cover for him in case the inmates go to town on him for his disgusting crime. Juan’s barely keeping his shit together trying to decide whether he should help him or just kill him on the spot.

What happens in the last twenty minutes is some of the most intense film making ever made, questioning the principles of every inmate on the block. The back story to Short Eyes on IMDb is pretty damned fascinating:

Miguel Pinero, the author of the play upon which this film is based (and the actor who plays Go-Go), wrote the play as part of an inmate writers' workshop while incarcerated at Sing Sing Prison for armed robbery. He missed the premiere of the film because he had been arrested for armed robbery. All of the money he received for the film ($40,000) he gave away to homeless friends and former prison-mates. He reportedly lived on the street even after the film's acclaimed release, using a pay phone as an office.

Tito Goya, who plays Cupcakes, was arrested for a murder committed in 1978 (eight months after the film was released). He was murdered in prison in 1985.

Bruce Davison's monologue was done in a single take.

Short Eyes won the New York Critics Circle Award and an Obie Award for the Best Play of 1974.

Short Eyes was nominated for six Tonys in 1975, including Best Dramatic Play.

Fortune And Men’s Eyes (1971): Will forever go down in history as the play Sal Mineo worked on when he was murdered on Holloway Drive in West Hollywood. But that’s not fair – this is another great prison play turned into a motion picture.

Once again we see a baby-faced white guy named Smitty, played by Wendell Burton sentenced to prison (this one was shot in Montreal, Canada) and the cellmates he’s stuck bunking with. And what a bunch!

There’s Rocky (Zooey Hall), the brutally handsome kingpin bully who wants to rape every male in the big house, his slave - a boy called Mona, the awesome Queenie (Michael Greer) who flames queerer than any character in the history of the cinema. He kind of serves as the Mistress of Ceremonies through the whole story and even offers some much needed comic relief.

And boy is it needed. There is so much forced male rape, yes, one-on-one and gang, too, you won’t be disappointed. After witnessing endless shankings and rapes Smitty freaks out and his roomie Rocky offers him some much needed protection, never realizing that Rocky’s circling around his boy hole like a hawk swooping down on a chicken coop.

Here’s some back story about Fortune And Men’s Eyes:

Wendell Burton, aka Smitty, is now a minister in Texas.

The 1969 production in Los Angeles starred Don Johnson as Smitty and Sal Mineo as Rocky (!). I’d pay a fortune (pun) to see that production, especially since we’re talking about Boy And His Dog-era Johnson. According to Wikipedia, in 1966 a New York production featured Jon Voight as Smitty and Dustin Hoffman as Rocky, obviously sealing their relationship to come in “Midnight Cowboy”.

If you see a lack of blacks in Fortune And Men’s Eyes it’s because playwright John Herbert was Canadian and our story takes place in a Canadian pen. In fact, it’s the most published Canadian play ever written and has won countless Canadian drama awards.

So there you have it: Free movies in their entirety on You Tube! If you have a Sony Blu-Ray player you can play You Tube on your television set in the comfort of your den or bedroom instead of perched in front of a desktop monitor. Here’s a list of a few more movies you can scope on at You Tube:

The Ruling Class, Les Bonnes Femmes and Les Biches (Chabrol), every Barbara Steele horror film ever made, RoGoPaG (Godard & Pasolini), The Decline of Western Civilization (the homeless punker one), and many more. Happy viewing!

Saturday, February 21, 2015

My Living Doll: Aphrodite Meets the Space Age

In the early Sixties teenage America fell under the spell of the Horror & Sci-fi movie explosion hitting drive-in theaters all across the country. It was tearing them away from their TV sets, and CBS fought back by programming an army of shows to win them back. Shows like The Munsters, My Favorite Martian and Lost in Space were hitting the airwaves harder than John Glenn’s orbit in Friendship 7. There was one show in the bunch that was the most memorable and stranger than the rest called My Living Doll.

My Living Doll starred musical actress Julie Newmar and Forties matinee idol Bob Cummings. Although it was a situation comedy it was more sophisticated that the other shows listed above; I think it simultaneously helped the show and destroyed it, too.

My Living Doll began as the tale of Dr. Bob McDonald, psychiatrist for a NASA-based agency, who gets a call in his office from the head scientists in robotics warning him of a robot on the loose rampaging around the building. Expecting a terrifying nuts and bolts cyborg to wreak havoc in the hallway, Dr. McDonald is accosted instead by a beautiful Amazon clad only in a towel!

Julie Newmar lists her training in mime as background for the role of Rhoda (formerly AF 709) and she uses it to full advantage. Her jerky robotic movements are flawless in their execution and her facial expressions as a machine processing bizarre human behavior and equally perfect. Watching her defuse lecherous men's advances with cold, mechanical responses is space age feminism at its finest.

Viewing the episodes of My Living Doll: The Official Collection DVD, are a mixed bag between sexual tension and feminine comedy (beauty contests; kleptomania at a Beverly Hills jewelers, etc.) with the feminine comedy being more fun to watch. The sexual tension business is neither funny nor sexy, due to Cummings working the camera too hard.

Speaking of Cummings, the character of Dr. McDonald was intended to create some spark of sexual tension between himself and Rhoda, but the producers shot the pooch by hiring a tired old guy to play a young, available bachelor. Just think what the show would have been like if they hired someone like, oh, Adam West to play Dr. McDonald. (Never mind).

Legend has it that Cummings was not only jealous of Newmar’s popularity but even wanted to take over her role as the robot. The poor man thought kids were tuning in to watch him!

I remember watching this show shortly before Newmar hit pay dirt as The Catwoman on Batman and liked it, but it was obvious the show was doomed. With her Amazon build and low, husky voice, Newmar was on a wavelength that wasn’t TV friendly at all. Although the producers tried to make her look wholesome there was an aggressive eroticism about this robot that definitely made the show too bizarre to be successful.

Walking a tightrope between beautiful and funny is a major risk, Thelma Todd being the most infamous example, but few pull it off as brilliantly as Julie Newmar, and if you want to see it done to perfection than seek out My Living Doll: The Official Collection, Volume One, available on MPI Home Video.