Cockfight - For Those Who Missed It

Cockfight was a four-piece band in the early to late Nineties that combined acid-rock metal guitar with jazz white-noise saxophone to an industrial machine punk rock beat, all dressed up in glittery glam clothes. You got a little Cramps, a little GBH, a little Sun Ra, and even some Sunset Strip metal. Like most of my music projects it was a little too much for the average rock crowd. We always did well outside of Hollywood and our only fans in Hollywood were mostly gay music fans, adopting us to play their clubs and rock showcases at The Abbey and The Garage.

I formed Cockfight as my regular band Trash Can School began falling apart, due to widely divergent musical and personal differences. One night I swung by to Rebecca's rehearsal studio to pick her up after her band Bitchcraft's rehearsal. As I sat by the front door waiting for her to finish I was getting increasingly more and ore blown away by her effortless facility to alternate between lead and rhythm guitar and sing at the same time. Her abrasive guitar tone was so incendiary it reminded me of Jimi Hendrix playing on "Manic Depression" and "Fire". I didn't need three guitarists any more because she sounded like three guitarists playing at once.

The first Cockfight rhythm section featured Rita D'Albert from the Pandoras and pre-Lucha Va Voom on bass guitar. She was a good, solid player and totally fit in with our space invaders glam rock style. She even smoked silver cigarettes. On drums was Erick Blitz who looked like he belonged in The Makers, eschewing a garage rock meets glam style.

After playing a few amazing shows with drag queens like Vaginal Creme Davis, Jackie Beat and Glen Meadmore. Cockfight guest starred on Sofia Coppola's pop-up TV show "Hi-Octane", shown on Comedy Central. We played against a dragstrip hellfire backdrop painted by Rebecca and me, and the great TV segment was directed by punk film director David Markey.

More offers for TV and recording followed: Cockfight recorded "The Stoner and The Stripper" for the Flipside Records compilation "The Devil You Know, The Devil You Don't", and Rebecca even got an illustration on the CD sleeve, too. Her style production friend Elizabeth Tobias filmed a video of the song with us performing on a huge Ed Sullivan-show type stage with guest star Ron Jeremy doing a Chippendales male stripper routine for an unruly crowd of funny money wielding grandmas. Erick Blitz left the band by this point so our friend, film director Roman Coppola sat in on drums.

Cockfight took a short break for two years and with a new rhythm section recorded a seven-song CD. Bo Kjaer played bass and surf documentary filmmaker Fran Battaglia played drums. The CD featured songs that ranged from punk blasts like "Liquor Store" to psychedelic ballads like "Lil' Albino Boy" and even drummed up a propulsive cover of The Plasmatics' "Sometimes I".

Unfortunately, in spite of all the breaks Cockfight was a tough sell given the tempo of the music scene was largely driven by jangly guitar sounding college pop bands, mostly headed by bookish looking snobs with thick horn rimmed glasses and drab Science Fair Geek clothes. Cockfight's brand of atonal glam-o-rama was too rock & roll and out of step with Seattlemania.

Cockfight, for me, was the last hurrah in playing music. Our last show was at Headline Records on Melrose (thank you, Jean-Luc!). After playing in bands for over two decades I thought it was time to find other avenues to artistically express myself, with writing providing a lot more gratification than anything. With occasional guest shots sitting in with Pressurehead, Pygmy Love Circus and The Anubian Lights it was time to simply call it a day. Cockfight, the legend and the legacy: To keep it noisy and look amazing doing so, Glam Noise forever!

Cockfight CDs and downloads can be purchased here: https://www.cdbaby.com/cd/cockfightmusic

The File On Trixie Andersson

After the final, legendary show Garbage Truck played at The Glitter House the disappearance of Griff, leader of the band has been fraught with weird rumors. Many have said that he simply vanished from the punk rock scene after that last show along with his girl friend, the equally legendary Trixie Andersson. We sat down and talked to her about life after Garbage Truck.

Ms. Andersson looked happier than usual and was dressed in her favorite outfit of leather jacket, GBH t-shirt, leather mini skirt and black patent Doc Martens boots. She also had a button on her jacket that said, "Hell No I'm Not Rosario Dawson".

I: “Thanks for sitting down with us, Trixie. How’s life, or more importantly, what’s that bright, shiny stone doing sitting on your finger?”

TRIXIE: “Well! Andy, I thought you’d never ask. My hot boy Griff and I married about a week after the show and we’re both now living in semi-agoraphobic seclusion. Of course, this hasn’t prevented idiot scenesters, assholes like the guys in his band and that tired, old queen Dead End Kyle from spreading slanderous bullshit to sully MY GRIFF’S reputation”.

I: “Wow! Whatever happened to those guys in his band? Did they stay together after he supposedly disappeared?”

TRIXIE: “Ugh! Lady Godiva’s Operation, the sub-Sub-SUB-standard flop band run by dumb Bradley, Bert and ugly Bobby went on a tour of small-town colleges under the name of Garbage Truck. Can you believe that shit? Obviously a last-ditch attempt to cash in on Griff’s reputation, loyal fans demanded their money back when they realized Griff wasn’t performing - and those jerks only played two Garbage Truck songs, anyway. When Fritz-Franz Klein complained about the band’s lame decision to tour under a bogus name they coldly kicked him out of the tour van, dumping him and his drum set in the middle of the Mojave Desert. What a bunch of assholes!”

I: “Let’s talk about something far more interesting, like your career”.

TRIXIE: “It’s high time, Mister! Thanks for asking!!!! I’m now a pretty damn successful clothes designer in Hollywood, employing my hot new husband Griff as my assistant. Together we design cutting edge fashions we sell on Melrose, we’ve been on German and Italian TV and, and, AND, we’ve put on high-profile fashion shows on the fetish circuit, much to the ignorance of stupid fuzz guitar lovers”.

I: “I heard Dead End Kyle of Paint It Black Records badmouthed Griff saying that he’s living out on the street like a homeless bum”.

TRIXIE: “Yeah, did you ever hear anything so stupid in your life? If my Griff is homeless that what am I doing living in a nice apartment with a working, constantly ringing phone? The scary thing is that there’s people retarded enough to believe that moron”.

I: “Well, life hasn’t been the same since his wife divorced him after catching him having sex in a Jacuzzi with one of his garage band discoveries”.

TRIXIE: “And it wasn’t one of those untalented Japanese girls he’s always hawking, just some garage rock boy with pimples. HAW!”

I: "Can you give me a brief rundown on where you guys live and what it's like?"

TRIXIE: "We live in a one bedroom apartment in the Miracle Mile District, so very black career girl-type area. The so-called living room has my sewing machines, power tools, art supplies, so on and so forth stuff. The bedroom's more like Griff's laboratory with guitars, a synthesizer, amplifiers and his cool-ass trumpet. And of course, our comfy sofa bed, TV, videos, toys and crap. I have my own vanity alcove for make-up and glam fashions. Not bad for an allegedly homeless guy, huh?"

I: “Some people said you guys wouldn’t last. What do you say to that?”

TRIXIE: “What do I say to that? Those wrinkled old hookers Kitten Claws broke up last year,okay? Java The Hut closed down after the owners had a drug-dealing hissy fit but Griff and I are still together, maaaan. Add it up, folks!”

I: “Well, the bigger the hype the harder the fall. Didn’t Dale Cryer become a big star for five minutes?”

TRIXIE: “Andy, it was the most boring five minutes of all time! After he burned everybody in Hollywood and then weeped like a baby for having Hepatitis-C the whole town dropped him like a smelly, rotten potato!”

I: “He wasn’t much of a singer anyway”.

TRIXIE:“No, he’s just a thief and a born liar. He told everybody in town Griff was homophobic. Talk about sour grapes! Go steal somebody else’s small change, Cryer. There’s a 12-pack of beer with your name on it, if they make beer called LOSER-BRAU”.

I: "What's with the Rosario Dawson button on your jacket?"

TRIXIE: "I was at a club minding my own business, i.e. drinking a beer and listening to some raging hardcore when these two white heshers with tattoos and piercings, a Henry Rollins crush couple, came up to me and sheepishly told me I looked like Rosario Dawson. Before I could say anything they ran off like a pair of scared rabbits. What the fuck?"

I: “Thanks, Trixie, it’s been great talking to you. You’re still the coolest punk rock girl I know”.

TRIXIE: “Thanks right back, Andy doll. I made this rad studded belt for you, and Griff made this blue patent leather bracelet. Hope you enjoy them. Loyalty has its privileges and you’re the best friend we ever had! Our pals are the best and fuck the rest”.

Andy's Rockin' Internet Pals

If people want to spend their time watching the tired Foo Fighters play Who covers on television, that's their prerogative. Me, I'd rather check out new bands on the Garage Punk Hideout, a website that's the punk version of mySpace, a global smörgåsbord of grease and filth and full of rockin' good music. Here's my three most rockinest pals from that site:

The Raws: From Istanbul, Turkey(!) these guys play some of the most vicious punk rock I've heard in years with a guitar sound that'll rip your ears off and feed them to the dogs! They wear bug glasses, burglar masks and play in their panties. They also seem to think I'm a girl, but that's another story! One of the band members is called B-Man and they have a raunchy song about him called "BMen". Who knew Turkey was such a punk hotbed?

Les BOF!: It only gets weirder, folks! It's common knowledge that the French and the British hate each other like cats and dogs, so imagine a band from Scotland who play snotty garage blues fronted by a French dandy who looks like he belongs in a Jacques Brel musical:) Les BOF! call themselves "UK Premier French Garage Rockers" and they walk the walk = they play a killer tune called "J'ai Perdu Mon Mojo" ("I've Lost My Mojo"). Every song in their repertoire is sung in French, like Jacques Dutronc, their hero. Alors, marveilleux!

The Torpedo Monkeys: Saving the best (and weirdest) for last, The Torpedo Monkeys from parts unknown play greeaaasy garage punk squawk in cool rockabilly/glam clothes with "Planet of the Apes" masks. These sleazy chimps will give you chills when they tear through "Hanky Panky" and other mind-melting tunes. They also have a badass collection of pawnshop gear to rock yr. panties off! Charlton Heston must be spinning in his grave.

Hungry For A Real Fine Guy Like Me: Marklindsay.com

Eight years ago I bought all the Paul Revere & The Raiders CDs reissued on Sundazed Records, and they were brilliant. They rocked hard and looked like drunken Revolutionary War dudes that dumped all that tea into the Boston Harbor. Like many bands of their time they made the effortless transition from garage rock demons to psych golden gods. Great stuff, whether it was “Spirit of 67” or “Hard ‘N Heavy”. Of course, listening to the music wasn’t enough. I registered onto the Mark Lindsay website and the fun, just like Elvis, quickly left the building.

To call Mark Lindsay one of the most narcissistic, control freak rock singers of all time would do him a grave injustice. His controlling and rampant ego would turn Beyonce or David Lee Roth into paragons of modesty. After leaving his cheesy website it took me a year to listen to his records all over again, it was that bad. We’ll talk about Dave Clark from the Dave Clark Five later, that’s another horror story.

One of the first things you do at a website is log on to the Message Board so you can exchange your views on the Raiders with your fellow fans. Ohmygod, I was the only guy on the board and easily the only person under 40. Shit, what a nightmare. Picture if you will a bunch of angry Jesus Freak housewives from the corn belt who think that 16 Magazine is still in circulation with Sajid Khan and Donna Loren on the cover.
Half the threads were them daydreaming aloud about being alone with Mark Lindsay serenading them in various forms of dress and undress. The administrator to the website was Mrs. Mark Lindsay, and unlike most website admins was not terribly diplomatic. You could almost imagine her seething behind her computer monitor reading all these horny posts about her man nude singing “Hungry” or “Mr. Sun, Mr. Moon” to them.

Since I was an interloper (male) every post I typed was met with condescension, kind of like DVD Talk. After letting their guard down 3 months later they calmed down and warned me of certain rules: what you can’t discuss on the Mark Lindsay Chat Room, i.e. specific band members Mr. Lindsay hates (Harpo, Fang, Smitty, Joe Jr.). Apparently he hates Paul Revere too, but since he’s the fucking leader of the group there’s no turning around that corner.

One of the power moms posted, “Wow, it would be great if I could get a video of the Raiders on Happening ‘67”. I posted back, “Oh, I have a copy of an episode on video, send me your address and I’ll be happy to shoot a copy off to you”. Uh-oh!
I got an e-mail that night from Mrs. Lindsay: “You will never, EVER, discuss unauthorized material of the Raiders, for sale or for trade, on the board again or you will be removed from the site”. If Mark couldn’t make a dime off the video it was forbidden.

The man himself barely made an appearance at his own website, and when he did it was to post his incredibly exciting life:

“My brand new Jaguar purrs like a kitten. I looooove my fast cars!”

“Love my house in Kawauii. The koi pond rocks and after I’m done with my yoga I settle down for some fine dining!”

“Buy my new record on my vanity label. I sing all the old standards, just like Rod Stewart. I dedicate it to “Casablanca” and I’m dressed just like Bogie on the cover!” (Lindsay still wearing zany outfits 40 years later.)

There was hardly any recognition of his fans, just Mr. Wonderful occasionally popping in to tell the Wal-Mart witches that he was living a Hawaiian idyll they’ll never experience. What a dick.

The few pictures showing Lindsay at his present state showed his elfin features obscured behind a magician’s goatee and sunglasses dark enough to make Howard Stern jealous.

What finally made me quit the board? Combined with Mark Lindsay’s arrogance and the Dragon Lady playing rock police, some desperately dumb housewife posted, “The reason so many Jews died in the concentration camps is because they didn’t accept Jesus as their Lord and savior”. As someone who’s lost countless relatives that died there I thought I was going to lose my mind. Nobody contested her idiotic statement. These people are fucking idiots, I thought, and I left the website, never to return.

And I’m sure Harpo, Fang, Smitty, and Joe Jr. were dying to ask me “What took you so long?”

POSTSCRIPT: Since I got off the site Lindsay has moved from his glamour pad in Hawaii to Portland, Oregon and got a job DJing on a radio show. Sounds like all the money ran out, ha! And the Menopause Message Board is gone, daddy, gone. Happy endings are the best.