Random Riot

Hi, it's me the guy who threw up in your purse the guy who hurled Japanese finger food against the wall in your kitchen and never got invited again to your home you hypocrite it's me the guy who screamed for hours in the nightclub which doesn't even exist anymore I'm not that guy anymore and haven't been for some time but there are people who don't want to let go of their stupid memories of who I was they just want to hold on to the outlines of an unhappy and outraged and angry man who wanted to kill banality like a hunter in the dead of winter. I'm no longer on your radar I'm no longer in your orbit I'm not dead I just don't care about being in your petty and stupid life so there it is and the funny thing about it is you resent the fact that you can't complain about me and you can't attack me anymore because I don't care your dirty little sand pit is all yours sit in your shit and make your own mess it must suck to not have me to blame for your own kill switch you call a brain insane.

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It's so sad that within the past few weeks several cool stars from the British Invasion have passed on, notably Rick Huxley of the Dave Clark Five, Reg Presley of The Troggs, and early Beatles colleague Tony Sheridan. Granted they were pretty high up there in the years but they still rocked like crazy and gave me hours upon months upon years of listening pleasure. Their work was always exciting and fresh to listen to even in year 2013.

Special mention should be made of Reg Presley's excellent range as a rock vocalist. I don't think most people realize what an extensive range he had, going from raunch god on the classic "Wild Thing" to leering Peter Lorre soundalike on "From Home" to whisper gnome on "Night Of The Tall Grass" and "Strange Movies". And just when you thought he hadn't a shred of sensitivity in his sleazy bones he could tug on your heart strings with the beautifully tender vocal of "Love Is All Around". Brilliant, just brilliant. They will all be missed.

Bearing in mind that my English heroes are slowly departing I flew into a senior boomer tallywacker panic and downloaded a ton of British Invasion music, hoary old classics like The Merseybeat's "Sorrow", vintage Animals, Herman's Hermits and Dusty Springfield's "I Only Want To Be With You". While downloading these records I listened to a lot of Manfred Mann tracks and marveled how incredibly sophisticated the early stuff was, effortlessly mixing jazz with R&B and garage rock on tracks like "I'm Your Kingpin" or "Hubble Bubble".

Also in the underrated category was Sounds Incorporated, a totally killer instrumental unit that insanely combined James Bond spy music with Northern soul funk workouts at break neck speed. No wonder The Beatles tapped them to be their opening act at Shea Stadium. They can also be seen in the movie "Top Gear" rocking out a totally looney take on "The William Tell Overture". Check them out!

I also really liked a track by The Nashville Teens called "Devil In Law", more laid back than "Tobacco Road" but just as cool and the lyrics are pretty funny, too. I also liked "Even The Bad Times Are Good" by The Tremeloes, a really great song that stands tall next to their massive signature hit "Here Comes My Baby". The current state of music as such is so piss poor that even The Rubettes' hits "Sugar Baby Love" and "I Can Do It" sound pretty awesome, and that's skull-fuckingly bad.

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There's a new generation of film directors who seriously haven't got a clue what they're doing or even why they need to do it. It's pretty sad how it's become the rule rather than the exception when Rebecca and I to meet with these guys who present us with their projects and they have nothing planned or designed for us to work on.

One idiot came by and told us he wanted us to make outfits for his movie which was "kind of like The Craft, Sucker Punch, and some anime". He had a few bad sketches of chicks in skimpy outfits. One looked like a shit Baby Spice knock-off and the other one was some garbage goth witch outfit. This fortysomething director wanted to make some teen chick superhero movie. GROAN. Not again. I said okay, anime like The Dirty Pair, right? He didn't know who The Dirty Pair was, all he supposedly knew about anime was that it was supposed to be a bunch of semi-naked chicks running around kicking guys.

Rebecca: "Okay, so do you have any specific outfits in mind?"
Old man director: "No, I still haven't finished the script yet, so the outfits could change".
Rebecca: "What are the sizes of the girls?"
Old man director: "We haven't cast the film yet so I don't know anybody's sizes yet, but I'm anticipating really skinny tall girls. But they have to know how to fight!"

What the fuck does that mean? You don't have a script, don't have any actresses willing to do stunts, what do you have and why are you wasting my time? Go jerk off in a fireplace, you clown.

The scary deal is that there have been a lot of "filmmakers/screenwriters" barking up the same empty fantasy fanboy vacuum with no money and no ideas assuming Rebecca and I are supposed to flesh out their horny, myopic vision - which is already ten years behind what our friends, the Japanese, yes them again, are doing. Read Takekyo Hitman Reborn, No. 6, Karneval, D. Gray Man or Black Butler and get enlightened. America needs to step up their game, the times they are a-changin'.

I leave you with Rick Huxley and Mike Smith, both gone but not forgotten from the Dave Clark Five:

Give Booze A Chance

This is a promotional sticker for Suzi Quatro's album on Bell Records in 1974. That alone is funny because Bell Records was known for having wholesome, bubblegum acts on their label like The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family. Once glitter rock hit America Bell Records cashed in on The Sweet, dropping them after one album, Gary Glitter, picking up Mud and Showaddywaddy for singles only, and Ms. Quatro.

You'd never believe it nowadays but there was a time when a girl pictured in a leather jacket and leather trousers was automatically dismissed as a "dyke" regardless of what her sexual persuasion was. Somehow her appereance dressed in something less than girly was threatening to the arena-rock sensibilties of some. When I looked around for the latest Suzi Quatro single at Tower Records on the Sunset Strip the artist file card said "Suzi 'Dyke' Quatro". Gee, I wonder why they went out of business. But Suzi had the last laugh; her first LA appearance at The Whiskey A Go-Go was sold out and she was awesome.

Here's a flyer from a memorable punk gig at The Masque featuring The Skulls. The late Marc Moreland used to have his clothes torn off him while he played wild, screaming psycho leads on his Gibson Flying V. Sometimes it got so bad all he had left on him was a pair of shredded boxer shorts and sneakers. Once even the shorts came off and he ended up draping himself in the US flag previously standing in the corner proudly. I got to sit in with The Skulls for awhile and it was a great experience.

It was also one of the very first shows played by my band, Arthur J. and The Gold Cups. We were a punk-rock big band that played skewered covers of all kinds, like The Soft Machine's "We Did It Again", which we played ten different times during our 30-minute set, pissing punks off in ways they thought they were too impervious to be irritated. Some of the other boys in the band included Geza X on guitar, Brendan Mullen on drums, Hector Penalosa from The Zeros on bass, and a host of others.

I remember reading the fine print on the Creem Magazine masthead where it said they aren't responsible for returning unsolicited contributions, which to me meant they didn't exactly refuse them, so I sent a few album reviews to Creem in 1972. It seemed pretty important at the time, because back then Creem Magazine was the best rock magazine around, reporting on bands like The Stooges and Roxy Music, which their larger counterparts Rolling Stone Magazine refused to acknowledge. Well, maybe my reviews weren't the greatest  ever written, but they couldn't be any worse than a lot of the in-joke nonsense they used to publish. At least I got this rejection letter from them that was sent on cheaply xeroxed stationery. What a bunch of skinflints. I guess they needed the money to buy dope for the next J. Geils Band arena concert. I wondered what kind of stationery they used at Circus Magazine.
(Click on image for enlargement)

Rebecca's friend Jane painted her house in San Francisco as a shrine to her favorite band The Beatles. She obviously loved every phase that these talented chaps from Liverpool went through, as you can see. First of all I just want to say that her parents are the hippest people on the planet for allowing her to paint this amazing tribute all over their home. What makes this piece so brilliant is that the band image placement is proportionate to every phase of their careers, so you have the early "Hard Day's Night" Beatles down by the basement (early period), the 1966 Al Brodax - King Features Syndicate cartoon show Beatles (complete with crocodile) towards the middle, and then the 1968 Yellow Submarine Beatles way up on top, complete with "Paul Is Dead" reference. Three of The Beates look healthy but obviously Paul's face is painted red because it's all bloody from that alleged car crash.

After awhile the house missed a few upgrades and even The Beatles started to look shabby, so the neighbors began leaving notes on their front door offering to paint over this shrine, even offering to supply the paint for free. And to think, I thought people from San Francisco loved great art. By the way, don't bother trying to find this place in SF because it's long gone, just like the boys themselves.

BTW, if this was my home I'd have a few quadrophonic speakers set up in front of the house blasting Beatles music all day, every phase of their careers from the Tony Sheridan - Cavern days to the Sgt. Pepper period to the Dead Paul Vs. Yoko Husband period (1970). I'd even throw in Ringo's "Sentimental Journey" album and the "Don't Worry Kyoko" masterpiece from Toronto. That would really give the neighbors something to talk about.

It Happened At The Movies

Sometimes the show at the theater is more interesting than the movies themselves, and that’s the thing that makes going to the movies so memorable.

I could mention the time people walked out on Boogie Nights in droves, including an old woman who screamed at the screen. Someone should have told her it wasn’t a comedy. Oh, well.

I remember seeing Juliet of the Spirits in the West Hollywood district with a hooker named Sondra who was tripping on acid and had to be very gingerly led out the theatre, poor thing. The movie scared her ass. Wonder what she’s doing now?

Art can be pain, though. I remember getting food poisoning at an El Torito buffet in the morning and then going out at night to the Chinese Theatre to see the Mickey Rourke bomb Curse of the Dragon. I don’t know what was more painful, the shit buffet or the shittier flick?

But you can’t beat a weird double-bill at the movies, either. One night I went to see Krush Groove because I like The Fat Boys and Run-D.M.C. It came out when rap was still scary and unappropriated by Whitey (early Eighties), so naturally the second feature was St. Elmo’s Fire, a movie about a bunch of whiny over-privileged white kids in New England.

The creepiest movie going experience is when you pass out during the picture, wake up, pass out again, wake up, and fuck you if you can remember whether you were dreaming or seeing a film. This happened to me when I saw Vertigo, a creepy film as it stands by Alfred Hitchcock. To this day I’m not sure if I saw the whole movie or dreamed it! Another time I saw (and slept through) Kiss Me Deadly with that creepy atomic bomb in the Pandora’s Box finish, the film shot mostly in the Wilshire District. I woke up just in time to see the creepy ending. When we filed out at midnight I had to wait for the bus in front of, get this, MacArthur Park.

Crowded theatres always make me nervous, though. When I was a kid I remember going to see Help! (the second Beatles movie). My older brother stood in line to get the tickets, we got the custom printed tickets with photos of the Fab Four on them, we got souvenir buttons for each ticket sold, and waited patiently for over an hour in the longest line we ever stood in. It took us awhile to find a seat because the place was packed with teenage girls.
As soon as the movie started EVERY FUCKING GIRL ON THE PLANET SCREAMED HER FUCKING HEAD OFF!!!!!!!!!! RINGO!!!!! If you’ve ever seen the movie there’s a scene where Paul McCartney’s stark naked. Holy shit! My right ear’s still feeling it, 100 years later. PAUL!!!!!!!!!!!! To make a long story short it took us three years to understand what anyone said in the movie because the screaming cut through the audio.

This might come as a shock to you but even porn theaters have their weird experiences, too. I won’t mention the guy I walked in on in the Men’s Room who had his joint aimed into the hand dryer, or the theater manager who was pushing the snack bar big time (um, yeah, I need food in my mouth while I’m watching anal sex), etc.
The worst was when I watched a porn star getting salami-slammed and two guys way in the back were hooting boisterously loud and guffawing. It started out sporadically and then wouldn’t shut up, to the point of drowning out the important moans of ecstasy on the screen. I figured maybe if I take a leak these guys will shut up by the time I get back. As I walked up the aisle I realized the two loudmouths making all the noise were two policemen standing by the theater doors. As soon as they saw me approaching they automatically shut up. One even went for his holster and then caught himself after his partner said, “Cool it”. Yeah, movies are still your best entertainment.

Understanding Ringo Starr

It ain't easy being green and it's harder being Ringo Starr. The only Beatle that never got the respect he deserved, in a way it's easy to see why. Flashing a peace sign every three seconds like a trained chimp at Knotts Berry Farm, it's a meaningless gesture when you have a history of spousal abuse. He had to enter a 12-step program because he drunkenly kept beating his wife Barbara Bach. I guess his peace sign didn't extend to being nice to his woman.
Before we hang Ringo here's two reasons why he's an awesome Beatle:
1 - Of the four boys he was literally a walking cartoon character - he was made for the cartoon show! With rings on every finger, his basset hound face and deadpan humor (he coined the expressions "It's Been A Hard Day's Night" and "8 Days A Week" among others) he was made for cartoons. It's no wonder he was the focus of both Beatle comedies, he was a one man - Monkees TV show.
2 - He's a great drummer, and thanks to producer George Martin's brilliant mixes recorded some of the most chilling drum breaks in rock: have there been more propulsive drum beats in music than "Tomorrow Never Knows" (Revolver), "Birthday" (White Album), "Magical Mystery Tour", "She Said She Said" (Revolver), or the spazzy drum solo on "The End" (Abbey Road)? He's a more inventive drummer than Charlie Watts, who's been playing the same lazy drum beat for the past 40 years. Fuck him and the rest of the suck-ass Rolling Stones.
"Help!" is getting a Special Edition DVD release this October 30th. Get it or rent it, prepare to enjoy the fabulosity that is Ringo Starr.