September 16th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
Throw Aggi Off The Bridge
Black Tambourine
45

Erika Elizabeth played this monstrously hooked-filled 1992 charmer from Black Tambourine on her podcast recently and called it an “indie pop classic”. I was too busy consciously ignoring female-fronted C86/shoegaze-ish noise pop at the time to pay it any attention, but that makes discovering this stuff 20+ years later all the better.

This American band were something of a touchstone for the Slumberland generation to follow in their wake. I’m not sure the rep is fully earned, but then again, they aren’t all as amazing as this song is.

September 15th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
(Originally published in November 2012 on my Hedonist Jive blog)
LET’S GO RECORD SHOPPING IN 1981 BERKELEY
The nostalgic mythology we reserve for life-changing events and places in our lives exerts a powerful pull that only grows greater the older we become. Cliché, right? Of course it is. Well, right up there with the birth of children, weddings, family moves and baby’s first teeth are cultural touchstones, particularly for those who’ve defined a large portion of their life by their relationship to the “culture” or “art” of their choice. My first rock and roll show – The Police at Oakland Stadium! – wasn’t particularly memorable or nostalgic, but, as I’ve written about before in other blogs, my youthful trips to record stores in other cities a few years before that had an absolutely mind-blowing effect on my psyche and my cultural development. I’m still frequently revisiting the crate-flipping sensations I got from those explorations at age 13 in dreams today, over thirty years later.Last year I wrote a piece about my sacred pilgrimages to Los Angeles record stores in the late 1980s. As fruitful and “plenteous” as those many journeys were, they were also, at their core, simply fun trips to buy new records. My record store visits to Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue, starting in 1981, were something way more mentally massive. They changed the way I consumed my culture of choice – rock music – for all time. Let me put it into some context for you. First, there’s me. I turned 13 in October of 1980. I lived in San Jose, California with my parents and sister; while a big city now and a medium-sized one then, San Jose was and remains suburban and bland to its core, forever and always in the shadow of San Francisco, one hour to its north. My grandparents lived in El Cerrito, right next door to Berkeley, and we’d frequently stay with them for a week at a time and look for things to do together all over the Bay Area that might be cooler than what we could do in San Jose (and in case it’s not clear: that was just about everything).They started taking us to Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley for lunch & store-browsing. This is the main drag next to the UC-Berkeley campus, and a legendary countercultural hotspot from the 1960s onward. Head shops, pizza places, comic stores, t-shirt shops, bookstores, and most powerful of all for me: Record Stores. Telegraph’s street scene in the early 80s was punk rock to the max. Colored mohawks – the real UK-style "liberty spike" look – were actually displayed by multiple peacocking boys and girls without irony. Not retro - this was real-time. This was a little intimidating for a suburban 13-year–old, but my grandpa was a calming presence, and someone who loved people – especially unusual people – and wasted no opportunity to walk up to some sneering punk and quickly disarm them with a, "How are you there today, young fella??". Telegraph was a real hangout spot, the sort of street where kids would come from all corners of the Bay Area in the morning, loiter all day, and leave late at night. To some extent, it still is, but its best days are way behind it.I was in thrall to new wave and punk music by that first time I visited the Telegraph record stores in ‘81. I was pulling in a college radio station, KFJC, at my house, and they played everything from Adam and the Ants, to weirdo import 45s from England, to early US hardcore. I was trying to figure it all out, knowing that this stuff was so much better than the milquetoast Top 40 and disco I was raised on (and was equally obsessive about, from about 1975 to 1979). I would sit by the radio with a pen and paper, and write down the DJ’s back-announce as quickly as I could, frequently muffing things up myself when the DJ himself hadn’t. I discovered Roxy Music, Lou Reed, Devo and The B-52s this way, and would read about current bands from England that sounded even cooler than those.OK, so that’s a little context. Now let’s talk about the stores themselves. From 1981 to about 1984, there were four that I visited every time we went to Berkeley: Rasputin’s Records, Universal Records, Leopold’s Records, and Tower Records. We can dispense with the last one first. If you consumed recorded music up until the early 00’s, you certainly know what Tower Records is. Berkeley had one, and it had a great magazine section and many of the newest imports. It was usually an afterthought on these visits – I’d hit the three indie stores first, walk them up and down for hours, and only then go to Tower, mostly because it was just part of the established routine. Rasputin Records – also known as Rasputin’s, and currently known as Rasputin Music (and still on Telegraph, albeit in a different location), was the big mecca of the 4 stores. It was an absolute epicenter for new independent music from England and from small labels across the USA. The images from my first moments in the store are forever burned into my psyche. On the lefthand wall, a long row of 45s. Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Visage (!), Adam and the Ants, X, the Au Pairs, The Cramps and many more. To the right, more in the center of the store, were the LPs that the store wanted to feature. I remember my jaw dropping that first time when I saw this one. Everything unique and groundbreaking about punk and postpunk – music, sleeve design, band names, fashion, politics - had converged and was on display in this one store, at this one time, and I’ll never forget how my horizons exploded in a few short hours. I would flip through these records multiple times (especially the singles, because I could afford them), staring at sleeves, reading liner notes, and carrying armloads of stuff around all afternoon until it was time to check out because my grandpa was going to pick me up outside the store.Being a kid, and therefore having limited allowance money to spend, I bought two 45s that first day that I’d been hearing on KFJC: “Antmusic”, by Adam and the Ants (yeah!), and X's “White Girl”. Such was my musical cognitive dissonance at the time, though I suppose it's not as far a leap as it might once have seemed. Trouble was, I thought when I bought “White Girl” that I was actually buying a frantic, female-fronted punk rock song I'd heard on the radio once before, which was "100% White Girl" by San Francisco punk band THE VKTMS. Expecting that song, and instead getting Exene’s whiny, nasally voice and the methodical pace of the original “White Girl”, I was thoroughly bummed as I listened to it late that night, after my grandparents had gone to bed, of course. When you only have $6 to spend, and you “waste” $3 of it on one of the best days of your young life, it can be pretty crushing. Of course, now I love X’s song, and I wish I’d held onto the Slash Records 45. Never did end up buying the Vktms record, either.On later visits I bought Bauhaus' 12” single “Bela Lugosi's Dead”; the complete early Simple Minds collection (pre-stardom; this was when they were a futuristic dance band of sorts); the Surf PunksLP; Au Pairs’ "Playing With a Different Sex" LP; the Human League's “Being Boiled”, and a variety of new wave singles I've forgotten about now. This is likely for the better. I laughed at records by “Surgical Penis Klinik” and the Meat Puppets. I saw a lot of records that are undoubtedly paying for children's college educations now.Practically next door to Rasputin’s was Universal Records. I think they may have closed well before I left for college in 1985; I seem to remember them disappearing around 1983. This was the punk store. Cluttered, dirty, and with loud UK punk like Discharge and The Exploited blasting at top volume, it took all of my teenage courage to shop here and look cool. Actually, though, the pimpled punker behind the counter was totally friendly to me every time I came in – answering questions and steering me to new purchases. His punk name was Rob Noxious. There were many dudes with variants of that name back in the day, including Bob Noxious, singer for San Francisco’s Fuck-Ups. This guy, I later learned, was the singer of a hardcore band called Intensified Chaos. He prodded me to buy my VICE SQUAD “Stand Strong, Stand Proud” record, and patted me on the back when I sold him my novelty Surf Punks record back in order to help afford it. My memories of this store are full of “Punk & Disorderly” record covers, Crass, Anti-Pasti, “Oi Oi That’s Yer Lot” and so on.Finally, there was Leopold’s Records. This was a two-story store, housed next to Tower Records and both above and to the left of LaVal’s Pizza, which itself was a must-visit on every trip (two slices for $2 or something like that – remember though that this is 1980s money. That’s like $174 today). Leopold’s would later gain notoriety for being a phenomenal store for underground hip-hop as that scene was exploding; I remember it as another place for British imports. I got the early Kate Bush records there! There were rows and rows of records in plastic polyvinyl sleeves (classy) - prog-rock from the 70s and 80s seemed to be something in high traffic there. Either that or the Gentle Giant and Marillion records were right next to the areas I would frequently browse. As amazing as this store was, it was a distant third for me to the glory that was Rasputin’s and the eye-opening head trip that was Universal. I still made it a point to spend an hour here each time, however.My trips to Berkeley continued even in college and afterward a bit, especially when Amoeba Records – the very first one – opened there in 1990. By then, Rasputin’s was trying to be all things to all people (instead of an imports/punk/used vinyl kind of store), and went through a bit of a crisis in competition with Amoeba and almost closed. It’s now a gargantuan store again, right there on Telegraph, in a new location, with a cool “history of Berkeley punk and metal” photo exhibit on the outside of the store today, right at street level. Leopold’s is long gone. Tower is long gone. The great bookstore of the avenue, Cody’s, is long gone, though Moe’s hangs on for dear life. Berkeley was subsequently supplanted by San Francisco, and later by the internet, as the best location to shop for records from far corners of the underground. I miss that wide-eyed feeling of discovery I would get there, when “everything was totally new” and now-legendary 80s subcultures were still ripe for exploration. I was trying on a teenage mental identity, as every teenager does, and this was the perfect place to experiment. More to the point, it was the best place in the world (that I knew of) to buy some totally rad records. I wish I could somehow capture that frenzied, electric, worlds-of-possibility brain rush again.

(Originally published in November 2012 on my Hedonist Jive blog)

LET’S GO RECORD SHOPPING IN 1981 BERKELEY

The nostalgic mythology we reserve for life-changing events and places in our lives exerts a powerful pull that only grows greater the older we become. Cliché, right? Of course it is. Well, right up there with the birth of children, weddings, family moves and baby’s first teeth are cultural touchstones, particularly for those who’ve defined a large portion of their life by their relationship to the “culture” or “art” of their choice. My first rock and roll show – The Police at Oakland Stadium! – wasn’t particularly memorable or nostalgic, but, as I’ve written about before in other blogs, my youthful trips to record stores in other cities a few years before that had an absolutely mind-blowing effect on my psyche and my cultural development. I’m still frequently revisiting the crate-flipping sensations I got from those explorations at age 13 in dreams today, over thirty years later.

Last year I wrote a piece about my sacred pilgrimages to Los Angeles record stores in the late 1980s. As fruitful and “plenteous” as those many journeys were, they were also, at their core, simply fun trips to buy new records. My record store visits to Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue, starting in 1981, were something way more mentally massive. They changed the way I consumed my culture of choice – rock music – for all time. Let me put it into some context for you. First, there’s me. I turned 13 in October of 1980. I lived in San Jose, California with my parents and sister; while a big city now and a medium-sized one then, San Jose was and remains suburban and bland to its core, forever and always in the shadow of San Francisco, one hour to its north. My grandparents lived in El Cerrito, right next door to Berkeley, and we’d frequently stay with them for a week at a time and look for things to do together all over the Bay Area that might be cooler than what we could do in San Jose (and in case it’s not clear: that was just about everything).

They started taking us to Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley for lunch & store-browsing. This is the main drag next to the UC-Berkeley campus, and a legendary countercultural hotspot from the 1960s onward. Head shops, pizza places, comic stores, t-shirt shops, bookstores, and most powerful of all for me: Record Stores. Telegraph’s street scene in the early 80s was punk rock to the max. Colored mohawks – the real UK-style "liberty spike" look – were actually displayed by multiple peacocking boys and girls without irony. Not retro - this was real-time. This was a little intimidating for a suburban 13-year–old, but my grandpa was a calming presence, and someone who loved people – especially unusual people – and wasted no opportunity to walk up to some sneering punk and quickly disarm them with a, "How are you there today, young fella??". Telegraph was a real hangout spot, the sort of street where kids would come from all corners of the Bay Area in the morning, loiter all day, and leave late at night. To some extent, it still is, but its best days are way behind it.

I was in thrall to new wave and punk music by that first time I visited the Telegraph record stores in ‘81. I was pulling in a college radio station, KFJC, at my house, and they played everything from Adam and the Ants, to weirdo import 45s from England, to early US hardcore. I was trying to figure it all out, knowing that this stuff was so much better than the milquetoast Top 40 and disco I was raised on (and was equally obsessive about, from about 1975 to 1979). I would sit by the radio with a pen and paper, and write down the DJ’s back-announce as quickly as I could, frequently muffing things up myself when the DJ himself hadn’t. I discovered Roxy Music, Lou Reed, Devo and The B-52s this way, and would read about current bands from England that sounded even cooler than those.

OK, so that’s a little context. Now let’s talk about the stores themselves. From 1981 to about 1984, there were four that I visited every time we went to Berkeley: Rasputin’s Records, Universal Records, Leopold’s Records, and Tower Records. We can dispense with the last one first. If you consumed recorded music up until the early 00’s, you certainly know what Tower Records is. Berkeley had one, and it had a great magazine section and many of the newest imports. It was usually an afterthought on these visits – I’d hit the three indie stores first, walk them up and down for hours, and only then go to Tower, mostly because it was just part of the established routine. 

Rasputin Records – also known as Rasputin’s, and currently known as Rasputin Music (and still on Telegraph, albeit in a different location), was the big mecca of the 4 stores. It was an absolute epicenter for new independent music from England and from small labels across the USA. The images from my first moments in the store are forever burned into my psyche. On the lefthand wall, a long row of 45s. Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Visage (!), Adam and the Ants, X, the Au Pairs, The Cramps and many more. To the right, more in the center of the store, were the LPs that the store wanted to feature. I remember my jaw dropping that first time when I saw this one


Everything unique and groundbreaking about punk and postpunk – music, sleeve design, band names, fashion, politics - had converged and was on display in this one store, at this one time, and I’ll never forget how my horizons exploded in a few short hours. I would flip through these records multiple times (especially the singles, because I could afford them), staring at sleeves, reading liner notes, and carrying armloads of stuff around all afternoon until it was time to check out because my grandpa was going to pick me up outside the store.

Being a kid, and therefore having limited allowance money to spend, I bought two 45s that first day that I’d been hearing on KFJC: “Antmusic”, by Adam and the Ants (yeah!), and X's “White Girl”. Such was my musical cognitive dissonance at the time, though I suppose it's not as far a leap as it might once have seemed. Trouble was, I thought when I bought “White Girl” that I was actually buying a frantic, female-fronted punk rock song I'd heard on the radio once before, which was "100% White Girl" by San Francisco punk band THE VKTMS. Expecting that song, and instead getting Exene’s whiny, nasally voice and the methodical pace of the original “White Girl”, I was thoroughly bummed as I listened to it late that night, after my grandparents had gone to bed, of course. When you only have $6 to spend, and you “waste” $3 of it on one of the best days of your young life, it can be pretty crushing. Of course, now I love X’s song, and I wish I’d held onto the Slash Records 45. Never did end up buying the Vktms record, either.

On later visits I bought Bauhaus' 12” single “Bela Lugosi's Dead”; the complete early Simple Minds collection (pre-stardom; this was when they were a futuristic dance band of sorts); the Surf PunksLP; Au Pairs’ "Playing With a Different Sex" LP; the Human League's “Being Boiled”, and a variety of new wave singles I've forgotten about now. This is likely for the better. I laughed at records by “Surgical Penis Klinik” and the Meat Puppets. I saw a lot of records that are undoubtedly paying for children's college educations now.

Practically next door to Rasputin’s was Universal Records. I think they may have closed well before I left for college in 1985; I seem to remember them disappearing around 1983. This was the punk store. Cluttered, dirty, and with loud UK punk like Discharge and The Exploited blasting at top volume, it took all of my teenage courage to shop here and look cool. Actually, though, the pimpled punker behind the counter was totally friendly to me every time I came in – answering questions and steering me to new purchases. His punk name was Rob Noxious. There were many dudes with variants of that name back in the day, including Bob Noxious, singer for San Francisco’s Fuck-Ups. This guy, I later learned, was the singer of a hardcore band called Intensified Chaos. He prodded me to buy my VICE SQUAD “Stand Strong, Stand Proud” record, and patted me on the back when I sold him my novelty Surf Punks record back in order to help afford it. My memories of this store are full of “Punk & Disorderly” record covers, Crass, Anti-Pasti, “Oi Oi That’s Yer Lot” and so on.

Finally, there was Leopold’s Records. This was a two-story store, housed next to Tower Records and both above and to the left of LaVal’s Pizza, which itself was a must-visit on every trip (two slices for $2 or something like that – remember though that this is 1980s money. That’s like $174 today). Leopold’s would later gain notoriety for being a phenomenal store for underground hip-hop as that scene was exploding; I remember it as another place for British imports. I got the early Kate Bush records there! There were rows and rows of records in plastic polyvinyl sleeves (classy) - prog-rock from the 70s and 80s seemed to be something in high traffic there. Either that or the Gentle Giant and Marillion records were right next to the areas I would frequently browse. As amazing as this store was, it was a distant third for me to the glory that was Rasputin’s and the eye-opening head trip that was Universal. I still made it a point to spend an hour here each time, however.

My trips to Berkeley continued even in college and afterward a bit, especially when Amoeba Records – the very first one – opened there in 1990. By then, Rasputin’s was trying to be all things to all people (instead of an imports/punk/used vinyl kind of store), and went through a bit of a crisis in competition with Amoeba and almost closed. It’s now a gargantuan store again, right there on Telegraph, in a new location, with a cool “history of Berkeley punk and metal” photo exhibit on the outside of the store today, right at street level. Leopold’s is long gone. Tower is long gone. The great bookstore of the avenue, Cody’s, is long gone, though Moe’s hangs on for dear life. Berkeley was subsequently supplanted by San Francisco, and later by the internet, as the best location to shop for records from far corners of the underground. 


I miss that wide-eyed feeling of discovery I would get there, when “everything was totally new” and now-legendary 80s subcultures were still ripe for exploration. I was trying on a teenage mental identity, as every teenager does, and this was the perfect place to experiment. More to the point, it was the best place in the world (that I knew of) to buy some totally rad records. I wish I could somehow capture that frenzied, electric, worlds-of-possibility brain rush again.

September 15th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
Last year I somehow found the time to put together 3 different episodes of a podcast called Otherworldly & Gone. It was much like my current Dynamite Hemorrhage Radio, just focused on ethnic pre-WWII 78rpm records from the far corners of the world, as opposed to raw rocknroll from the last five decades.I have every intention of returning to the Otherworldly & Gone podcast in the not-too-distant future. Until that day, please feel free to download and take a listen to them here – playlists are linked below as well.Otherworldly & Gone #1Otherworldly & Gone #2Otherworldly & Gone #3

Last year I somehow found the time to put together 3 different episodes of a podcast called Otherworldly & Gone. It was much like my current Dynamite Hemorrhage Radio, just focused on ethnic pre-WWII 78rpm records from the far corners of the world, as opposed to raw rocknroll from the last five decades.

I have every intention of returning to the Otherworldly & Gone podcast in the not-too-distant future. Until that day, please feel free to download and take a listen to them here – playlists are linked below as well.

Otherworldly & Gone #1
Otherworldly & Gone #2
Otherworldly & Gone #3

September 14th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage

DYNAMITE HEMORRHAGE #1 is now available for purchase in the BigCartel store for purchase. It’s a 68-page fanzine featuring raw & sub-underground rocknroll from the last five decades.

It’s $7 + shipping anywhere in the world.

Get Dynamite Hemorrhage #1 here.

Issue #2 coming in November 2014.

September 8th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
Reblogged from MAKING WAVES ZINE
September 6th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage

In case you missed this one last Saturday….

dynamitehemorrhage:

Can’t pick a more inauspicious time to post a new show than smack in the middle of Labor Day weekend, but we at Dynamite Hemorrhage Radio don’t operate according to your rules. We had bands we needed to play for you, we had a free Saturday night, we bailed on something like five quality live music shows happening in the San Francisco Bay Area this evening and instead we made ya this podcast. It’s a little over an hour and it might blow your goddamn mind.

Let’s start with brand new material from HONEY RADAR, SNEAKS, OCTAGRAPE, SYNTHETIC ID, PY PY, TERRY MALTS and THE BILDERS. We stack from there with reissued stuff from CRIME. We slide in library material from VAIN AIMS, GARBAGE AND THE FLOWERS, COME, FLESH EATERS, DEAD CLODETTES, THE GERMS and the awesome KING TEARS MORTUARY (pictured here) - among others. Like the other 43 hours of podcasts before it, it all comes with my personal guarantee of quality - the music, not the blatherings of the inane host. That’s what the slider on your iPhone is for. 

Download Dynamite Hemorrhage Radio #44 here.
Stream or download the show on Soundcloud here.
Subscribe to the show on iTunes here.

Track listing:

HONEY RADAR - A Ballerina in Focus
HONEY RADAR - Alabama Wax Habit
SNEAKS - New Taste
BEYOND THE IMPLODE - Lassitude 
VAIN AIMS - You
KING TEARS MORTUARY - Crash Report
DEAD CLODETTES - Flou
THE NIGHTS AND DAYS - Diddy Wah Diddy
CRIME - Terminal Boredom
GERMS - Sex Boy
TERRY MALTS - Let You In
SYNTHETIC ID - Random Shocks
THE FLESH EATERS - Plastic Factory (live)
OCTAGRAPE - Ono Cyclone
PY PY - Pagan Day
COME - Car
THE GARBAGE AND THE FLOWERS - Nothing Going Down At All
THE BILDERS - The Utopians R Just Out Boozin’ 

Some past shows:
Dynamite Hemorrhage #43    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #42    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #41    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #40    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #39    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #38    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #37    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #36    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #35    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #34    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #33    (playlist)
Dynamite Hemorrhage #32    (playlist)

Reblogged from Dynamite Hemorrhage
August 30th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage

Can’t pick a more inauspicious time to post a new show than smack in the middle of Labor Day weekend, but we at Dynamite Hemorrhage Radio don’t operate according to your rules. We had bands we needed to play for you, we had a free Saturday night, we bailed on something like five quality live music shows happening in the San Francisco Bay Area this evening and instead we made ya this podcast. It’s a little over an hour and it might blow your goddamn mind.

Let’s start with brand new material from HONEY RADAR, SNEAKS, OCTAGRAPE, SYNTHETIC ID, PY PY, TERRY MALTS and THE BILDERS. We stack from there with reissued stuff from CRIME. We slide in library material from VAIN AIMS, GARBAGE AND THE FLOWERS, COME, FLESH EATERS, DEAD CLODETTES, THE GERMS and the awesome KING TEARS MORTUARY (pictured here) - among others. Like the other 43 hours of podcasts before it, it all comes with my personal guarantee of quality - the music, not the blatherings of the inane host. That’s what the slider on your iPhone is for. 

Download Dynamite Hemorrhage Radio #44 here.
Stream or download the show on Soundcloud here.
Subscribe to the show on iTunes here.

Track listing:

HONEY RADAR - A Ballerina in Focus
HONEY RADAR - Alabama Wax Habit
SNEAKS - New Taste
BEYOND THE IMPLODE - Lassitude 
VAIN AIMS - You
KING TEARS MORTUARY - Crash Report
DEAD CLODETTES - Flou
THE NIGHTS AND DAYS - Diddy Wah Diddy
CRIME - Terminal Boredom
GERMS - Sex Boy
TERRY MALTS - Let You In
SYNTHETIC ID - Random Shocks
THE FLESH EATERS - Plastic Factory (live)
OCTAGRAPE - Ono Cyclone
PY PY - Pagan Day
COME - Car
THE GARBAGE AND THE FLOWERS - Nothing Going Down At All
THE BILDERS - The Utopians R Just Out Boozin’ 

Some past shows:
Dynamite Hemorrhage #43    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #42    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #41    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #40    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #39    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #38    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #37    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #36    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #35    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #34    (playlist) 
Dynamite Hemorrhage #33    (playlist)
Dynamite Hemorrhage #32    (playlist)

August 29th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage

KING TEARS MORTUARY. New favorite band.

August 29th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
Grease Trap
King Tears Mortuary
Asleep At The Wheel Of Fortune EP 7"

Despite having a cover image that looks like the opening credits of Silicon Valley, the second KING TEARS MORTUARY single continues the winning ways of its bent, lo-fidelity pop predecessor, "Safe Sex".

The Australian unit put forth un certain joie de vivre that is absolutely infectious, with girl/boy vocals and tonal shifts that range from developmentally-delayed bashing to screeching noise to winsome, albeit raw and loud, pop. Fantastic stuff, and I encourage you to try ‘em both.

August 28th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage

Well, this is something of a find – a good-quality audience tape of the very first FLESH EATERS show at Los Angeles’ Masque in December 1977…! Are you kidding me? I would have given my right arm for this thing at any point during the past 30 years, and it’s just been sitting there since May waiting for all of us to listen to it.

Thanks to Jon Hope for hipping me to this site Noise Addiction II – I’ve barely even dug through it yet and have already found that the site is just bursting with LA punk and oddities from the 70s and 80s. Don’t mind me, I’m over here shoving files into my piehole.

So the Flesh Eaters, in their very first show, still sound searing and raw on most tracks. This was from Chris D.’s “screaming” phase, which you can read him disowning in our own Dynamite Hemorrhage #1 fanzine, which has a lengthy interview with him about this era. The tape contains their cover of the Magic Band’s “Plastic Factory” as well as another cover I can’t place right now….can you? The tape cuts out just as the monstrous “Automaton Bombs” is just getting locked and loaded.

I can help a little with the song titling as well. Minus the one I don’t know, here’s what you’ll hear:

FLESH EATERS – live at the Masque, December 21st, 1977

  1. Disintegration Nation
  2. Agony Shorthand
  3. Police Gun Jitters
  4. Plastic Factory
  5. Achieve That Reject
  6. Brain Time
  7. title unknown
  8. Jesus Don’t Come Through the Cotton
  9. Automaton Bombs

Download the thing here.

August 28th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
Hey, I heard that CCTV track and absolutely love it, so killer. Are there any plans to do a record?
Anonymous

daisyydazeyy:

Thanks! We are actually currently working on a 7inch and have plans to put out an LP in the future.

August 28th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage

hotmonsters:

isitanart:

Flyer for show from December 1979 where they played with X and The Germs.

Reblogged from Roman Litter
August 27th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
(Originally posted on my Agony Shorthand blog back in 2004):
“THE MAYOR OF THE SUNSET STRIP” DVD….. I’ve heard the “Rodney on the ROQ” radio show live maybe two or three times ever, but if you’re even a little bit interested in LA punk days of yore – or hey, in LA glitter days of yore – you know who RODNEY BIGENHEIMER is. It always seemed to go without saying that Rodney was best – the best – at getting his picture taken with famous people, with his ability to drum up support for mediocre sugar pop or punk-lite bands a close second. Honestly, outside of the over-the-top belittling he took from the Angry Samoans in their song “Get Off The Air” (featuring the first-rate lyric “Glitter bands, and Bowie’s cock/Are his idea of new wave rock”) and that incredible I’ll-never-grow-up haircut of his, I’ve barely given him a second thought. He’s never done a thing to get me worked up pro or con. After watching this documentary on him, though, I feel like buying him a beer and personally apologizing to him for the hatchet job the filmmakers did on him. This recent documentary, which held out the (delivered) promise of including a ton of great 1960s-70s photos and footage from underground & overground popular culture, has an agenda of laying waste to Bigenheimer by juxtaposing his supposedly fabulous life among the tinseltown glitterati with his own, somewhat painful family history. It’s obvious very early on that Rodney doesn’t really know how to conduct himself in this documentary, so he just sort of trails along as the filmmakers plop him into one uncomfortable situation after another. This includes getting the girl he’s crazy about to admit she has another boyfriend in front of Rodney; forcing his clueless Dad and stepmom to search for the one or two childhood photos of Rodney they’ve retained, trailing him around his squalid apartment as they subtly mock his lack of money, and so on. Rodney, who possesses very little of the smarts that might have gotten him out of this mess, just lets the camera roll and tries to nice-guy the filmmakers into liking him, as I imagine he’s nice-guyed many a star over the years. They don’t – they loathe him, just as they loathe anyone who might have a few demons they’re unwilling to confront. They also employ the most tired trick in the book – contrasting the LA of parties and sex and booze with the LA where people actually have to polish the sidewalk stars on Hollywood Boulevard or who might be too wasted or broke to sleep in a house or motel for the night. Can you believe it? Beneath the glitter and the tinsel there’s a whole ‘nother Los Angeles!! It’s a documentary that might have been all right at a big-city film festival, where you know most of the films will be duds & you’re willing to forgive the young filmmakers their trespasses – you just want to be out & seeing something that’ll never hit the Cineplex. But beyond that, no way. It’s amateur hour as the film’s story halts and starts and halts again, with long stretches of incoherence that cries for an editor or some adult supervision. What does it have to do with rock and roll, you ask? Well, beyond the nominal subject matter, “The Mayor of the Sunset Strip” does have interviews with some self-aggrandizing people you love to hate like Courtney Love (who of course bring the subject matter back to herself almost every question) and Ray Manzarek. There’s also great footage from Rodney’s 1970s glam club “Rodney’s English Disco”, including a preening David Johanssen and a nubile MacKenzie Phillips, as well as weird interviews with members of groupie club The GTOs. Oh yeah, and KIM FOWLEY is all over this thing – there were times when I thought the film was going to veer off and become a documentary on him, something I’d definitely like to see if someone can brave it. There’s no doubt the ribald, quick-witted and quite possibly insane Fowley would have held his own against these mean-spirited charlatans far better than Rodney Bigenheimer did.

(Originally posted on my Agony Shorthand blog back in 2004):

“THE MAYOR OF THE SUNSET STRIP” DVD….. 

I’ve heard the “Rodney on the ROQ” radio show live maybe two or three times ever, but if you’re even a little bit interested in LA punk days of yore – or hey, in LA glitter days of yore – you know who RODNEY BIGENHEIMER is. It always seemed to go without saying that Rodney was best – the best – at getting his picture taken with famous people, with his ability to drum up support for mediocre sugar pop or punk-lite bands a close second. Honestly, outside of the over-the-top belittling he took from the Angry Samoans in their song “Get Off The Air” (featuring the first-rate lyric “Glitter bands, and Bowie’s cock/Are his idea of new wave rock”) and that incredible I’ll-never-grow-up haircut of his, I’ve barely given him a second thought. He’s never done a thing to get me worked up pro or con. After watching this documentary on him, though, I feel like buying him a beer and personally apologizing to him for the hatchet job the filmmakers did on him. 

This recent documentary, which held out the (delivered) promise of including a ton of great 1960s-70s photos and footage from underground & overground popular culture, has an agenda of laying waste to Bigenheimer by juxtaposing his supposedly fabulous life among the tinseltown glitterati with his own, somewhat painful family history. It’s obvious very early on that Rodney doesn’t really know how to conduct himself in this documentary, so he just sort of trails along as the filmmakers plop him into one uncomfortable situation after another. This includes getting the girl he’s crazy about to admit she has another boyfriend in front of Rodney; forcing his clueless Dad and stepmom to search for the one or two childhood photos of Rodney they’ve retained, trailing him around his squalid apartment as they subtly mock his lack of money, and so on. Rodney, who possesses very little of the smarts that might have gotten him out of this mess, just lets the camera roll and tries to nice-guy the filmmakers into liking him, as I imagine he’s nice-guyed many a star over the years. They don’t – they loathe him, just as they loathe anyone who might have a few demons they’re unwilling to confront. They also employ the most tired trick in the book – contrasting the LA of parties and sex and booze with the LA where people actually have to polish the sidewalk stars on Hollywood Boulevard or who might be too wasted or broke to sleep in a house or motel for the night. Can you believe it? Beneath the glitter and the tinsel there’s a whole ‘nother Los Angeles!! 

It’s a documentary that might have been all right at a big-city film festival, where you know most of the films will be duds & you’re willing to forgive the young filmmakers their trespasses – you just want to be out & seeing something that’ll never hit the Cineplex. But beyond that, no way. It’s amateur hour as the film’s story halts and starts and halts again, with long stretches of incoherence that cries for an editor or some adult supervision. What does it have to do with rock and roll, you ask? Well, beyond the nominal subject matter, “The Mayor of the Sunset Strip” does have interviews with some self-aggrandizing people you love to hate like Courtney Love (who of course bring the subject matter back to herself almost every question) and Ray Manzarek. There’s also great footage from Rodney’s 1970s glam club “Rodney’s English Disco”, including a preening David Johanssen and a nubile MacKenzie Phillips, as well as weird interviews with members of groupie club The GTOs. Oh yeah, and KIM FOWLEY is all over this thing – there were times when I thought the film was going to veer off and become a documentary on him, something I’d definitely like to see if someone can brave it. There’s no doubt the ribald, quick-witted and quite possibly insane Fowley would have held his own against these mean-spirited charlatans far better than Rodney Bigenheimer did.

August 26th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage
BILL DIREEN, sometime in the 1980s. Just finished up a list of questions for our interview with the man in Dynamite Hemorrhage #2.

BILL DIREEN, sometime in the 1980s. Just finished up a list of questions for our interview with the man in Dynamite Hemorrhage #2.

August 26th, 2014
dynamitehemorrhage

Likes

Music wordage and shareage - punks, pop, garage, freaks, proto-punkers and more.

Dynamite Hemorrhage #1 is also a 68-page print fanzine, with multiple interviews (Chris D./Flesh Eaters; Sally Skull; Household; Sex Tide; Bona Dish), 50+ record reviews and loads more.

It's available to purchase right here for $7 + the true cost of shipping it to you wherever you are in the world (which can get expensive - sorry about that):

Issue #2 coming in November 2014.

Dynamite Hemorrhage is also a bi-weekly podcast that you can subscribe to on iTunes.

Drop me a line at dynamiteh(at)outlook.com.

Follow me on Facebook and Twitter.

Read my other blog too:
The Hedonist Jive

Following