Epic! No other word will do to describe the latest Spine of Overkill column by Woody High. Dude has outdone himself, speaking from both personal experience and critical expertise about the Big 4 before the Big 4. All metal, no marketing. Cheers to Woody and dig this if you dare:

The Big 4 (Before The Big 4)

The past few years there’s been all this hoopla about “the Big Four of Thrash Metal” and who’s in it, who’s not, who should be, etc. Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax and Megadeth are certainly the biggest four bands to have emerged out of the 1980s thrash heap and all of ’em put out big albums in 1986-‘87. Exodus and Overkill predate some of those bands and paid the price for being a little too early to the party, doing too many whippets and passing out before everyone showed up. Exciter never gets mentioned in the discussion even though their landmark debut Heavy Metal Maniac was recorded in 1982 and released in January ‘83.

But the road all these bands traveled on were paved by what I like to call “The Big 4 Before The Big 4” – Anvil, The Rods, Riot and Twisted Sister. These bands were all on the wrong continent to be part of the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal but helped inspire the first wave of thrash and rabid metal mongers in search of faster and louder. If 1986 is looked at as the pinnacle of thrash, then 1982 can be seen as the peak of the underground street metal era.

Anvil

By now everyone’s seen the Anvil movie and there’s even been a bit of a backlash against them because they’re sort of popular. Whatever. The fact remains that their second album, Metal on Metal, came out in April 1982 and kicked major ass. I read about Anvil in the pages of my favorite zine, Kick*Ass, and knew right away I had to check this band out. Anvil took their Ted Nugent, Deep Purple and Motörhead influences and mixed them with potent Canadian beer to form a speedy new hybrid. Metal on Metal contains many classics like the anthemic title-track, “Mothra,” “666” and the killer instrumental “March of the Crabs.” I was thrilled by the dirty lyrics of “Jackhammer,” “Tease Me, Please Me,” “Tag Team,” “Heatsink,” and “Scenery.” The only song that I was not that into was “Stop Me,” sung by pretty boy rhythm guitarist Dave Allison. Back in 1982, you usually had to put up with one kinda wimpy song that you know the record company made them do to try and get on the radio. Lips‘ lead guitar playing is killer on the entire album. He combined a fancy Michael Schenker/Ritchie Blackmore Euro style with a full on gonzo Nugent malicious intent that’s quite impressive. Robb Reiner‘s drumming took inspiration from Carmine Appice and Tommy Aldridge but he was also smart enough to get hip to the swinging approach from Louis Bellson, an early double bass drummer in the jazz world. (Check out Bellson‘s classic drum solo piece “Skin Deep” if you don’t believe me.)

I never got to see Anvil at their peak in ‘82 or ‘83 when they were deafening everyone at L’Amours and in New Jersey clubs but I caught them a few years later in Rochester, NY. It was either 1987 or ‘88 when they played a club called Backstreets (the radio ads said, “Backstreets is HUUUUUUUUUGE!”) on a frigid, rainy, snowy night in the middle of the week. There was hardly anyone in the place. The guy who I had convinced to drive wanted to leave before they even played when he saw all the gear on stage. Back then, Lips would have three Fender Twin amps sitting on top of three extension cabinets. Bassist Ian Dickson had a pair of Ampeg SVT stacks and Dave had double Marshall stacks. Robb‘s drum kit was enormous with a giant anvil in between the bass drums. There was no way I was going to split so I had to promise I’d buy him a garbage plate from Nick Tahou‘s after the show to get him to stick around. I’d seen bands play to small crowds and it was obvious they weren’t into it. Anvil came out blasting at full volume and went completely nuts on stage like they were headlining a stadium. They really pulled out all the stops. When Lips busted out the vibrator for the solo on “Bondage” he stuck it in some girl’s drink to stir it up for her. I’m sure it must have improved the flavor greatly. Before playing the song “Mad Dog,” Lips pulled his bulldog onstage and showed the crowd the dog’s balls. Classy and classic.

Anvil – “March of the Crabs” and “666” Live in Japan 1983
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tvaYnlk1X8

The Rods

The Rods traveled a similar path to Anvil. Hailing from upstate NY but making a name for themselves in the clubs of outer borough NYC and New Jersey, The Rods were another deafening live act. The Rods took inspiration from late ‘60s loud power trios like Cream, Hedrix, James Gang, Blue Cheer and sped it up. Playing Led Zep covers in Jersey dumps to underage drinkers requires desperate measures to get their attention. Their independently released debut Rock Hard came out in 1980 but was picked up and repackaged as The Rods in 1981 by Arista. The Rods were getting a lot of attention in the UK newspaper Sounds and toured over there with Iron Maiden. It didn’t hurt that guitarist David “Rock” Feinstein was the cousin of Ronnie James Dio and played with him in his pre-Rainbow band Elf.

By the time they got around to recording their second album Wild Dogs in 1982 it looked like they were going to be a really big band. Wild Dogs is a bombastic, belligerent collection of songs that belonged in the tape deck of every Trans Am in the Tri-State and beyond. Still does as far as I’m concerned. It doesn’t matter where I am but as long as it’s warm enough to have all the windows of my car rolled down I’m cranking “Too Hot to Stop” and I don’t give a fuck who doesn’t like it. The opening riff is one of the best that AC/DC didn’t write and the lyrics “I’m low down and dirty/I’m a nasty man” are great to yell at some uptight broad in the car next to you at the red light. And when you’re burning rubber and she’s choking on your smoke everyone knows that you are indeed “Too Hot to Stop.” Unless you’re pulling up to the liquor store, of course. Then it’s okay to stop. But when you get back in there are plenty more kickass jams to blast. There are so many great lyrics on Wild Dogs. “Rockin’ ‘n’ Rollin’ Again” has some of the best like, “Red hot women, snortin’ cocaine/Line ’em up I wanna hit ’em again!” The Rods love rock ‘n’ roll and love writing songs about rock ‘n’ roll like, “The Night Lives to Rock” and sleazy road-life-inspired, gonorrhea-drenched love songs like “Violation” (“I didn’t know she was only 17!”) and “No Sweet Talk, Honey.” Their attempt at getting on the radio was with a cover of a cover. Vanilla Fudge had a hit in the ‘60s with a slowed down version of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” by The Supremes. The Rods’ version is shorter and a bit faster but didn’t give them a hit.

It is to my eternal regret that I have never once seen The Rods, one of my all-time favorite bands. They’re back in action again and put out a new album last year called Vengeance that was pretty good. I’m hoping they play New York someday and bring down those custom speaker cabinets that Rock and bassist Gary Bordonaro used to play through. The back cover of their Live album shows TWELVE cabinets on either side of Carl Canedy‘s giant, shiny double bass drum kit. Back in the pre-Dave Lombardo days, Carl was the only guy to rival Robb Reiner in the double bass wars. Phil Taylor was too Keith Moon-ish to compete with the accuracy of Carl and Robb. For those who don’t know, Carl plays drums on the first Manowar demo and produced a lot of bands for Combat Records including Overkill, Anthrax, Exciter and Possessed.

The Rods – “Power Lover” live in NY 1983

Riot

If ever a band deserved the two-hour Behind The Music treatment, it’s Brooklyn’s own Riot. Founding member Mark Reale started the band in 1975 and sadly passed away earlier this year. There’s a box set titled A Study in Frustration of swing-era band leader Fletcher Henderson. That same title could be used if they ever decide to make a movie about Riot. The new issue of Classic Rock Magazine has a great article about Riot‘s formation and career struggles through the 1980s that will tell you everything you need to know. If ever a band deserved more success it was them. Bands like Anvil and The Rods were ultimately too heavy and wild for an AC/DC mainstream hard rock crowd in 1982, but Riot could have gone the distance. 1981’s Fire Down Under is an undeniable classic. Heavy enough for a metal crowd, melodic enough for normal people and great playing for the musicianly types. Plus, singer Guy Speranza had a killer afro to rival Handsome Dick Manitoba or Don Brewer.

When Guy decided to cut his ‘fro and quit the band, they came up with a winner in his replacement Rhett Forrester. Rhett had poofy blonde hair, a lot of charisma and a great bluesy voice. The album Restless Breed is another classic. Some purists say Fire Down Under is better but I’ve always put them on equal footing. The only drawback Riot really had was their goofy half-man/half-seal mascot and some people never took them seriously because of the album covers. Their loss. Restless Breed has some of the heaviest songs they ever did like “Hard Lovin’ Man” (not the Deep Purple song), “CIA,” “Violent Crimes,” and “Loanshark.” Backing up Rhett was the powerhouse rhythm section of bassist Kip Lemming and drummer Sandy Slavin and the excellent guitar team of Mark Reale and Rick Ventura. The title-track is a moody slow burn that should have become an afternoon drive time anthem alongside Blackfoot‘s “Highway Song.” If you ever need a song to go riding off into the sunset with, this is it. “Loved by You” could have easily won over Van Halen fans but David Lee Roth always maintained a “no blonde singer” policy for his opening acts. If you had a girlfriend in 1982, she probably would have liked “Over to You” (not the Black Sabbath song), “Showdown” and “Dream Away.” Riot‘s attempt at getting on the radio with a cover of “When I was Young” by The Animals could have worked in getting some older classic rock fans to check them out. Both Guy and Rhett died way too young and under tragic circumstances. It’s sad that Mark‘s passing has made more people aware of Riot‘s classic albums but it would be even sadder if they were totally ignored.

Riot – “Restless Breed” live

Twisted Sister

Rounding out this class of 1982 is Long Island’s own Twisted Fuckin’ Sister. Everybody’s aware of their huge MTV video hits but hardcore metal freaks like me still cling to their early singles, EPs and live tapes. By 1982, Twisted Sister had created a huge following in the NY/NJ/CT area by blasting out a couple sets a night four or five times a week. The drinking age was 18 and fake IDs were very easy to get. When underage girls are at a show that guarantees a ton of guys are going to be there trying to get in their pants. Twisted Sister were loved by blue collar suburban metalheads but looked at as a joke by the industry and hipsters in NYC. They couldn’t get a record deal and rarely ever played in Manhattan. They’d rent out the Palladium and sell it out but would get no media attention. Other bar bands like The Good Rats or Zebra had big followings but Twisted Sister crowds were the rowdiest. They’d rile everyone up with smokin’ versions of “Draw the Line” by Aerosmith, “Sin City” by AC/DC and “Long Live Rock ‘n’ Roll” by Rainbow before pulling out their originals. As a kid I heard their name all the time on the local rock radio stations concert listings and seen some of the older burnouts in school wearing their shirts. In early 1982 I saw them play live on a tv show and they totally blew my mind. I stayed up late to watch a show hosted by Flo & Eddie from The Turtles but I was a big fan of their work with Frank Zappa. They introduced this bunch of freaks that all looked like Alice Cooper (who I’ve always been a huge fan of) and then they blasted into “Under the Blade.” You can bet when they finally released their debut album, also called Under the Blade, I picked it up the day it came out.

In recent years, Twisted Sister has been acknowledging their early days more often and have answered some demands from fans. One of them was to finally re-release Under the Blade as it originally came out (they remixed it at some point in the ‘80s and Atlantic reissued it) alongside the Ruff Kuts EP. Last year they did just that and packaged it with an unbelievable DVD from their set at the Reading Festival right after they recorded the album. They also put out an incredible DVD of a full show from earlier that summer right before they took off for England to go into the studio with Pete Way of UFO as producer. “What You Don’t Know (Sure Can Hurt You)” is one of the best opening fuck-you songs of all time. Very Alice Cooper influenced, it tells lays it down that if you’re not into this then you’re lame and get the fuck out. Twisted Sister often get compared to KISS and there are a lot of similarities, but they always had more in common with Alice‘s blend of anthemic hard rock and theatrics. “Shoot ’em Down” and “Bad Boys (of Rock ‘n’ Roll)” are classic Bon Scott-era influenced AC/DC songs and “Sin After Sin” is a great Judas Priest song mixed with “1969” by The Stooges.” “Tear It Loose” is pure Motörhead and “Day of the Rocker” is a great Rose Tattoo tribute. “Run For Your Life” and “Destroyer” are so fuckin heavy but the title track is the real highlight of the album. So creepy and heavy at the same time. If you can’t headbang to this song then you must have been born without a neck. I was lucky enough to catch Twisted Sister a few times in their pre-fame club daze and they remain one of the best live bands I’ve ever seen. If you don’t believe me, there’s plenty of evidence out there to confirm it. A friend of mine’s been hooking me up with some vintage live tapes the past few years. Anyone who wants to check ’em out, get in touch and I’ll be glad to hook you up.

Twisted Sister – “Under The Blade” live 1982

I recently turned 45 years old, which means I’ve been listening to these records for 30 years. Jesus, that’s a long fucking time. Each year some new aches and pains seem to come out of nowhere but I can accurately pinpoint the beginning of my hearing loss.

This one’s been a while coming, but below you’ll find the debut column from Orange Goblin frontman Ben Ward. In it, he discusses a few of the band’s European gigs in support of their latest album, A Eulogy for the Damned, and a smattering of the drunken shenanigans for which he and bandmates Joe Hoare, Martyn Millard and Chris Turner are legendary. Behold:

National Lampoon’s Orange Goblin European Vacation! — Part 1 — April 2012

So after 17 years of peddling my wares with Orange Goblin, somebody has asked me to write a regular blog feature. I have to say that I’m amazed for a couple of reasons! Firstly because until a few months back I didn’t even really know what a “blog” was? Secondly I’m amazed because I didn’t think there would be anyone out there that is remotely interested in anything I have to say or do… ever! So, for the past few weeks I’ve been wracking my brains trying to think of something I could talk about that people that read The Obelisk may find entertaining. After all sorts of ridiculous ideas, I have decided to write about what I know best… being in Orange Goblin. Being in Orange Goblin as we travelled around Europe playing various club shows and festivals in lots of different countries, to be precise! It’s been a pretty busy summer by our usual standards with shows in Germany (a few times), Ireland, Italy, Spain, Austria, Sweden, France, Switzerland and more!!

A lot of bands will tell you that there is never a dull moment when you’re on tour but that’s an outright lie! There are loads of dull moments and the only way to relieve the boredom of those dull moments is to drink, smoke or make up ridiculous little games and in-jokes that the outside world would consider completely insane. In Orange Goblin we have practically invented a new language that only we understand, it’s the perfect juncture of absolute genius and utter morons!! I suspect most people would think it tends to lean heavily towards the latter.

I’m gonna start the report back in April 2012. We’d just finished a very successful UK tour (with our good friends Grifter in support) including headlining the first-ever Desertfest in London, when we jetted off for three shows in Germany, Ireland and Northern Ireland. Here’s what happened:

Thursday 19^th April – Desertfest, Berlin, Germany

We’d already played the Desertfest in London a couple of weeks earlier at the start of our UK tour so with an equally impressive lineup of bands we were pretty sure the Berlin version was going to be just as good. Over the course of the three days the stage would see the likes of Ancestors, Colour Haze, Wino & Conny Ochs, Motorpsycho, Red Fang, Black Tusk, Ufomammut, Brain Police as well as many, many others, including us.

Our travel party varies depending on where we play for but for this jaunt it consisted of six of us. Chris, Joe, Martyn and myself obviously, accompanied by Alastair Riddell (our tour manager, guitar tech and self-proclaimed Nordic God of Chips!) and Elena (Martyn’s better half, who sells the merchandise and worships Lynyrd Skynyrd!). Joe and I were actually early for a change so we went and got a McDonald’s breakfast before we all met up at a ridiculous hour in a cold, wet car park in Southall (West London), a few miles from Heathrow (the closest long-stay parking you can get to such a retarded airport!) and boarded a bus to Terminal 1. The shocking London traffic didn’t dampen our spirits but upon arrival at Terminal 1 it emerged that we should’ve gone to Terminal 5 and now had to carry all our gear and merchandise across the airport. Not the best start to the day, but we arrived at the correct place and everyone managed to remain calm and quite upbeat about the whole debacle. I have to say at this point that I absolutely hate airports. I hate the tedious ritual of checking-in, going through various security and passport checks, but most of all I hate the people in airports. They seem to be a different species. I have an unfiltered vehemence for both the staff and especially my fellow passengers (bandmates and crew aside!), all desperate to get ahead of the next person so that they can board the plane before anyone else. The worst are the people in the departure lounge who feel the need to stand right next to the check-in gate, so they’re at the front of a nonexistent queue an hour before we’re due to take off, the ones that make all the other sheep think that something is happening and then all of a sudden you have a massive queue of people all standing around doing nothing for an hour waiting to board the plane that will inevitably be late anyway! Add to that the fact that we always seem to be surrounded by THAT family that can’t control their four screaming kids and I think you know what I mean! Thank God for noise-reducing headphones!

We all had the customary breakfast of a pint and a fry-up in Weatherspoons (all except Alastair who had about 35 rounds of toast and marmalade!) then Joe and I gratefully sampled the free whiskey being handed out in the airport departure lounge before we took off and after an uneventful flight we arrived at Berlin Tegel. From there we were driven to a very smart hostel, which seemed like some kind of travellers campus (but with Rabbits roaming free… very odd!). Luckily it was located right in the Bohemian part of Berlin (I think it’s called Kreuzberg?) so we didn’t have to walk far to find a decent café / bar selling us a cheap lunch (kebabs for us, chips for Alastair obviously!) and a couple of beers! Everyone then went back to the hotel to get some rest and/or freshen up before heading to the venue.

I really like Berlin. I think that it’s up there with New York and Rome as one of my favourite cities to visit. It’s very colourful and vibrant and despite its recent past it is very easygoing and friendly. Upon arrival at the venue, we were well fed and plied with our (very generous) rider. As it was a festival there was no sound-check, just a quick line-check before playing so after a couple of photoshoots and interviews, we all just hung out backstage and caught a few of the other bands playing. I’d heard a lot of good things about the band Ancestors so I made a point of going to watch them and I was blown away. They’re a great band that brings to mind a cross between Pink Floyd and Neurosis at their most melodic. They were killer guys too and we made light work of a few bottles of whiskey together! Our show was good, I remember the venue being very full and very hot and it was great to get such an enthusiastic response from a crowd that had been standing around all evening watching the rest of the festival bill. I always appreciate that when we headline. This was also the first show outside the UK in which we had aired a whole load of material from the A Eulogy for the Damned album, so it was satisfying to see that material go down so well with a lot of people already knowing the words to the new material.

After the show, it got a bit messy and I remember Scott Batiste from Saviours turning up before we were all shoved into a shuttle bus and driven back to the hotel. A few of us then headed out to the same bar we’d been to for lunch to get the much-needed late-night Doner Kebab and a few nightcaps! I remember trying to be clever and taking what I thought was a shortcut back to my room but I ended up getting completely lost in the hostel complex and had to phone Alastair to come and find me and take me back!! That’ll learn me!

Friday 20^th April – The Pint, Dublin, REP. OF IRELAND

The next morning we had a ridiculously early start as we had to be at Berlin Airport for 9AM! Again, the airport ritual was a tortuous affair that we could have all done without so early in the morning when you’re nursing a hangover. Anyway, we had the luxury of flying via Aer Lingus (as opposed to fucking Ryanair!) and we managed to catch our flight on time, landing in Dublin just a couple of hours later. The majority of our flights have been very comfortable for me this year, bearing in mind that I am 6’ 5” tall! This is due to the fact that Alastair is one of those people that HAS to get on the plane first, even if you have designated seating! Anyway, the fact that he does this means that he has been able to procure the seats in the emergency exit rows that have the extra legroom. I can therefore take my time getting to my seat, safe in the knowledge that no one in their right mind is going to want to sit next to Alastair, meaning him and I usually have three seats between the two of us and we can stretch out! Joe doesn’t usually mind where he sits as he’s only a little fella and can sleep anywhere, which is why we call him Bagpuss! (For those who don’t know who Bagpuss is, he’s a character from an old English kids TV show, look him up.)

We were met at the airport by two very good friends, James, the Irish promoter that has booked us over there for the best part of a decade and Paul, another old friend from England that now lives in Belfast and plays in the hardcore band By Any Means, who were supporting us on these Irish shows as well as supplying us with backline (as well as accommodation and breakfast, more on that later!) We went straight to the venue and were greeted by the Republic of Ireland’s Number One Orange Goblin fan who had brought a million things for us to sign (including Ravens Creed material that none of us played on!) and we had photos with him before walking to the nearby hotel for a spot of lunch. It’s a very predictable thing to do in Dublin but we all had to sample the Guinness as well. There was talk of walking to St. James Gate to visit the Guinness factory, do a bit of sightseeing and have our photos taken with the Phil Lynott statue in the city but the pissing rain soon put us all off that idea and decided to grab a few hours sleep instead.

We managed to get through sound-check and then had a nice dinner overlooking the River Liffy, laughing and taking the piss out of everyone outside in the pouring rain, before the doors opened and the show started! First band of the night were a young Irish band called Wizards of Firetop Mountain, who were very impressive, a cross of classic rock and metal with a real AC/DC feel to it. By Any Means were next up and they were great too, playing a vicious brand of hardcore and whipping the crowd into a frenzy! By this time the small venue was heaving and the very drunk Dublin crowd gave us a great reception, as always. This was great to see, as this was the first time we’d played in Dublin for quite a few years. Again, everyone played well and the new material was received just as well as the older stuff.

The after-show was a bit of a blur but I seem to remember it taking what seemed like hours to leave the venue with more and more people buying us drinks and forcing us to stay! I also remember talking to a lot of strangers and smoking the worst tasting cigarettes in the world during the load-out, they were so bad that I had to drink neat vodka to disguise the taste! There were more drinks back at the hotel and I don’t remember getting back to my room. I was sharing with Chris and must’ve woken him up as he’d gone to bed before me but I woke the next day feeling fantastic. Results!!

Saturday 21^st April – Spring & Airbrake, Belfast, NORTHERN IRELAND

The hotel in Dublin did an awesome cooked breakfast, which we all took advantage of. Chris was the only one that got collared to pay for his, the rest of us accidentally walking away from the table assuming that it was included in the hotel deal. Around midday we hit the road for a short drive north to Belfast, accompanied by an AC/DC mix in the van that had everyone rocking and desperate for beer. Before that though we wanted to drop in on Paul’s farm just outside of Belfast to see his pigs. Yes, his pigs. It’s a little known fact, but all of us in Orange Goblin are big fans of rural life, probably born of living in London and detesting everything about the city, and we all wanted to spend an afternoon feeding the pigs and chickens. We were due to be staying at Paul’s farm that night so it gave us a chance to meet his family, drink more Guinness and see what we’d be eating for breakfast the following morning. Paul had promised us fresh bacon, eggs and sausages that he makes himself and I for one could not wait! We spent a good hour or so on the farm and Elena made friends with a rabbit that she christened Syd Barrett for some unknown reason, but eventually we had to leave for the venue.

This was a show that I had been looking forward to ever since it had been booked. We have a lot of friends in Belfast and it always ends up as a big party every time we play there. Soundcheck was the usual boring affair and then we went to the pub next door to watch the Saturday football. Martyn’s team (QPR) were playing a very important fixture in the live televised game so he spent the next hour and a half yelling obscenities at the screen, much to the bemusement of the locals that had just popped out for a quiet pint on a Saturday evening! Anyway, QPR won and we all celebrated by sending Alastair to Nandos with the buy-out money for a load of chicken and chips, which were devoured in the dressing room – ah, the romance! There’s nothing better than the smell of a rancid venue dressing room mixed with hot, greasy chicken, stale beer and an overworked lavatory! I find it hard to believe we don’t get more groupies that wanna hang out backstage!!

The gig itself was an absolute blinder with a few girls on the front row very keen to flash their breasts. This isn’t unheard of at rock shows (actually, it is unheard of at OG shows) but I was very surprised by the two girls that had chosen to just wop them out and leave them hanging over the crowd barrier at the front for the duration of our set, like a couple of pairs of fleshy spaniels ears! Strange behaviour! Joe ended the gig being carried around the stage on Paul’s shoulders, Angus-style, much to his surprise whilst the rest of us tried to stop laughing at the boob display down the front! After the gig the real carnage began. There were many whiskeys and lots of photos with the very friendly Belfast crowd before we managed to squeeze about 27 people into the van and headed back to Paul’s farm for an all-night party! I think the entire time was spent talking utter-bollocks until it became clear that Paul and I were gonna have to head back into the city to get more “party supplies!” This involved a 4AM drive to the Shankill Road area of Belfast, not the best place for a pissed-up Englishman to be at any time, let alone as the sun is coming up on a Sunday morning! Paul had warned me to keep my voice down and but as soon as we arrived I fell out the van shouting, “Can I use your toilet, I’m dying for a piss!” Paul later told me that he thought we were gonna get shot but we managed to get out of there unscathed and I remember driving back to the farm at about 100mph down dark, winding country roads, AC/DC blasting out the stereo, thinking “I’m gonna die!” We got back to the farm and the party continued for a bit longer until everyone finally passed out at about 8AM.

After about four hours’ sleep, breakfast the next morning was everything I’d hoped it would be as Paul cooked up a treat of fresh bacon, sausage and eggs. Eventually and very reluctantly we had to say goodbye to everyone and we drove to Belfast Airport. The highlight of the day was spotting the heavyweight, British TV and Radio celeb Vanessa Feltz, who was strolling through the airport like a silver and leopard-skin clad behemoth.

I think I actually managed to sleep on the flight home and before we knew it, we were back at Heathrow and back to a world of shit. The rain was pissing down and we had to spend nearly an hour standing around in it waiting for the stupid bus to take us back to our cars in the long-stay car park. From there we all headed our separate ways, getting ready to go back to work first thing in the morning. Welcome home indeed!! I bet Led Zeppelin never had to do that!

Next month: Morrowfest, two shows in Italy and Sonisphere Spain!

The doctor is in. For his debut column for The Obelisk, Scott Heller — aka Dr. Space of Copenhagen space rock improvisors Øresund Space Collective — embarks on a cosmos-bound trip with a glance at UK trio Dead Flowers‘ third and final album — appropriately-enough titled Altered State Circus. As you’ll see, he likes it spacey. Please enjoy:

Altered States with Dr. Space

Hello everyone. I hope you are all doing well this summer. Thanks to JJ, I will begin to write a monthly column about classic psychedelic rock music. I have been writing about music since 1984, when I wrote a heavy metal fanzine called Metal Madness (Albuquerque, New Mexico). One of the contributors to the fanzine from Chicago started getting me into Hawkwind and through my tape trading with Chuck Wax in Michigan, I became fully immersed in the UK psychedelic rock scene that flourished in the ‘80s producing many cool space and psychedelic rock bands like Omnia Opera, Ozric Tentacles, Mandragora, Ship of Fools, Sundial, Strobe, Magic Mushroom Band, Poisoned Electrick Head, the Bevis Frond and Dead Flowers, just to mention a few.

The one record from this time period that really blew my mind was Altered State Circus from Dead Flowers. This would sadly be the Newcastle band’s best but also last record ever. It was released on Delerium Records in 1994 on both vinyl and CD (DELEC LP/CD022). It also had an amazing album cover, which fit perfectly with the vibe of the music. The band’s previous two records were more raw acid rock excursions, while Altered State Circus was more spaced out, psychedelic and fully engaging.

The LP opens with “The Elephant’s Eye was Eerie.” Cool title. It starts with some spacey synths and the delay guitar kicks in with a cool lead line and the Steve Hillage/Ozric Tentalces-like main riff. The drummer appears quite loud at first and then the groovy bassline starts. The vocals are whispered as the head mix really builds with more synthesizers layered in and spacing around. The title-track, “Altered States Circus” is next. It starts with a really cool guitar that starts in the right channel and then both channels and then the bass kicks in. A bit heavier guitar riff but then it gets a bit spaceier and they repeat this sequence until the guitar break, which they have a nice delay on, then the riff becomes much harder around three minutes, as the track builds up. You can hear on the YouTube video below, where someone has added a film clip from 1928 and made this the soundtrack.

“Warmth Within (Chemical Binoculars)” is another 10-minute piece that starts a bit like the opening track, but the vocals are sung, not whispered. A melodic thread runs through as the spacey wind synths cruise from speaker to speaker, a lead synth line entering a bit later but the main drive remaining the spacey push of the guitar line and steady bass and drum groove. At about 6 minutes, the pace really picks up as the guitar becomes moves further out and the synths become more complex and integrated. “Slouch Factor” has a really cool wah guitar with a really stoned laid backed groove and vibe throughout. The vocal is also really stoned and calm. Steev Swayambhunath plays some really great guitar as well as the spacey synth of Chris Barnett — really floating and psychedelic. “Full Fist” is the shortest song and a heavier guitar riff and angrier vocal are a perfect follow-up to the calm, spaced-out cut before.

It gets really spaced out at the end. “Free the Weed” is eight minutes, starts with a spacey synth mixed quite loud and the delay guitars a bit further back. The vocals go back to a more laid back style, and this track really builds up over time. The lyrics are really excellent as well and not just about marijuana but broader freedom. “Vodophone in Oz” is a 12-minute, really spaced out track, with some hand drums and samples as it slowly builds up the groove. It has hardly any guitar, but is a really trippy electronic track by the end, showing a bit of the direction, Steev would take his music after Dead Flowers with 3000003. Almost like early trance techno without the thump! If you are fan of Ozric Tenacles, Steve Hillage, Mandragora and other head music, give this a chance.

You can also read my reviews if you join my blog, Writing about Music.

Continuing to astound in his fifth column for The Obelisk, Chris “Woody High” MacDermott of Mighty High pays homage to The Ramones‘ 1984 album, Too Tough to Die and shares a few NYC memories along the way. Awesome. Please enjoy:

My first “Spine of Overkill” column about Venom‘s Welcome to Hell was inspired by a frigid night waiting for the subway. This month’s column was inspired by the intense heat wave we just had on the East Coast. Waiting for the F train at the Broadway-Lafayette station in hot weather is literally hell. I tend to listen to The Ramones a lot in the summer but when it gets downright hot ‘n’ nasty, their 1984 album Too Tough to Die is my soundtrack to sweating. It was released in Rocktober, 1984, which means it has been pumping into my ears via Sony Walkman, iPod and now fancy new iPhone for 28 consecutive summers in New York City. I used to have a cassette with Too Tough to Die on one side and Live at Max’s Kansas City by The Heartbreakers on the other side that I would blast constantly. Listening to these lowlifes somehow made the fact that my sneakers were melting into the pavement a little more tolerable.

Too Tough to Die was a major improvement over their previous album Subterranean Jungle, which found The Ramones working with people who had hit records for Joan Jett. Not long after that in 1983, Johnny Ramone got his head beat in during an argument with some creep and was hospitalized. While he was recuperating, Dee Dee wrote a bunch of great songs and then wrote more with Johnny once he recovered. The result was a hard-hitting kick ass rock ‘n’ roll album in step with their classic first four. Marky Ramone got the boot for being too drunk and was replaced by the excellent Richie Ramone, also a songwriter. Joey Ramone contributed some great songs to the album but it’s really a Dee Dee and Johnny record. Another reason why this album is so good is because it reunited The Ramones with the winning production team of T. Erdelyi (aka original drummer Tommy Ramone) and Ed Stasium.

Side one kicks off with the kick ass “Mama’s Boy.” Johnny‘s guitar blasts a chord and Dee Dee counts the band in. A slower than usual grinding riff announced to everyone that The Ramones were back in full force. Joey‘s voice sounds huge and Elvis-like. Maybe even a little like Jim Morrison without all the annoying poetry crap. Jim could never write great lyrics like “I don’t wanna work in a hot dog stand, be a busboy, messenger or a door man/It’s an abstract world, you’re an abstract man/Abstract city don’t give a damn.” The song speeds up for the chorus, which will forever be altered in my universe because a friend thought they were yelling “Mama mama mama mama mama’s bald!” Following up that song with the slow, moody “I’m Not Afraid of Life” and the fast title-track is a killer one-two-three combo that’s hard to beat. Joey takes a breather while the band kicks out their only instrumental song “Durango 95.”  Wikipedia says that “Durango 95” is the name of the car driven by Alex in A Clockwork Orange, but there also used to be a restaurant named Durango next to Joey‘s apartment in the East Village. It was #95. Drinking beer on the sidewalk across from Joey‘s place was a favorite summertime activity of mine. I’d always have my friends meet me there and we often get to say hi to the great man and, occasionally, get a glimpse of his OCD in full effect as he’d try to kick gum off the sidewalk or go in and out of his lobby repeatedly.

Getting back to the album, Dee Dee takes over the mic on the short and fast “Wart Hog.” The original album’s lyric sheet just put a big question mark under the song title. I guess they felt his lyrics about “junkies,” “fags” and “commies” were a little too over the top. Didn’t matter. Everyone knew the words and loved screaming along at the live shows. “Danger Zone” starts off with some hilarious in-studio dialogue with Joey asking “What song are we doing? ‘Danger Zone.’ OK, ready?” before another two-minute blast of real New York punk takes off. Side one wraps up with Joey‘s “Chasing the Night,” featuring a possible James Gang lyrical reference of being up all night and asleep all day.

“Howling at the Moon” starts off side two and sounds like a Joey song but was in fact written by Dee Dee. It’s the most commercial song on the album and was produced by Dave Stewart of The Eurythmics. The record label was looking for a hit and the band said they’d do a radio friendly song if they left them alone on the rest of the album. I’ve always liked the song and they keyboards don’t bother me too much. I don’t think it ever got too much radio play for them. “Daytime Dilemma” is another more pop-oriented song written by Joey with guitarist Daniel Rey, who probably plays on it, too. Things get faster and louder on Dee Dee‘s “Planet Earth 1988” which features overtly political lyrics. Johnny Ramone probably hated this song. Richie‘s song “Humankind” is a good Ramones song and his writing debut for the band. Dee Dee gets another lead vocal on “Endless Vacation,” a great song that alternates between slow and heavy and fast and hard. Side two ends with the great rockabilly influenced song “No Go.”

There were also some cool B-sides that went along with the album. The import 12″ for “Howling at the Moon” had a good version of the Rolling Stones song “Street Fighting Man” and a great original called “Smash You.” In 1985 another 12″ single came out for a song called “Bonzo Goes to Bitburg” that was later retitled “My Brain is Hanging Upside Down” to appease Ronald Reagan lover Johnny Ramone. The B-side of that single contained a song called “Go Home Ann.” The credits for that song read “produced by Ed Stasium, mix by Lemmy.” I pretty much pissed, jizzed and crapped my pants the first time I saw that. Motörhead and The Ramones have always been two of my favorite bands, but back then I was convinced they WERE the same band. I would tell everyone that some day they would announce a Motörhead/Ramones tour and then the world would self-destruct. I got to ask Joey several times about touring with Motörhead and he always loved the idea. I got to ask Johnny about it, too. Businessman that he is, Johnny said that it wouldn’t make sense since they shared such a common audience. His eyes did light up and had a big smile when I told him to think about how loud it would be.

Speaking of loud, I had the great pleasure of seeing The Ramones many times during the Richie Ramone era starting with Too Tough to Die through Marky‘s return in 1987. They were always great and always really fucking loud. When hardcore punk had its inevitable collision with metal, a lot of punk bands started using bigger amps but The Ramones always had triple stacks on stage. I can verify that most of them were turned on and not just for show. But when they would play L’Amours in Brooklyn things would get even louder than usual. I have no idea if this is true or not but I was told that The Ramones used to bring in some of their touring P.A. to supplement the already deafening house sound system at the club. It wouldn’t surprise me if they did. I was at a few shows at L’Amours and there were definitely some metal regulars who were skeptical about The Ramones. By the end of the night they were converted by sheer volume alone. The loudest concerts I’ve ever seen were at L’Amours — Motörhead, Twisted Sister, Overkill — but I think The Ramones might have beat them all by a few db’s. Joey, Dee Dee and Johnny are all sadly deceased but they live on in my tinnitus.

In his third column for the site, Roadsaw bassist Tim Catz takes a look at a few of the “Evil Women” from classic rock’s days of yore. From ELO to Black Sabbath, there never seems to be a shortage of witchy ladies to serve as muse. Please enjoy:

Tim Catz’ 70 RPMs
“Evil Women”

It is a premise so old and familiar it’s hardly worth mentioning. But for the purposes of this article I’ll explain: The idea is women are evil. They have been since the dawn of time. And the badder they are, the more inspiring they are those who honor them in song, story and art. Just ask Adam about Eve. Shakespeare had Macbeth. Greek mythology had Pandora. And rock ‘n’ roll in the ‘70s had scores of hit records about them.

Probably the most popular was Electric Light Orchestra‘s “Evil Woman.” Taken from their 1975 album Face the Music, it was the band’s first Top 10 hit on both sides of the Atlantic. With its sing-song chorus and crazy phasor string breaks, “Evil Woman” very succinctly packed every ELO pop-rock trademark neatly into a four-minute spoonful of pure FM sugar that still gets ample play to this day on “classic hits” radio.

Crow‘s “Evil Woman (Don’t Play Your Games with Me)” may have shared the same name, but not the same music, nor the same popularity. Driven by a muscular bluesy rhythm section, the Minneapolis quartet was quite surprised to find an “enhanced” version of their original “Evil Woman” on their Columbia Records debut. Whether against their wishes or even unbeknownst to Crow members, label bigwigs conspired with the studio engineer and overdubbed a full horn section over the song in an effort to cash in on the wildly popular Chicago/Blood Sweat and Tears sound of the day. And it worked. Crow‘s “Evil Woman” was a Top 20 hit, peaking at #19.

My personal favorite is Spooky Tooth‘s version. Deep on side one of Spooky Two, their nine-minute version of Larry Weiss‘ much covered original finds frontman Gary Wright in prime form, with his ragged voice switching between a pleading growl to high-pitched accusations, all while smashing on organ keys. The entire record resonates with a loose rough ‘n’ ready sound, which is nowhere more evident than on this track. Of course Gary Wright would soon leave the Tooth of Spook and smooth out much of his rough edge in a bid for the Pop charts. “Dream Weaver” and “My Love Is Alive” are evidence of such.

Whether its “Witchy Woman” by The Eagles or “Devil Woman” by Cliff Richards, one thing remains certain even to this day: Bad girls are good for rock ‘n’ roll.

Also:

* Black Sabbath recorded a version of Crow‘s “Evil Woman” and released it as their first single. Though it didn’t appear on their Warner Bros. debut in the US, it was on the UK version.

* Before everyone sends terse emails my way, yes, I know both Spooky Tooth and Crow released their versions in 1969. That’s close enough for me…

In his fourth column for The Obelisk, the herb-demon known to us mortals as Woody High digs into the dank recesses of rock and roll memory and emerges with a tribute to Killdozer‘s 1989 opus, 12 Point Buck. Please enjoy:

Any discussion of heavy music in the 1980s should include the band Killdozer, but they are often left out. Never a metal band and completely at odds with the hardcore punk scene, the three wild-eyed southern Wisconsin boys churned out some of the heaviest jams of the decade. As Touch & Go recording artists they were often lumped in with so called “noise rock” bands like their labelmates Butthole Surfers, Big Black and Scratch Acid as well as Pussy Galore or even Sonic Youth. Some fancypants New York critic tried to label these bands as “pigfuck,” but that term really makes no sense. Killdozer shared some traits with these bands but they were way heavier and a lot more fun. They released some great albums in the ‘’80s and ‘90s before the farewell “Fuck You, We Quit” tour in 1996. The twin peaks of their catalog are definitely 1988’s all-covers album, For Ladies Only (also the name of a great Steppenwolf record), and 1989’s Twelve Point Buck. For Ladies Only finds the band exploring their roots and delivering outstanding versions of classic rock staples such as “Take the Money and Run,” “Funk #49,” “Hush” and a moving two-part “American Pie.” Their version of “Good Lovin’ Gone Bad” was used during the end credits of the movie Old School. Once you hear Killdozer‘s version of a classic, it’s hard to go back to the original.

Albums like Little Baby Buntin’, Snakeboy and the Burl EP were confounding to many people but instant classics for me and my crew of weirdos. What’s not to love about a band that sounds like The Birthday Party, Venom and ZZ Top tapes all playing simultaneously at half-speed? Songs like “Hamburger Martyr” (opening and closing with a drawn out “fffffffffuuuuuuck youuuuuuuuu”) and “King of Sex” were great for clearing out a room. The lightweights would split and there would be more beer for the remaining few. All the potential that those early albums hinted at was fully delivered when Twelve Point Buck was unleashed. Slower, heavier, funnier, scarier. Everything I already loved about Killdozer was new and improved. The trademark bulldozer bass and powerful bellow of Michael Gerald was deeper. Dan Hobson‘s drumming was meatier and more robotic while his brother Bill‘s guitar playing was piercing.

The album begins with an unaccompanied voice screaming “Enter the 49 gates of uncleanliness!” followed by an acoustic guitar strumming in the background for about 30 seconds. Finally the skull-crushing song “New Pants and Shirt” thunders in at full bore, a cautionary tale of laundry woes. The screeching feedback segues into “Space: 1999,” a slowed-down wah-powered mindfuck with lyrical steals from Hendrix, Nugent and Zeppelin. Twelve Point Buck was recorded, according to the liner notes, “during bow hunting season” by Butch Vig at Smart Studios in their hometown of Madison, Wisconsin, and contains some of Vig‘s best work. Brass instruments are used to great effect on the song “Lupus,” which was the single from the album (an incredible version of Janet Jackson‘s “Nasty” was on the flip side). “Lupus” is an ode to author Flannery O’Connor and offers a nice summary of some of her best stories.

Other lyrical themes on the album include the song “Richard,” written from the perspective of a bank worker sent to repossess land from deadbeat farmers. “Man vs. Nature” celebrates the amazing disaster movies made by “the master of realism” Irwin Allen like The Poseidon Adventure and Towering Inferno. “Free Love In Amsterdam” starts off with a very unsettling introduction and contains the equally unsettling chorus of, “There’s free love in Amsterdam/We can make love without a care.” If it was just about anyone else singing those lines it would sound corny but Michael Gerald‘s pleading is heartwarming.

Witnessing Killdozer on this tour at CBGB was even better than the album. They were loud as hell and it was great to see parts of the audience recoil in horror once they realized they were rocking to Killdozer covering Bad Company. A few months later I saw the Melvins for the first time and looked at them as sort of Killdozer Junior at that time. Amphetamine Reptile recently released a Melvins/Killdozer split single. “Lupus” appears on the Killdozer side and it’s the same as the version from Twelve Point Buck. It would have been great to hear the Melvins tackle a Killdozer song. Maybe they have some sort of heavyweight collaboration planned for the future. In the meantime, put on your hunting vest and crank this muther:

This week marks the triumphant return of Ben Hogg‘s “Fire on the Mountain.” In his third installment, Ben continues his series of recollections of growing up in Georgia and North Carolina, touching on corporal punishment and child abuse. You can find his first two columns here. Please enjoy:

Fire in the Mountain III

First off, I should drop an apology on my man JJ for the delay and my disregard of his friendly email reminders. Regardless, we have gathered here today in an effort to trudge through the minutia that made me the man I am and how it relates to my upbringing in North Georgia and Western North Carolina.

When I left off last, we had covered my childhood hometown as having been without anyone of any color darker than eggshell white and my family’s attempt at rabbit farming. If you didn’t read that article, than you are behind and I recommend you do so, as to have foundation in this portion of the program.

As I try to recall my inglorious past and the bits I think might be of interest to you folks from the Northern territories (Kentucky and up) and beyond, it occurs to me one thing that stands out from my youth that seems to raise eyebrows is the rampant use of corporal punishment in the schools. Sure, we all got hammered by our mothers, grandparents, any and all relatives, and anyone who was allowed to watch after us on a given afternoon, but this was applied during our all-too-formative schooling hours. On the one hand, I just count it as having been part of the timeframe I grew up in, but as I have traveled, I’ve learned how uncommon it was outside of our mountain range at anytime since the 1950s, except in those nun schools they put in the Hollywood movies.

Any teacher would and could whip your ass, at any time they deemed fit. It wasn’t a “beating,” per se — nothing to the face or torso — and there even seemed to be guidelines that made it seem rooted in study and research. 99 percent of the time it was three licks, and always under the watchful gaze of the “witness” of a fellow teacher. Occasionally, if you really got under an educator’s skin, he could go off and give you half a dozen cracks. That was probably frowned on but nothing ever was said.

Whenever you heard a knock on your classroom door and it was an outside teacher, your teacher was being summoned as a witness (if it was a female student at least one of the teachers had to be a woman. See, we weren’t cave people!), and they would simply excuse themselves and go into the hallway, where an unfortunate hell-raiser, cheater, note-passer or derelict was waiting to grab his knees or put his hands against the wall for the punishment due. A minute or so later your teacher would come back into the class and proceed with the lesson as if nothing had happened, because nothing HAD happened as far as we all were concerned.

Frequently, teachers displayed the paddles on the wall as a warning to all those that entered. Some were shaped like miniature boating oars and some like short-handled tennis racquets with holes in them so you could hear them whistle as they swung, some even came with cute sayings on them like, “Board of Education,” or perhaps there would be informative signage above them stating, “Never hit a child in the face, the lord provides a better place.” We all knew which faculty member could bring the thunder (Mr. Queen, the shop teacher, was notoriously heavy-handed) and which people were not as skilled in the fire-ass arts (Ms. Worley was a sweet lady and seemed to find it distasteful, therefore her ass whippings suffered). The principal had his hands full with the most rowdy bastards, because after several class-administered beatings, he would step in and render his own brand of frontier justice.

Every morning there seemed to be a line of kids from the school buses who had been fighting or screwing around and the better part of the bossman’s first period was spent pounding ass. We all have our crosses to bear, I suppose. Another odd piece to the puzzle was the fact that this sort of punishment never ended. Most people assume after elementary — or middle school at the latest — that it sort of tapered off. It did not. I remember my Asst. Principal Bill Gaither warming me up in 12th Grade for one thing or another. You’d see older students capable of beating a teacher’s ass begrudgingly grabbing his knees in preparation for the coming sting.

These sessions didn’t cripple anyone or have any lasting, physical, effects as far as I ever saw. Some kids would cry, some would shrug it off, and some responded properly and got their shit together. Also, since I graduated in 1990, many of you probably figure that the rod was put away shortly thereafter. I would have assumed the same. The climate against that sort of thing has gotten much stronger over the last couple of decades. So when I went back to my 20-year reunion in 2010 I asked a former classmate who had gone into the profession of shaping our youths about the status of the paddle and she did say that the practice was finally laid to rest in 2007. That is a pretty goddamn good run, I figure.

My daughter had gone to school in Murphy, NC, during the early 2000s and received a few of these (well earned, I’ll assume) sortings out. Later she had gone on to attend Granby High School in Norfolk, Virginia, where obviously none of this was allowed to occur. One day after, yet another, lunchroom riot I asked her if she thought that the fear of an intense and immediate punitive action would settle some of bullshit down, she agreed fully. Fuck Saturday school, fuck writing sentences a thousand times, and certainly fuck in-school suspension — nothing is more relatable to little peckerhead kids and teens than the swift and tangible punishment of getting their asses warmed up properly by a heavy-handed woodshop teacher.

It may seem archaic and there is certainly no putting the horse back into the barn at this point, but if it were ever on a ballot to bring back corporal punishment at any or all levels of education, I’d encourage my brothers and sisters to step up and vote “yes” at the polls. I’d do it myself, but them bastards done took my right to vote away. Just think, the mountains could yield a few more mes and a few less of y’all. Who wouldn’t want that?

Shit, that was a lot of typing on one topic, but I’ll squeeze in one or two more thoughts before I abandon you for another month:

Mountain people have the asinine habit of waving on the roads as we pass by each other. Perhaps it’s due to all roads being predominantly only two lanes where you’re whipping by your fellow motorist at 60 mph and it’s an acknowledgement that, “Whew, we are both gonna survive this!” or it may just be that saccharine sweet Southern thing that always made me queasy. There has got to be limits! Every car? Every time? Not just your bros or family friends or anything that would be required as a criteria? Nope, just any and every random 91 Cutlass or 84 Prelude who happen to be careening through the curvy countryside roads appear to be required to notice one other. It’s generally just a raising of an index finger towards the sky or the loosening upholstery that’s scraping your John Deere brand trucker cap, but it’s such an engrained practice of nonsense that it took me months after moving towards civilization to break myself of the retarded ritual.

It’s like we’re saying “I’m in a car, too!” and passing that ridiculous good will from one motorist to the next. If any of you that read this are from where I’m from, break the cycle. It has to end somewhere. Undeserved pleasantries are reserved for children and dogs, not any asshole who can read enough English to muddle through a driver’s exam. I would recommend using the middle finger, although that would probably result in getting your ass shot by a meth freak and not being found for a half-hour or more if the road is country enough.

The South and especially Appalachia are associated with incest and/or general child abuse and rape. I don’t know how that became part of the reputation, but judging by the women I have known from there, it seems to have been come by honestly. I was fortunate in that regard, I figure — or perhaps I was undesirable from an early age. Either way, I’ll take my good fortune and run with it.

We had bought our first family home from a neighbor named Mr. Bouchnau (or something like that), who lived down the hill (and back up another hill) for the entire time I resided in Hiawassee, GA. I remember one weekend him and some other churchy types knocked on our door to “witness” (aka: talk about God) to us. We told him we were good and he asked if we went to church and we assured him we did and that we were Episcopalian (which we were) to which he responded, “Is that Christian?” He and his snake-handling freak show went on down the road.

As time passed, he would rent this dilapidated eyesore of a trailer to a series of hard-luck families — as an act of Christian charity, I always assumed. All of them would have kids and he seemed to be way involved in their upbringing. I remember seeing the 13-year-old neighbor girl driving his Jeep regularly into town with only her little brother riding shotgun. While I’m sure it aided in her driver’s education class two years down the line, I shudder to think how she attained the privilege.

Another family had two brothers and their 600-pound mother in the trailer. They were wild dudes. One was a year older and the other was a couple of years older than me. I remember being with them on the muddy riverbank of their house (we shared it with them) and having an extreme, expletive-filled, high-volume tirade toward one another erupt over a carp (a mostly inedible fish) that they had caught. I had never heard 11 and 12 year olds say “fuck” so many times. It was jarring, yet impressive, although I knew we were well within earshot of my folks who were not as permissive as perhaps the lady who was housebound who had probably never eaten a fish in her life, outside of Long John Silver’s: Their mother.

One day that family was gone without notice from the trailer but the younger boy was left behind to live with Mr. Bouchnau and he was sent to a Christian school, presumably to get his shit together. As years passed, information came to light that good ol’ Mr. Bouchnau was fucking my dude on the regular and I gotta assume he was just one in a string of nightmarish victims caught between poverty and parental indifference. It all made a lot more sense now. Mr. B. is dead now. Good riddance. I don’t care how much church you went to, they ain’t washing that smell off of ya with holy water, ya kid-touching pervert. I only hope Hell is hot enough.

My folks even had the unenviable task of asking me, since I had spent time kicking it with homedude, if anything had ever happened to me. It had not. I think I had too much stability for that filthy deviant’s liking.

Anyway, there are three little anecdotes from the glorious South and my coming up experiences therein. Until next time, you don’t need ice milk and cookies enough to go to Mr. Bauchnau‘s house.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Ben Hogg

Hail and kill, beer geeks and aficionados of that which is sudsy! Tommy Southard of the soon-to-be-reviewed The Disease Concept and the soon-to-reunite-at-Days–of–the–Doomed-fest Solace has returned with an all-new “Drinking with the Devil (Dick)” column, covering a trip to Philly’s Dock Street Brewery.

Also, is it too late to change the name of this column to “Beer Shits” — or better yet, “Tommy Southard‘s Beer Shits?” Got a real nice ring to it…

Please enjoy:

Drinking with the Devil (Dick)
by Tommy Southard

Hello and greetings, Obeliskers…

As I sit to write to you on this fine morning Philly Beer Week is just getting under way and I promise to keep you informed on my exploits.

As for now I want to tell you of my recent visit to another Philly beer staple: Dock Street Brewery.

Dock Street is in West Philly at 701 South 50th St., just a few miles from my house. It is owned by Rosemarie Certo who by what I’m told was one of the first female craft brewers, opening Dock Street in 1985. That is all fine and good but to be honest with you I am not the biggest Dock Street beer fan. For the most part I find their beers to be a bit overrated. The few times we have visited, the staff seems overwhelmed and a bit under-knowledged. For the most part again this was true at this visit. I asked one of the bartenders about a certain beer and he looked at me and said, “I don’t know much about the beer…” Ouch.

The exception this time to what I think is usually lackluster beer was that Dock Street was doing a very limited bottle release of some special beers, with a bunch also being available on tap. We only went at the urging of out good friend and beer aficionado Amy Bullard. Amy is the former guitarist of Philly’s Hatchetface and a great home-brewer herself. When she said we should really come and try the sour beer, we listened.

The festivities were supposed to start at noon and we got there early because we didn’t want to miss out on the first-come/first-served only-while-supplies-last deal. But as usual with Dock Street it was SNAFU, and doors didn’t open until 20 after 12:00, leaving the sidewalk overflowing with an array of beer geeks.

As soon as the doors open it was like a Who concert in Cincinnati in 1979.

We found a nice little spot at the bar and waited for a while as the staff was already overwhelmed. Par for the course. Running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

After a long wait, we ordered a few of the limited Flemish Red Sour Ales (aged in Cabernet Sauvignon barrels) – man, it was it worth it. This beer was good. I must have drunk five or six of them before I ventured out to try anything else. If you’ve read any of these beer shits before you will know that I am slowly being converted from a dark beer, stout and porter guy into a big sour beer fan.

As for this beer, it was definitely funky, which I like. A light reddish brown with very little bubbles, sorta flat with some slight alcohol and acidity. And at 6.5 percent, I could drink five or six of them and move on to some other things without blacking out. I will say this; I bought two bottles of Sour for take-home enjoyment. The Lady and I cracked one at home and it was not as good bottled as on tap. Seemed sort of lifeless, flat and not nearly as fresh.

We tried the Caliente Golden Ale brewed with agave nectar and chiles. It’s a collaboration w/ Four Seasons, and pretty interesting. You can actually taste and get some heat from the chilies but it is not overpowering. Drinks really smooth too for a 9.5 percent. I guess the alcohol burn is masked by the chilies. There was a sweet flavor, too. I wish they had this in a bottle. I would love to see how it aged a bit, as it was a real nice beer. I wish Dock Street had more things like this on tap from time to time.

I went in for an ABT 12 Abbey-Style Quad next. I don’t know if the other beers were kicking in yet or what but this was really good as well. I mean it wasn’t on the level as St. Bernardus ABT 12 (but what is?) but this was very enjoyable I was actually enjoying all the beers. I was really worried that there was going to be a clunker or two among the beers, but I actually walked away with a little more faith in Dock Street. I had sort of written them off but this event has renewed my faith in them. I will now go back and give them another try. If they can only get the staff to know a bit about the beers they are pouring.

So I bought bottles of the Sour, ABT 12 and the Belgian Black IPA to sit on for a while, so maybe when I crack them I will report back to you all with my findings!

And stay tuned: Philly Beer Week is upon us I have a bunch of events planned! First up, a Mikkeller event!!! Until then, stay thirsty my friends.

Tommy Southard