So we headed out to the boonies to check out Gay Bi Gay Gay, a festival in the middle of nowhere east of Austin that celebrates all things queer. After a few false rides down farm roads that led to nowhere (there were warning signs, but I seriously thought they were homophobic scarecrows and not true guidelines) we found a parking lot and a field and a whole lot of enthusiastic gays and lesbians and wholesome freedom-loving gender fuckers who gallivanted about in whatever they pleased, most of them female (and a few of them in provocative outfits that were far more naked than sheer nudity could ever be).

As a somewhat hetero, cisgendered male-identifying dude with proven bisexual tendencies, I was hoping to see a larger smorgasbord of folks whose gender identities and inclinations didn’t fall into the rigid guidelines of gay/lesbian, but it did feel inviting and very friendly. I loved the festival, though I fear for its future. Host Rebecca Havemeyer (a gorgeous bewigged drag character portrayed by Paul Soileau) spoke of passing some kind of bucket around to collect donations in, which for a fest this sized is a sign of desperation. I hope they can keep things going, because I want to come back next year! Even the port-o-potties were pink, decorated, and amazing.

We were there long enough to meet the publishers of the amazing zine Sir/Ma’am, plus see John Cameron Mitchell hanging out. But we didn’t see too many musical acts. The band that impressed me most was the Dead Ships, an L.A. duo with drums and guitar that somehow had a song a year or so ago on Jersey Shore without ever catching my eye (shows where my priorities lie!). They sounded a bit like Girls, or like the “Life Is a Highway” guy had been through so much pain that he was composing his songs as warning letters to his friends in trouble. Somewhere deep in this band’s mix lurked a hyper-frantic Tom Petty. But that’s not to say their music was commercialized or tame: singer Devlin McCluskey exerted himself in the second half of the set, bringing out such pain and madness in his voice that I almost handed him a Wellbutrin.

But we couldn’t leave Austin without leaving the core of Austin—the much-maligned area near the corner of Red River and 6^th, where Emo’s just recently fizzled out and where the heart of SXSW has always dwelt, for good or for ill. So we took off for the Side Bar on 7^th, just in time to catch the Love tribute band, Forever Changes. If anything can prepare a homesick boy for Los Angeles, it’s a little Arthur Lee on a grey afternoon.

But Austin wasn’t prepared to let loose our collars yet. Apparently it was 60’s garage day, what with the Crack Pipes showering us with “Gloria”-esque garage ditties in a Shadows of Knight vein, and the Ugly Beats coming in with a far more raucous set than they’d done Thursday.

But it was the solo set by Dan Kroha of the Gories/Demolition Doll Rods that was drawing the crowd, and he did not disappoint. It was a blues set, and set largely pre-war, with amazing guitar picking and just a touch of post-war growl and howl.

Kroha was so captivating, we didn’t have time to gussy ourselves up in drag for the SIIICKXSW/Burger Records party at the Iron Bear just a couple blocks away, which was to have a dress-in-drag theme. The club, the Iron “Bear,” is supposed to be for bears—you know, the big burly gays who are basically the opposite of drag queens. It hardly mattered: few male audience members other than Sean Burger actually bothered to lay on the rouge and lipstick.

We got there in time to see King Tuff, who was himself dragged out, a good look for someone like him with the youth to pull it off.

It was a typically feverish King Tuff show, with audience members bumping into and around each other, perhaps just a tad slower than at their previous SXSW shows. It was the umpteenth day for most of the shows patrons, after all, who all seemed recognizable from L.A. or from towns we’d traveled through to get to Austin.

And it was our last rock experience in Austin. We’d head out the next day, through the deserts of west Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico, past the dangerous Juarez border, sleeping only in Tucson (where the Hotel Congress’s new savage corporate douchery made us decide never to visit the Hotel Congress again) before finally collapsing into Los Angeles. It’s good to be back.

-D. M. Collins

Soon enough, Wayne got up on stage and started into a rendition of “Kick Out the Jams” that had more in common with a Stooges set than with the reformed “MC5” show I saw a handful of years ago at the Echo. It was blisteringly loud, too, and he went off on several sideways melodic tangents anchored by the sheer volume of the so-hard-it’s-like-metal garage band Good and the Bad behind him. Sadly it was his only song.

Up next was Shearwater… “I never thought we’d be following Wayne Kramer,” one guy in the band told the crowd. “Maybe that’s not a good thing,” another guy in the band replied. And he was so right. In comparison to Wayne Kramer and the Good and the Bad, Shearwater sounded wilted, flavorless, “watered” down. Someday, people will look back on this decade, and I’m pretty sure my photograph of this guy with his glasses and young Steve Jobs beard standing in front of his little electro box will be the symbol of all that was both right and wrong about our era:

The Bombettes were up next—Swedish gals with a good sense of humor. They even posed for me when they saw me whip out my camera…

Though they were a little cleaner sounding, they reminded me of the Demolition Doll Rods or the young Donnas on their first song, which spelled out the band’s name: “B, O, M, B, E, double-T, S!” They even picked on the other bands a bit. “This song is about old men with guitars! There are a lot of them here…”  The singer has a young Belinda Carlyle thing going on, with a touch of Roxette about her, and the band does what seem like three-five part vocals, in unison, like the Monks; “harmonies” would be less punk.

The next band was Sauti Sol, a Kenyan six piece with amazing flashy instruments, tons of great dance moves, a tall singer (who looks quite a bit like out-of-drag RuPaul) and a short guy who looks a bit like Kanye (or maybe DJ Jazzy Jeff, my uncle says) with his grid sunglasses. Each of their songs had three of four whole parts, with time-changes and dynamics, lighting-fast bluesy Prince guitar licks and lyrics in multiple languages, mostly about the wedding customs of Kenya, specifically Nairobi.  “There’s thieves, there’s whores and pimps, but it’s a beautiful city!”

It’s hard to pin down why this band would be in Roky’s Ice Cream Social, but they didn’t just have the most diverse sound, they had the most diversity of sounds. Sometime’s they’d have a bit of a reggae beat, but with some angry “bam bam bam” guitar fuzz! One song segued into a mellow song that almost became self-parody, with some whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa stuff like David Cross did in 3×1-1! But then right when it was about to get sentimental, a sax groove came out from the little guy, an insistent beat like your tongue would do on a woman you really loved: “Bum BUUM bum bum-be-dum, Bum BUUUM bum bum-be-dum!” Then they laid down a tight 4/4 beat over it and said something with the band name in it. They finished with a little synchronized dancing, and with the tall guy ended by waving a white hanky in a loop around his face, like he was forcing us to admit that WE have now just utterly surrendered to him!

After a set of Peelander-Z doing the exact same Yo Gabba Gabba-esque set they did last year, which was admittedly charming (they even pulled the Kenyan bassist on stage with them), Roky’s son led his band  in a song to prep us for Roky. “I’m going to play one song with my band, and then we’re going to bring up Roky—can you handle that? One song?” I felt a little bad for him, and a little upset. If you have to beg an audience to allow you play one song, an audience that did not come to see you, maybe you should just forget it? Then again, there’s a back story here that’s incredibly sad, and he has my sympathies—can you imagine how terrible, and absent, a father Roky must have been?

Roky Erickson was even rather absent when he got on stage. His voice is still killer—a gravelly country bluesman’s shriek, which worked great on his Bo Diddley introduction song—but he’s forgetting whole sections of his own songs. There are parts of them he remembers, like the spoken-word soliloquy from “Creature with the Atom Brain.” But he struggled on otherwise beautiful songs, like the 13^th Floor Elevator’s “Splash 1,” lagging then rushing to fill in half-remembered words on the verses. And for the life of him, Roky cannot remember that “on St. Swiven’s Day he was born” line from “Night of the Vampire,” my favorite! Fuck a duck!

I saw glimmers of hope in the rapport Roky had with his son, and I will probably always go see him for that voice, and for the chance that his mental faculties will one day return to the level they were a few years ago, when he confidently raised the roof at the El Rey (last month’s show was about the same as this one, i.e. not good). But watching him is sad. He’s a sad, confused old man, and he doesn’t seem to want to be up there for our amusement. Am I supporting a singer I love, or am I a freak show patron torturing an old man at the end of his life? Even the scene later, of people following Roky around and around the same car as he gently tried to escape his own scheduled meet-and-greet with the fans, was a sad perversion of A Hard Day’s Night.

I drowned my sorrows in a couple of Threadgill’s boiling-hot fried pickles, then headed for the culmination of all things Austin and L.A. RECORD, our showcase at Emo’s East, the exact same place I was the night before. Only, the previous night had been devoted to high-profile indie band of Montreal, and this night was all about the punkiest of garage bands, a totally different challenge for the sound guys to master.

And I don’t know that they totally got it right. It’s my third time to see Thee Oh Sees in about a week, and though I loved them again, the room seemed not quite suited for them. It was a little boxy. It was still good stuff, but compared to the other night at the Scoot Inn, where I didn’t even mind my head getting bashed in if I could just hear one more song.

Kid Kongo Powers’ band was up next, and damn, that guy looks like L.A. scenester Blaque Chris, who was also present, though somehow slipped through my fingers (ew) every time I wanted to take a picture of both of them together. Kongo’s band members were dressed in vaguely biker-esque denim jackets and singing some kick-ass songs, including a cover of Thee Midnighters’ “Jolly Green Giant,” a total mindfuck that made me go a little nuts.

Cheap Time came and went, and then the Spits took the stage, dressed in Jack-Chick-approved black demon capes and wearing Reagan masks.  I’ve actually never seen the Spits live, though my whole friend group thinks they’re the best thing that ever happened to punk, and I can see why from their stage show—definitely more punk than garage, they looked to the street-thug side of punk from the 70s, the Dead Boys and Electric Eels and… fuck, is that Blaque Chris, and L.A. RECORD editor Chris Ziegler, and a host of other ne’er-do-wells, all dancing up on the stage? I have the same back-stage passes as they do! And so it was that I jumped up on the stage and danced like a spazz with all my friends.

Being onstage was pretty awesome, and I got to do it all over again for the Gories… holy fuck! This is what garage music is all about, with no bullshit cymbals to get in the way of more rock! And it sounded as good from the back of the stage as it did from out front, where the crowd was writhing and rocking at maximum velocity, with an occasional member of the extended L.A. RECORD crew flinging him/herself full throttle into the audience from above. We were hardly less rowdy on the stage, and while I kept trying to recite Philip Seymour Hoffman’s “Friendship is the booze they feed you” line from Almost Famous, I couldn’t help feeling transcendent, even grateful. Rock and roll is my god, and right now I’m at the feet of the guru. I’m on the freedom bus, to good time city, and I haven’t even paid my fare!

Mick Collins told me only a couple years ago that this band would never reform, but they seemed to have worked through all past grievances. Co-lead Dan Kroha kept looking back at drummer Peggy O’Neill with a clear expression of joyous “I’m rockin’! You rockin’?!? Let’s rock!” They finished the set with a rousing rendition of Link Wray’s version of Willie Dixon’s “Hidden Charms,” possibly the best rock song ever recorded, then did two encores, the second one a cover of “Mona,” which Kroka and Collins only agreed to because O’Neill just kept drumming until they picked up a guitar and finally did it—all at about 2:05 a.m.

It was a magic night, during and afterwards, when we drank and caroused and set off multiple fireworks in the parking lot and shouted and tried to pick up on each other and lost cell phones and set off for parties and ended up at other parties and talked to bassists for hours. But those are tales for my grandkids’ hip friends, not for you.

-D. M. Collins

Behold! It’s floppy, it’s flexi, it’s free to anyone who wants to wander in to our Gories / Spits / Oh Sees / Kid Congo / Cheap Time / Total Slacker show tonight at Emo’s in Austin and it’s got two-minutes-and-then-some of thee mighty Reigning Sound playing live at Alex’s Bar in your very own Long Beach, California!

Can’t make it? Don’t worry—we will be mailing these to all subscribers and seeding them around select L.A. locations for free, and you can get them from In The Red Records, too! Wanna subscribe? Click here! Flexis for everyone … while they last!

The Gories were something between ‘primal’ and ‘feral’ and ‘savage’ and all the other words that make an Animal Control officer strap on the special gloves, and they didn’t need anything besides Back From the Grave comps, guitars and Thunderbird wine to chop out a couple dozen songs that sound like they came out of the backwoods solely to hunt for prey. Their recording career includes both Alex Chilton and a Quonset hut and guitarists Dan Kroha (later of Demolition Doll Rods) and Mick Collins (later of Dirtbombs) even backed Andre Williams on his vital Silky album, and after they broke up in the early 90s, their legend continued to stalk the earth. They reunited for a few shows in 2010 and L.A. RECORD is proud to have sucked them in to play our show in Austin this year, since we missed them in L.A. because we were on a deadline. Kroha speaks now despite feeling toasty and also probably inventing grunge. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

This isn’t technically a Gories question, but what happened the day you, Mick and Andre Williams recorded a little song called ‘Pussy Stank’?
Oh! Andre always had a song where it’d basically be an instrumental, and he’d have some vocal interjections, so I was like, ‘Man, we gotta do one of those!’ So I just started playing that lick and he was like, ‘I got it! PUSSY STANK … and so marijuana!’ ‘Allllright!’ Just out of thin air! Andre had a notebook full of lyrics. But he didn’t really have any ideas about the music. Mick and I were like, ‘Well, we should do a song sort of Chuck Berry-style, a song Jerry Reed-style, and let’s do one that sounds like the Gories backing Andre Williams!’ That was ‘Agile, Mobile and Hostile.’ I totally ripped that lick off one of my all-time favorite garage-punk songs, ‘Destination Lonely’ by the Huns. When Andre first heard us play it, he was like, ‘This sounds like Chinese to me!’ The rhythm was so foreign to him. But he got it pretty fast. I remember when we were first learning his old songs for his comeback shows, he was like, ‘Man, you just can’t compare to those old bands I used to work with—shit be poppin’ out EVERYWHERE!’ And when I listen to those tracks, it’s true—shit do be poppin’ out everywhere. There’ll be like a little guitar riff that’ll pop out, a little bass lick, a little horn lick—all this shit be poppin’ out! It’s really hard for people now to make stuff like that. I’m on a totally different level—I’ve always been a primitive. An art brut!
Are you a primitive in every aspect of your life? Eat primitive, drive primitive …
Yeah—I have very specific ideas about what’s right, and what I wanna hear and how I wanna hear it. It’s a very REFINED primitive.
Neanderthals invented music with a bone flute 50,000 years ago.
I’ve been thinking about that lately because I’m writing liner notes for an album of Mississippi fife and drum music. They’re blues records that were comped in the 60s and are really rare now, and one is fife and drum music. Some of it was recorded in the 40s, some of it was recorded in the late 60s. It already has excellent liner notes that are very factual and really well-researched, so I’m gonna try something that’s a little more impressionistic. I was thinking how ancient that music is and how it goes back to bone flutes and drums—probably two of the first musical instruments. It’s like the first time I ever heard Muddy Waters, it was really deep. It almost felt like I shouldn’t be listening to it—it almost scared me.
Where is the disconnect between technique and songwriting? Someone can be insanely technically accomplished, yet struggle to put a song together, and someone else can barely be able to play and still make something that can instantly connect with people. ‘I Think I’ve Had It’ is two chords—
There’s actually a third one in there! I don’t know why, but I’ve always been very conscious of that. When I first started playing guitar, I was always attracted to the quality of the song more than technical ability—like hearing Bo Diddley, a huge, huge influence and he’s got a bunch of amazing one-chord songs. John Lee Hooker, basically one chord in a lot of songs with only suggestions of changes and the drone of the open tuning. I’ve always been attracted to that drone. The Gories were always very aware of our limitations. We consciously worked around them. We tailored what we did to fit so we wouldn’t overreach and it would still sound good.
What’s it like going back to these songs now that you can play? When Alex Chilton did Flies on Sherbert, he said something like he wanted to forget everything he’d learned about guitar in Big Star and play like he was 13 again.
I definitely miss that innocence. It’s gone. I know too much now! I have too many references. But I also try to remain in touch with it as best I can. When we do the Gories now, it’s like a recreation. We’re all totally different now. I went back and listened to the records to make sure my guitar tone I’m getting now still sounds the same, and the style of playing I did in that band is totally different—I play a lot of choppy barre chords, which is difficult to do! It’s like going back and relearning, but we’re very conscious of doing it correctly! When people come to see us, they hear the sound they know from the records, which to us are now twenty-some years old. But there’s a lot of young kids where it’s a brand-new thing to them! The time dislocation is disconcerting—and also interesting!
What do you think of the collapse of the rock ‘n’ roll space-time continuum? Every band that still has live members is playing out. The Gories from the 80s can play with Rodriguez from the 70s and like some band of kids from right now and it’d be a normal thing.
It’s something that’s never happened before. When I was in my twenties, there was no such thing as parents and children being in bands together. People of an age difference of even ten years let alone twenty—that never happened! Never! And now … I have a buddy ten years older than me who plays with dudes in their twenties, and it fits! People don’t even think twice. The thing I lament the loss of is mystery. The mystery is gone now! Even into the 80s, people thought the 13th Floor Elevators were from San Francisco cuz they were on so many posters from there, and you couldn’t just google an instant biography. It was exciting when you found somebody who knew stuff! You had to make that connection and hunt things down and write letters. It’d be hard for a young person to imagine the mystery all this used to be, and the beauty of all that mystery! Mick and I have discussed this—the internet has collapsed the time continuum.
Were the Gories a mystery band? What’s it like to live the Velvet Underground thing where the adoring world comes back to your music twenty years later?
I imagined that might happen—at the time. The bands I loved the most, the Velvet Underground for instance, were not as loved when they were around. I knew we were doing something very out of step with what was popular, and because I idolized the Velvet Underground so much, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I thought, ‘This could happen to us.’ I’m glad that dream sort of came true! It’s really awesome to see how happy it makes people when we play, and there’s a certain magic this band has I’ve never found in another group. And it’s always there.
Weren’t you offered to sign with Warner? What alternate future would we live in if the Gories had been the White Stripes?
People don’t realize we were together for seven years. We didn’t do a lot of promotion and didn’t really tour. I felt we coulda been really successful at the time, but we couldn’t pull it together. We were bashing our heads against the wall for seven years, and in your twenties, that is … FOREVER! We started in ’86 and lasted till the spring of ’92, and in the last year we started to get a little more publicity. Just before Nirvana—right on the cusp. Before grunge was even a word—I used to call the Gories grunge in the 80s!
That’s like when Bomp! called bands ‘hardcore punk’ in 1974.
Yeah! I said, ‘The Gories are gonna bring grunge music into the 90s!’ Cuz to me … it was really grunge-y! So for five or six years, there’d be like ten or twenty people we all knew. My sister and her buddies. All our pals. The last year, there started to be a buzz and people we didn’t know would come see us. We’d attract 75 people! Or 100! Larry from In the Red had called me and David Katznelson [later of Birdman Records] called me like, ‘Hey, would you be into making a demo for Warner Bros.?’ He was gonna give us $700 to do a demo—that was big money. We woulda spent like twenty bucks for cassette tapes and Thunderbird. So big money, and I practically laughed in his face! I was kinda rude to him! We were at the end of our rope at that time, and I thought it was just ridiculous. But it’s interesting. I think, ‘What if the Stooges held it together? They could have been huge!’ Same with the Velvet Underground, any of those bands—it could have been the same with the Gories. If we could have held on, I think we would have met with some success. But maybe now, people wouldn’t be so into it?
Is it true you used to compete to see who could drink the most Thunderbird, and the winner got the bottle as a trophy?
We … drank quite a bit!
Too much to accurately answer this question?
I still have a couple bottles. I haven’t drank the stuff in many years. I’ve been super into white lightning—moonshine.
Like from an illegal still on the back of a truck?
I’ve had that, but it’s quite the trend to have unaged white whiskeys. Buffalo Trace makes one that’s super tasty called White Dog. I love whiskey, and White Dog tastes like corn—it smells like buttered popcorn. It’s awesome. But you gotta watch it cuz it’s 125 proof! I feel a little toasty the next day … in fact I feel a little toasty today! But it doesn’t give you a headache. It just fries your brain!
Have you ever gotten into a physical fight about a record?
No! I’m not a huge record hound. I used to be really snobbish about what I liked, and I think I’ve mellowed out. I was such a snobby little mod! I’m not a fighter, man! I’m a little guy. BUT … there was one time! I had these vintage polyester flare pants with a giant houndstooth check on them. There’s a 16mm movie of the Texas band Zakary Thaks, and I swear the guitar player is wearing the same fucking pants. Circa 1966, really cheap polyester with a plastic belt—they were dead stock. I was wearing them at a Gories show and some random jock meathead was giving me shit. ‘Ooh, look—it’s Greg Brady!’ I had a few beers and this other guy started egging me on: ‘You should kick his ass, man! He’s been fucking with us all night!’ And I had just enough beer in me: ‘Alright! I’m the man to do it!’ So I took a couple swings at him and he wrestled me to the ground. He kicked my ass.
But you stood up for your pants.
Totally, and one time someone stole one of my harmonicas—some asshole grabbed one off the stage and I saw him and I confronted him, and he was taller than me. Also. ‘Man, give me my fucking harmonica back! I saw you steal it—fuck you, give me my fucking harmonica back! I’m gonna kick your ass!’ So he did. He was just a drunk asshole.
So don’t fuck with your pants, and don’t fuck with your instruments.
Yes! That’ll get me going.
Who was the best person to spend midnight to six with when you were in Memphis recording with Alex Chilton?
We didn’t know a bunch of people in Memphis. We stayed in Tav Falco’s house—this very small house from like 1910 and we drove down from Detroit and Lorette Velvette was climbing out the window. We had no idea who she was, and Tav was in Europe. Middle of the afternoon. Her and this other legendary Memphis character. We get out of the car and Misty runs up, ‘It’s not what you think! It’s not what you think!’ Lorette and Tav had broken up, and she was retrieving a leather jacket. We went to the bar with Alex a couple times but we kept to ourselves, really. There was a liquor store where I’d go buy a pint of whiskey every day or two and we’d cook macaroni and cheese in the kitchen. Alex hung out with us quite a bit. And some of our buddies drove down after a while—my girlfriend! ‘I gotta see what’s going on down here!’ By that time, Alex had quit drinking. He must have been … probably getting close to 40. He’d settled down quite a bit.
It’s hard for me to imagine him as the responsible authority figure.
He was very hands-off when we recorded. He just let us do our thing—that was his genius. He was very conscious of not involving himself. But it wasn’t that wild! I think this was before the Oblivians even existed. When the Doll Rods came back in like ’95, we played at this joint Barrister’s with the Oblivians, which was awesome—there was probably close to 100 people there. The place was packed.
Now you’d probably get like 1,000 people for that same bill.
It’s amazing—I really thought the Gories were the last word on primitive garage rock, and it ended up being the beginning of a whole ’nother thing. We were some of the first young punk kids that tried their hand at rhythm ‘n’ blues stuff. During the 60s, bands were doing it, but somewhere in the 70s blues and blues rock became so bloated no one would touch it anymore. We brought a new perception to that type of music. Alex said to me that we were doing for R&B what the Cramps did for rockabilly, and I think that’s kind of true. Bands just wouldn’t really actually try and play some blues. We were as influenced by obscure British R&B stuff as much as Bo Diddley and Howlin’ Wolf, where a lot of groups at the time only listened to 60s garage but didn’t really go back to the real roots. … In one sense, we wanted to show those guys how it’s done. And in one sense, I was jealous of those guys. They all had records out, a modicum of fame … there was a whole scene. I kinda wished I could be around that but we didn’t have much of that in Detroit. We had one band—the Hysteric Narcotics—and they were fucking great. So I was jealous, but it wasn’t really doing anything for me. There was something else—another idea. Tim Warren [from Crypt Records] really defined an aesthetic with Back From the Grave—the alternative to Pebbles. Almost like a Beatles vs. Rolling Stones thing—Tim Warren was the more raw, more primitive, more confrontational purveyor of those sounds, and that was a big influence. Not only the music but his whole attitude in the presentation. We were totally uncompromising. We had a vision! We might not have been able to play, but we had a vision, and that’s really important. And we followed that. We wanted to make the kind of music we wanted to hear. It was very selfish and very personal, and if you liked it, fine … and if you didn’t? So what!
Did you really get kicked off lead vocals on a Dr. Ross cover because you weren’t horny enough?
No, it was Link Wray—‘Hidden Charms.’ I sang it, and Mick just … didn’t think I was singing it horny enough. He just fucking told me. He had no bones … if I played something not to his liking, he’d just come right up and say, ‘Don’t do that.’ I never took offense—I trust his instincts and he trusts mine.
Is there one last unreleased Gories 45 out there?
Yes—we did a session in the house I where I grew up, where one of my buddies bought the tape machine and board used to record the first Gories album. My buddy set up in my parents’ house and my amp was in a bathroom, Peg’s drums were in a bedroom and we put Mick in another bedroom, and we couldn’t see each other and I couldn’t even really hear what I was playing! All the recordings ended up on singles that are out of print now. It was ‘Baby Say Uh,’ ‘Great Big Idol With the Golden Head,’ ‘Hate’ which was the Stoics tune the Gravedigger V did, ‘To Find Out’ by the Keggs, we did this Detroit instrumental ‘Ichiban’ by Nick and the Jaguars … all in the same day, and two tracks were never released. A cover of ‘Again and Again,’ which the Black Lips ended up doing years later—it’s the Iguanas that Iggy played drums in, and it sounds like him singing. It’s one of those really cryptic super-crude songs with weird lyrics … just what I love. The words are really hard to understand cuz they’re so weird. So we did a cover of that and we did ‘New Orleans,’ and those didn’t come out. Mick had the master or something, and he did a mix but then he lost the tape and all this shit … I dunno what the story is. I gotta ask Larry. One thing I’d like to put out—we made demos for our second album cuz we thought we’d hit the big time getting signed to New Rose Records in France, and for some reason even though it wasn’t required, we decided we should make demos! We rented a 4-track cassette machine and set it up in that same room in my parents’ house—they’d moved out, so they were spared—and so there’s demos for that album that haven’t come out. There’s a couple extra tracks from the session in Memphis—a couple cover songs. ‘Cry Girl’ by the Kan Dells and ‘She Cracked’ by the Modern Lovers—the version that Kim Fowley produced. Mick and I recently wrote music to a bunch of Kim Fowley’s lyrics. Norton’s doing a book and Kim sent them some material, and amongst them was a bunch of lyrics. They’re nothing really crazy! One of ’em’s like … ‘Grey gardens blaze with golden color/only the sad can see/silver oceans, golden seeds, flowers at midnight grow slowly …’ Stuff like that, but it’s cool! It’s not ‘Animal Man,’ but it’s cool!
Are you the guy who introduced Mick Collins to techno?
Oh—oh, hell no! Mick has always had more broad musical taste than anyone could imagine. He made house music tracks when we were still doing the Gories. ‘Five Card Stud.’ I’m afraid he’s kind of embarrassed of it now. There was a scheme at one point to make me into a teen idol after the Gories. Like Mick had got together with one of his buddies, and they were gonna write some pop songs, and we actually went to a studio to try to record the stuff … but it just never panned out.

L.A. RECORD + BLUNDERTOWN + IN THE RED RECORDS + SAILOR JERRY + DVS / MATIX PRESENT THE GORIES WITH THE SPITS, CHEAP TIME, KID CONGO POWERS, TOTAL SLACKER AND SPECIAL GUESTS ON FRI., MAR. 16, AT EMO’S EASTSIDE, 2015 E. RIVERSIDE, AUSTIN. 9 PM / FREE WITH RSVP AT DO512.COM / ALL AGES.

The reformed Gories drew an interesting crowd to The Echo—pre show, the O.G. fans were swapping anecdotes about all the cute youngsters they’d met at the bar, who were so fresh faced they couldn’t possibly have been around back in the days before the acrimonious break up in 1992. Once the took the stage, though, actual scuffles broke out between those who wanted to dance like lunatics and the few who were intent on standing stock still at the front. On the whole, good naturedness prevailed, both on and off stage; frontmen Mick Collins and Dan Kroha seemed to be having almost as good a time as the audience, joking around between songs (drummer Peggy O’Neill remained unbreakably stone-faced behind her sunglasses.)

[View with PicLens]

Download: Jack Oblivian “Ditch Road”

(from Disco Outlaw out now on Goner)

Jack Oblivian got his last name with Eric and Greg and their Popular Favorites but—like Cartwright and Reigning Sound—he found new greatness with his solo work. His Disco Outlaw is rock ‘n’ roll as natural as Charlie Feathers and Johnny Thunders and he’ll play his first show in Los Angeles in ten years tonight at the Echoplex. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

What’s your best blind pick-up line? To someone you’ve never met before?
Jack Oblivian (guitar/vocals): I always have a problem remembering names so I just say, ‘Hey, good-lookin’.’ Even if she’s drunk and puking you just say, ‘Are you gonna be okay, good-lookin’?’
How often are you laying lines on some girl who’s puking?
Jack Oblivian: I don’t know. It’s your responsibility to try to take care of them before you get them out of your house.
What were you like when you first got to Memphis? Like the day you got off the bus?
Jack Oblivian: I’d been there a few times when I was a kid. Since I was 12, I would come see these big shows—I think my first one was Rush. My mom was always afraid of me coming to these concerts and it was no big deal but I think when I saw Van Halen—the early version of Van Halen—that’s when I felt like I was at a concert that I was like, ‘Oh, this is what my mom is talking about.’ You could see whiskey bottles flying in the air—a really rowdy crowd. I really miss the golden age. By the time I was doing that, it was like the early ‘80s. I really wanted to see Kiss and AC/DC—Kiss was the thing I got into when I was like ten years old. I started out with comic books and then I moved over to the shelf on the right—so instead of becoming a comic geek I was a music fan. By the time the early ‘80s got here, music—as far as the big arena music—I didn’t like it that much. Going to places like this punk club called Antenna, I’d see the bands right up close and that was really exciting. That’s what drew me here. I think it was after I got out of high school that I moved here but I was always making trips.
What was the point of no return? Where you decided your life was going to be about music?
Jack Oblivian: I think it was since I was a little kid, even before I knew how to play. But as I got older and I moved here and actually tried—after a few years I realized I was working a crappy job and it wasn’t going anywhere and that’s when I figured out, ‘Well, am I going to keep doing this?’ So many years gone by and I realize, ‘Shit, this is what I’ve been doing.’ I think even if I wasn’t playing, I would be in it in some form or fashion.
Like producing?
Yeah, if I knew how. Or writing like you. That’s kind of my whole thing into music. At my impressionable age of 11 or 12 I would get these—like in Mississippi you could get Creem or Hit Parade—so I’d read about all these bands. The only ones you would hear about in Corinth were like Journey. I didn’t really hear the Ramones and those new wave type bands—the New York Dolls or whatever—until a few years later when I had a friend in high school who had an uncle who had all those records. So I went over to his house and all those records that I read about for years, he had ‘em all. I’d read about the bands—breaking up or making music—but I never actually heard them.
What was that weekend like? ‘Play me this! Play me that!’
Jack Oblivian: Yeah—we ended up being in a band together and that guy is Jimbo Mathus who was in the Squirrel Nut Zippers. That was Jimbo. Now when he talks about his music impressionable age, he doesn’t mention New York Dolls and all that stuff. And I’m still a friend of his—he’d say just blues and bluegrass and he leaves out all that. But he was like the biggest rocker at school.
Did he have a nickname?
Jack Oblivian: We had a nickname we called him that he didn’t like! I don’t know if I should say it—he might get mad.
Did you have a nickname?
Jack Oblivian: I had one when I was a little kid. Not when I was a teenager, but I had one. We had older cousins. Me and the younger cousin played music together and all these older cousins would pick on us. My cousins name was ‘Rut’ and mine was ‘Squoosh-head.’
‘Squoosh-head’?
Jack Oblivian: And then it later changed to ‘Squoosh.’ I’d say, ‘Why do you call me Squoosh-head?’ ‘Because your head looks like it’s been squooshed.’ Luckily by the time I got to junior high they had graduated so the name kinda went away. It was frightening just to walk across the yard if you see them—if it was one, it was okay but if you see two or three of them together, you immediately have to start running ‘cause they’re going to chase you. ‘There goes Squoosh-head! Catch him!’
Did you ever think of knocking out a song called ‘Squoosh-head Blues’?
Jack Oblivian: I thought about it, but I don’t want to bring the name back.
What three things do you think you have to happen in your life in order to write good songs?
Jack Oblivian: I don’t know—that’s a good question though. I think a lot of times when you want to write a song, you can’t. And then other times it’s just begging to come out and you pick up a guitar and it seems like it ain’t really nothing—just two or three chords—but then you find out later it is something. It’s just like going through something where you’ve had some things happen around you or with you—you’ve just been affected by it. Something’s gotta mark on you.
The very first song you ever wrote was for your cat—what came next? Songs about girls? Cars?
Jack Oblivian: I think girls followed next. I think the cat song was kind of forced. I was up in the attic and I was reading the Hit Parader where it has the song lyrics in the back to the hit songs of the day. I thought, ‘There’s not too much to this stuff.’ Without the music it just looks like ‘Baby, baby, oh yeah!’ So the cat walks by and I thought, ‘I’m gonna write a song called “Alley Cat.”’ I can’t remember how it went but I just did it the same way: ‘Alley cat, oh yeah!’ and shit like that.
What’s the easiest thing to write about?
Jack Oblivian: I think if I try to write too much about my real self, I get stumped. It’s like there’s not enough paper to get it all down, and I’ve done that before too—where I’ve had like three sheets of lyrics and I think, ‘I can’t put all this in a song.’ But you gotta step outside yourself and take a look. You know who you are, but somebody listening on the radio, they don’t really know. If you’re thinking too hard, you can’t do anything at all. A lot of times—sorta similar to a ‘Tenacious D’ episode—a lot of times I get the guitar and a tape recorder and push record to start writing a song but there’s just nothing there. It just don’t happen that way. You can’t just say, ‘Tomorrow I get off work at 5 and I’m gonna write a song!’ You can but it’s probably not that good.
Do you ever run out of a bar bathroom and call your voicemail and sing a riff into it?
Jack Oblivian: That’s a good idea. I never thought of that. A lot of times when something works out, it kinda comes from somebody else’s idea. I was trying to learn a Chuck Berry song to sit in with these guys. I was always playing the same two songs and I wanted to learn a Chuck Berry song and I could see the chords and I was thinking, ‘I can probably play it but it might not be very well.’ Then all of a sudden I started playing something that became my own song. I had to go back to the Chuck Berry song and to see if I ripped it off. But no—there’s two of the same chords but it’s a totally different song. So that kinda got the wheel turning. If you’re a songwriter who can’t get it going, I think the best way is to check out songs by people you like and see how they work and maybe get something started. But just make sure you aren’t aping their exact song.
They asked Sam Phillips how to produce a good record and he said, ‘Well, I don’t know anything about producing—but if you want rock ‘n’ roll, I can reach down and pull it out of your asshole.’
Jack Oblivian: Yeah—he had some attitude.
Is that the secret?
Jack Oblivian: I think that’s maybe his approach, so to speak.
Was Sun an eerie place when you worked there? Knowing all the history?
Jack Oblivian: Yeah—sometimes you forget about it. The first couple days it’s overwhelming. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about how it’s the greatest job because when you work in the kitchen it doesn’t get busy til—well, busloads of people come through on tours, so occasionally it gets busy—but most of the time you clock in, get some coffee, and sit down and listen to music. I was thinking about it—why did I ever quit that job?
What job were you happiest to quit?
Jack Oblivian: There’s been a bunch of ‘em. There was a construction job. It was mutual—I quit and they were firing me. I worked there for like a week. These guys were kinda fucked up. My job was driving a truck around delivering tools to these welding worksites and after the second week I came in and they had a brand new truck. ‘This is the truck you’re going to drive—take care of it.’ The very first run I go all the way down the interstate to pick up some tools and then all they way back—and I forgot to take the emergency brake off. I just kept punching the gas, like, ‘Why wont this fucking thing go? This truck drives like shit!’ By the time I got back—like 25 miles—to the shop and started slowing down, I could smell something burning. ‘What is that burning? Smells like something’s on fire in the neighborhood!’ I pulled up in the driveway and smoke was shooting out of the wheels and I thought they were gonna kill me. One of the guys came out and he was like, ‘You’re coming with me!’ He got in a car and we’re doing like 80 mph down the street and I’m freaking out. Then he stopped and he turns around back to the shop and at that point I just wanted to get out of the car because I thought he might run off the road. But he was trying to keep me away from the big boss—the real boss who was probably going to shoot me. I said, ‘I think it’s better if I just leave.’ ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea—you better get out of here.’ But those guys—I didn’t feel bad about messing the truck up ‘cause they weren’t too cool. They kept referring to me as a drug dealer ‘cause I had sideburns. They’d keep saying, ‘Jack, we’re paying you more money than you’d make selling drugs in the street!’ ‘I don’t sell drugs. ‘Whatever, Jack!’
You’re lucky you didn’t have a mustache, too.
Jack Oblivian: Yeah, these guys were really fucking redneck.
Is that the most expensive thing you ever broke? Or the closest you’ve ever been to getting shot?
Jack Oblivian: The closest I ever got to being beat up, I think. I had a gun pulled on me when I was delivering pizzas, which was scary. I always tip the pizza guy good.
How much of this stuff ever turned into songs? Like ‘Ditch Road’—is that the song you wrote after you broke the truck?
Jack Oblivian: I think that was inspired by someone I knew who had an alcohol problem and everything was falling apart. But there’s a lot of Ditch Roads. When I was a kid there was a little dirt path near our house that people used for a shortcut. My family lived by this factory that makes pantyhose that my mother’s side of the family owns. My granddad started the business in the ‘50s with my five uncles and a couple of them took it over. But there was this beaten path along the side of the road—a ditch and it had a name called ‘Ditch Road.’ ‘Why is it called Ditch Road?’ Well, it’s because there’s a ditch by a road.
Have you ever seen a human body part in a pawn shop?
Jack Oblivian: No. Have you?
No but I heard about it. Like somebody pawns their prosthetic leg.
They’re hard up for money then. The few times I’ve actually tried to sell something to a pawn shop, they never offered enough money. Like one time it was a Silvertone amp and I think they wanted like five bucks. Another time, my high school class ring—and they didn’t even want it. Not even five dollars and I was like, ‘Fuckin’ shit!’
When was the last time you closed down a bar that wasn’t in Memphis?
Jack Oblivian: That happens a lot. When you’re in the band you get a little bit of privilege. But a lot of bars around here, if people are still partying they just lock the doors and make it look like it’s closed and let people stay.
Are they any places with a special stool they don’t let anybody else sit on?
Jack Oblivian: No, I don’t have an Elvis booth or anything like that. I may get a break on the bar tab every once in a while—or maybe I think it’s a break.
You said with your music you wanted to try and do something that was like a Salvador Dali painting but with one chord. What exactly are you talking about there?
I don’t know—I think I was just saying something. Maybe what I meant was dumbing it down. I got this new tune I’m working on called ‘Mass Confusion.’ I did it for the Oblivians when I thought we were gonna record.
The Oblivians were going to record?
Jack Oblivian: We were talking about recording a 7” before this tour but it never happened. I ended up doing the song with my band. When we tried to practice it with the Oblivians, we couldn’t do it. I thought I had dumbed it down enough because the Oblivians are really primitive. Kind of like we said earlier, when I’m inspired by someone else’s song—this would be compared to the Temptations’ ‘Ball of Confusion.’ It’s real simple but once the vocals get going it’s not the same—but you can tell it’s the red-headed stepchild of ‘Ball of Confusion.’ I think Tempations’ ‘Ball of Confusion’ is an epic masterpiece with all the strings and everything, and this is down to a five-piece and just really simple. But it still gets the same message of a world gone crazy.
An undying message.
Jack Oblivian: That song will never go out of style.
What do you think about this Oblivians renaissance?
Jack Oblivian: I don’t know, man. I can’t understand it myself. I think it’s just so simple that people just connect with it. It’s pretty weird that some little band years ago, people wont let it go away.
Do you want them to?
Jack Oblivian: No, I think it’s good. Naturally you would like for everything to be still in print and people still digging it. And if it happens with one of your things, I guess you’re lucky.
You were talking about the New York Dolls before—do you feel like a New York Doll yourself? A couple years too early with something everybody loves now?
Jack Oblivian: I don’t know. It’s maybe a little bit different from the New York Dolls situation. Shorter heels.
You said you toured Europe and people were flipping out with cameras like you were Bob Dylan.
Jack Oblivian: This was on the solo tour. We went to Serbia. There would be 2 or 3 people taking photos and then like 2 or 3 feet away there were people taking photos of you getting your photo taken—you don’t really know which way to look. We had such a hard time getting in the place at the border—it was actually kind of scary. We were trying to tell them we didn’t want to go—just let us go back! They had their automatic rifles out. I think they just wanted money. The booking agent just said, ‘Put 300 Euros on the dash and they’ll know that’s for them.’ We’re like, ‘We’re not gonna do that!’
Are the Oblivians ever coming to L.A.?
Jack Oblivian: We played a few months ago and we haven’t really talked about doing anything again. I’m not sure.
What would help convince everybody?
Jack Oblivian: I think if it was a bill with a couple bands that we really wanted to see—which would probably be bands that aren’t together anymore. That’s kind of what happened when the Gories said they would get together and we thought, ‘Well, we could stand playing a couple weeks and seeing the Gories every night.’
Have you heard that story about Alex Chilton dropping acid with Dennis Wilson and Charles Manson?
Jack Oblivian: Somebody told me that the other day. King Louie, he’s friends with Alex and we were talking about the Beach Boys—that he was still friends with them or at least was in the ‘90s when he was dating Peggy from the Gories and they were at Brian Wilson’s birthday party. That’s gotta be a trip hanging out with the Mansons doing acid.
What’s your own Beach Boys-meet-Manson moment?
Jack Oblivian: The Manson-Beach Boys sandwich? I don’t know—if I did, I probably shouldn’t say. I don’t think anything can top Manson. William Eggleston was up here one time playing the piano. ‘Course he could hardly play it. He just kind of hits it. He was really drunk, but everybody gathered around the piano. I haven’t seen him in a while. Somebody saw him the other day in an airport just sitting there. They didn’t talk to him. They said he was just sitting there like he was ready to go or maybe he was just lost.
Perfect Sound Forever did an Oblivians interview and asked Eric if he’d ever been arrested, psychotic, near death or bored—how about you?
Jack Oblivian: I’ve been bored. That happens a lot. I’m bored most of the time.
Are you bored more now that you’re older?
Jack Oblivian: Sometimes I get bored with the things I used to occupy myself with. My most boring times—probably with any kid—is when you’re too old for toys and too young for girls or to get a day job. When you’re 12 and 13—that’s when you start throwing rocks at windows to hear the crash. That’s when I started getting into rock because I was so bored. That was my cure for boredom. I’m still bored with life.
When was the last time you were lit only by candlelight?
In candlelight? It’s been a while. This apartment I have now, we’re on the same block as a TV station and a police precinct is right at the end of the street. A couple years ago there was a giant windstorm that came through town—people called it Hurricane Elvis. Usually when a tornado hits, it’s usually across the river in West Memphis or it’s out east and it doesn’t really hit midtown. But this wasn’t a tornado so there was no warning. It was just in the middle of the night. The wind came through and ripped up trees and tore up houses—messed up a lot of shit and so the power was out for like 2 months. But we never lost our power. And my friends would come over—nobody could work ‘cause the power was out everywhere. They’d get on their bikes and come over because we had power and we were watching TV with the air on. The first day after it happened, people were kind of excited. ‘Wow, everything’s wiped out!’ And the weather was still breezy after the storm. Then a couple days later the sun came out and it started getting hot and everybody started getting really mad. They’d stop by our house like, ‘You’re the only motherfuckers in town with power.’ ‘Yeah, we’ve been watching the news—oh, that’s right, you don’t get the news.’ They would eventually warm up to us ‘cause it was the only place they could go and chill out and watch TV.
That’s a pretty good window into human nature.
Jack Oblivian: It’s been a few years but I’ve learned the lesson after not paying the electrical bill and having the power go out and having to go a little while with the candle. That really changes your lifestyle for the evening. I’m usually not prepared with a big candles. I just have a few birthday candles. And if I can’t afford the power bill, usually you cant afford much more than just a beer. Theres this young guy down the street—have you ever heard of the bar called the Lamplighter? It’s a small neighborhood bar. For years there’s been the same bartender but recently this guy in his early 30s—he’s like a Goner kid—he somehow got his foot in the door and he’s a bartender there. He has this drink he made up—I haven’t had it and I probably never will, but I guess he likes Vienna sausage and he’s got this drink called a Mozart and its got the juice from the sausage with Pabst. And he actually drinks it. He loves Vienna sausage.
I have a friend who’s a bartender and he made this drink called the Abandoned Couch where there’s whiskey and the juices from the bottom of the tray of limes and then he would take change out of his pocket, put it in the glass, pour Everclear over it and light it to sterilize the coins. When you finished, there was like 18 cents in the bottom.
Jack Oblivian: Oh, God. Try not to swallow the money.
I heard you used pocket change for drum tracks on one of your records.
Jack Oblivian: That’s on the American Slang record I did a few years ago. I was just trying to find a drum sound. I lived in a place at that time where I couldn’t really set up a full drum set and get loud. I wrapped a mic around my neck and I’d tap for the bass drum and hit my hand on my pocket for the snare drum and it had change in it to make a tambourine-like sound. It was easier to play a drum beat doing that than it is sitting behind a drum set. The microphone doesn’t know where it’s coming from as long as it sounds good.
Jim Dickinson said Memphis was about individuals—you couldn’t organize it and that’s why it worked. Do you think that’s true?
Jack Oblivian: I think he’s got something there. I don’t think there’s a machine kind of thing going on. I have a lot of friends who play music and we play together but our music doesn’t really sound alike or anything. A guitar player in my band has his own band—it’s still rock ‘n’ roll but it’s totally different.
Who’s in your band right now?
Jack Oblivian: The guitar player—his band is John Paul Keith and the 1-4-5s and it’s his rhythm section. I had Harlan and Harlan’s drummer play with me for a while but Harlan’s out of the country right now and he’s got a baby. He was in the band. He’s another one—he can play with me and it’s skuzzy rock or whatever,but then in his music it sounds like something that’ll make the ladies take their panties off.
Have you ever actually seen that happen?
Jack Oblivian: I think it’d be Tom Jones or something. I remember my first gig—I was 13 and I played in this parking-lot Southern-rock fest thing in a small town in Tennessee. We did instrumental ‘Paranoid.’ Stuff like that. We weren’t ready for a gig at all but there were these ladies. My cousin said, ‘See those ladies? They’re biker chicks and they’ll show you their tits—just give them the thumbs-up.’ So I gave them the thumbs-up a couple times and all these ladies started pulling their shirts up and jiggling their tits around like big mamas and I was like, ‘Oh my God.’ Our parents didn’t know we were there. We’d snuck away and we got in trouble when we got back. The police shut the show down because once those rednecks started drinking it got out of hand. But it was pretty exciting.

JACK OBLIVIAN WITH LUCERO AND JOHN PAUL KEITH AND THE 1-4-5S ON TUE., NOV. 3, AT THE ECHOPLEX, 1154 GLENDALE BLVD., ECHO PARK. 8 PM / $15-$17 / 18+. ATTHEECHO.COM. JACK OBLIVIAN’S DISCO OUTLAW IS OUT NOW ON GONER. VISIT JACK OBLIVIAN AT MYSPACE.COM/OFFICIALJACKOBLIVIAN.

THUR., JULY 2 at 8 PM: Chicano Rock!: The Sounds of East Los Angeles

“Let’s take a trip down Whittier Boulevard!” chant Thee Midniters, in Jon Wilkman’s beautiful love letter to the soulful sounds of So Cal. Narrated by Edward James Olmos, this lively and inspiring film explores more than fifty years in the musical history of East Los Angeles, America’s largest Mexican-American community. For decades, generations of East L.A. artists created a unique musical voice, and in the process, proudly expressed their cultural identity, from ’40s pachuco swing to ’50s teen idol Ritchie Valens, ’60s garage rock and soul, to punk and beyond. Chicano Rock! features the timeless music of these eras, including Lalo Guerrero, Ritchie Valens, Cannibal and the Headhunters, Thee Midniters, El Chicano, Tierra, Los Lobos, Ozomatli, and Alice Velasquez (The Bags, Cholita, Las Tres). Jam-packed with rare footage, photos, artifacts, Chicano Rock! treats you to an exhilarating lowrider cruise that could only happen on the streets of Los Angeles. Author Gene Aguilera (“The Golden Age of Chicano Rock ‘n Roll”) will be on-hand to spin classic 45s, and we’ve also got a post-screening live set by a very special seminal L.A. punk band!

Dir. Jon Wilkman, 2008, digital presentation, 60 min.

Tickets – $12

* * *

THUR., JULY 9 at 8 PM: B-MUSIC & DJ ANDY VOTEL PRESENT: Hungarian Rock Night

British DJ extraordinaire Andy Votel will be in person at the Cinefamily to spin tunes and to present what is both a remarkable achievement in Hungarian pop culture and Eastern European film, starring some of the leading lights of both Communist era New Wave cinema and the forward-thinking Hungarian rock scene. Szép lányok, ne sírjatok! (aka Don’t Cry, Pretty Girls) stars Jaroslava Schallerova (fresh from her leading role in Valerie And Her Week Of Wonders) alongside Hungarian rock goddess Sarolta Zalatnay and a cast of freak-rock non-actors plucked from the disgruntled state-governed Qualiton and Pepita record label rosters to make this underhanded tribute to the ‘silenced’ pop group Illes, in disguise as a working-class drama/rock festival liberation expose. Directed by Marta Mészáros (wife of Hungarian New Wave luminary Miklós Jancsó) and featuring heavy footage of bands like Metro, Syrius and Omega (who can be heard on the recently released “Well Hung” compilation on Finders Keepers records), this buried and previously untranslated film holds serious appeal to fans of both Polish and Czech Cinema, Mod culture, Youth culture and obscure 70′s rock music.

Dir. Marta Mészáros 1970, digital presentation, 90 min

Tickets – $10

* * *

THUR., JULY 16 at 8 PM: America’s Lost Band: The Remains

“Had these Boston bad boys stuck it out beyond their 1966 debut, we might today be calling them–and not the Stones–the World’s Greatest Rock N’ Roll band.” -Mark Kemp, Paste Magazine

They played The Ed Sullivan Show, were hand-picked by Paul McCartney to open for the Beatles, and then…gone. America’s Lost Band captures the essence of The Remains, one of the best of American rock bands you’ve never heard. The story follows guitarist Barry Tashian, keyboardist Billy Briggs, bassist Vern Miller and drummer Chip Damiani, the four young original members of The Remains, from their earliest beginnings to their all-too-early end, when they broke up on the brink of fame, right after opening for the Beatles’ last-ever tour in 1966. America’s Lost Band finds the heart of music that refuses to die, culminating in the band’s recent well-deserved rediscovery and reunion. The screening will be followed by a Q&A with director Michael Stich, producer Fred Cantor, Remains keyboardist Bill Briggs and Remains frontman Barry Tashian (who will also be on hand to sign copies of his book “Ticket To Ride”, as well as your Remains albums!), in addition to a live set by psych garage rockers The Living Sickness!

Dir. Michael Stich, 2008, HDCAM, 66 min.

Tickets – $12

* * *

THUR., JULY 23 at 8 PM: It Came From Detroit

In a smashing, energetic presentation, It Came From Detroit lovingly puts on display the “Motor City”, home to an internationally renowned and influential garage rock scene. Starting with The Gories in the 1980s, the bands of the Detroit garage scene have been known for two things: an impeccable knowledge of rock history, and a raucous live show. As bands such as the White Stripes, The Von Bondies, and the Electric Six started to develop a following overseas, journalists everywhere started to hype Detroit as “the next Seattle”, and It Came From Detroit documents the evolution of this scene, from its humble underground beginnings to its ascension as a trend known the world over. And, perhaps most touchingly, the film deals as well with how the unexpected popularity of certain key bands impacts the scene’s small group of friends, as some are catapulted to global recognition, while others are barely known outside of Detroit’s crumbling confines. The screening will be followed by a Q&A with director James R. Petix, plus a live set by special musical guests!

Dir. James R. Petix, 2008, digital presentation, 102 min.

Tickets – $12

* * *

THUR., JULY 30 at 8 PM: Pardon Us For Living But The Graveyard Is Full

30+ years. 2000+ shows. No hits. No sleep. In 1976, a gang of kids from Queens stumbled upon some abandoned instruments in the basement of the house they were renting and ended up forming a band. Little did they realize that thirty years later, they’d still be struggling to play their music and pay the bills. The Fleshtones were an integral part of the ’70s NYC underground scene and, amazingly, having soldiered on as a paradox, simultaneously legendary and obscure: boasting a rabid worldwide fan base and a reputation as a white-hot live act, but barely able to keep a record label for two albums in a row and ignored in all histories of the scene they helped create. Stunning vintage footage, insight from Peter Buck (R.E.M.), Clem Burke (Blondie) and Handsome Dick Manitoba (The Dictators), and candid self-deprecating interviews with band members Peter Zaremba, Keith Streng, Bill Milhizer and Ken Fox add up to a thoroughly entertaining portrait of the real hardest-working garage band in show biz. The evening’s screening will be followed by a live set by special musical guests!

Dir. Geoffray Barbier, 2009, digital presentation, 65 min.

Tickets – $12

* * *

SAT., AUG. 1: BMI Roundtable Panel: Music, in Film, TV and New Media ’09

Join us for an intimate discussion of the changing landscape for music rights and new media. Musicians can find out how to get their music into films, TV and new media, and filmmakers can learn how to clear the rights for music for their work. The afternoon’s event will be moderated by Michael Des Barres, and guests include Doreen Ringer-Ross (BMI), music supervisors Tracy McKnight (Julien Donkey-Boy, Human Nature, Murderball) and Howard Paar (The L-Word, Dogtown and Z-Boys, Ken Park), composer Jay Ferguson (“The Office”), DKTR founder/film director Allison Anders (Border Radio, Grace Of My Heart, Things Behind The Sun), and more!

Tickets – $7

* * *

THUR., AUG. 6: Wesley Willis’s Joyrides and Haack…The King Of Techno

Despite impossible odds, self-proclaimed rock ‘n roll star and “Chicago City Artist” Wesley Willis became an underground rock icon, revered artist and hero to many before his untimely death in 2003. Through his force of personality, his drawing talents, his unique vocabulary and an incredibly focused and singular songwriting style, Wesley’s creativity attracted people from all walks of life, and helped him to overcome the daily torment of schizophrenia, a haunting condition which plagued him throughout his adult life. Directors Chris Bagley and Kim Shively spent five years on the road and at home with Willis (along withn his many family members, friends and collaborators) to create the definitive portrait of Wesley as prolific artist and musician, on his path from obscurity to fame–a journey which will leave you uplifted, tickled and adrenalized.

Bruce Haack was one of the most musically and lyrically inventive artists of the early electronic age, combining homemade analog synths, classical, country, pop and acid rock elements into one massive, heady stew. His craft evolved from his passion and creation of numerous kids’ records, and today his work has inspired the likes of world-renowned musicians such as Beck, the Beastie Boys and Mouse On Mars, proving he’s an almost-lost treasure ripe for rediscovery. Packed with warped visuals, wild music and far out stories, Haack follows the King of Techno as he drops in on “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” and golden-oldie game show host Garry Moore, playing his bizarre instruments such as the Peopleodian, a device played by touching peoples’ skin! Directed in true Haack spirit, for kids, adults and music fans alike, Philip Anagnos’ directorial debut will send you out humming “School For Robots” and scrambling for Haack’s records! Director Philip Anagnos will appear in person for a post-screening Q&A session!

Wesley Willis’s Joyrides  Dirs. Chris Bagley & Kim Shivley, 2008, DigiBeta, 78 min.

Haack: The King of Techno  Dir. Philip Anagnos, 2004, DigiBeta, 57 min.

I Need That Record! asks the simple question: why have over 3,000 independent record stores in the U.S. closed in the past decade? As much a cool history lesson on vinyl as a portrait of greedy record labels, media consolidation, homogenized radio, big box stores, e-commerce, shoddy “stars” pushed by big money and even the digital revolution, the film is, at its core, a loving tribute to the cherished nerdy record stores which for decades have nurtured our access to the music we all love. In addition to the exploration of its juicy premise, the film contains interviews with Thurston Moore (Sonic Youth), Ian MacKaye (Fugazi), Mike Watt (Minutemen), Lenny Kaye (Patti Smith Group), Chris Frantz (Talking Heads), Pat Carney (The Black Keys), composer Glenn Branca, authors Noam Chomsky and Legs McNeil, rock photographer Bob Gruen–and dozens of indie record stores across the U.S. of A.! The screening will be followed by a Q&A with director Brendan Toller, a panel discussion (moderated by Michael Des Barres, featuring special guests) on the fate of the indie record store today, a Danny Benair Record Club listening party (bring a record to share if you want!), and a record swap on the Cinefamily outdoor patio!

Dir. Brendan Toller, 2008, digital presentation, 77 min.

Tickets – $10

* * *

THUR., AUG. 20 at 8 PM: ON/OFF: Mark Stewart from The Pop Group to The Maffia

This one’s a must for all post-punk junkies! The name of singer/industrial hip-hop pioneer Mark Stewart may not be instantly familiar, but his influence is felt the world over. From his early days with confrontational post-punk pioneers The Pop Group to his myriad collaborations with the likes of Trent Reznor, Massive Attack and Primal Scream, Stewart has provided ghostly beats and haunting vocals for over thirty years, and shows no signs of stopping. German filmmaker Tøni Schifer, who followed Stewart around for three years, has crafted a detailed, intimate portrait of the artist, supplemented by interviews with Stewart himself, his Pop Group co-horts Dan Catsis, Gareth Sager and John Waddington, Keith Levine (P.I.L.), Janine Rainforth (Maximum Joy), Douglas Hart (The Jesus & Mary Chain), Fritz Catlin (23 Skidoo), Daniel Miller (Mute Records), Nick Cave, Mick Harvey, Massive Attack and many others, plus some terrific never-before-seen vintage performance footage. Plus, scenes of the wildly eccentric Stewart interacting with his mother are not to be missed! Straight from Berlin, director Tøni Schifer will be in attendance for a post-screening Q&A!

Dir: Tøni Schifer, 2009, DigiBeta, 90 min.

Tickets – $12

* * *

SPECIAL SATURDAY SCREENING

SAT., AUG. 22 at 5 PM: Of All The Things

The most unique comeback story of the year. Dennis Lambert was one of the most successful and diverse songwriter/producers of the ’70s and ’80s, with hits like “Ain’t No Woman (Like The One I’ve Got)”, “Rhinestone Cowboy”, “Don’t Pull Your Love”, “Baby Come Back” and “Night Shift”. He had chart-toppers in almost every genre of music–at one point, four of his songs were simultaneously on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, a feat previously accomplished only by The Beatles. That was then. Today, he’s a 60-year-old family man selling real estate in Florida. But it turns out his obscure 1972 solo album is huge–in the Philippines. A Filipino concert promoter has been begging Dennis to tour for decades, and in 2007 he finally agreed. Of All The Things is a hilarious and touching pop/rock/country/R&B documentary that follows Dennis on his whirlwind tour, as he rediscovers his passion for music and thousands of fans he never knew he had. Some lives deserve an encore. The screening will be followed by a Q&A with Dennis Lambert, his documentarian/son Jody Lambert, and some very special guests!

Dir. Jody Lambert, 2008, HDCAM, 83 min.

Tickets – $10

* * *

THUR., AUG. 27 at 8 PM: Night Flight tribute night

Before infomercials took over the late-night airwaves, overnight programming was a staid line-up of reruns, talk shows, and old movies. Throughout most of the ’80s however, there was one anarchic alternative—-Night Flight. Premiering on the fledgling USA Network on June 5, 1981–two months before MTV’s arrival—-Night Flight was a glorious amalgamation of music videos, short films, cartoons, interviews, concerts, and cult movies. For many viewers, it was a video primer to the counterculture of the Reagan era, featuring artists and films that at the time could not be seen anywhere else and for seven years, Night Flight was required viewing for stoners, punkers, headbangers, and insomniacs. Now, twenty years after the final episode was aired, the show’s producers have gone back into their video vaults and emerged with this best-of program that will bring tears of joy to fans’ sleep-deprived eyes, as well as a musical feature film picked from the Night Flight programming schedule archives! Night Flight creator Stuart Shapiro will appear in-person for a Q&A after the program!

Tickets – $10

(from We Have You Surrounded on In The Red)

The Dirtbombs are the heaviest thing out of Detroit since Bob Seger’s “Ivory.” They have a new album out now and a bubblegum one coming. They speak now from a tour that will never end. This interview by Dan Collins.

So you’re Mick Collins and I’m Dan Collins. Do you think we’re related?
Um—it’s unlikely. Possibly some of your ancestors owned some of mine.
I was looking at your discography, and you’ve almost done as many split LPs, seven inches and EPs as you have done your own releases.
Basically if anybody out there asks to do a record, I basically say yes.
And it seems like a lot of bands, you know—the Black Lips, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Jay Reatard—have all opened for you guys. Are you kind of a springboard to fame?
Oh, we joke about it all the time! ‘The Dirtbombs Curse.’ So many bands that have opened for us have gone on to be a lot more popular than us. We joke about it now.
With the Gories, I’ve read that you were kind of going for a Back From the Grave type of band. Was there a specific band or specific sound that you wanted to emulate with the Dirtbombs?
No, we’re deliberately trying not to sound like any other band in existence, actually.
But do you think that there’s a certain amount of Detroit to your band’s sound?
That’s a difficult question to answer because I’m from Detroit and everybody in the band is from Detroit. So maybe there is, but not anything I can see. There’s no one Detroit sound. Everybody’s pretty much doing their thing, so we’re only a Detroit band insofar as we’re from Detroit. I guess we’re loud—ha ha! That’s kind of a Detroit trademark these days. Every Dirtbombs album set out to be different from all the other albums. I made a list of what I wanted to do back in 1992. Well, actually, I made the list in 1996. I formed the band in 1992, so somewhere around the time we started recording the first LP I decided, ‘Let’s see what I feel like doing with this sound.’ Every one of them was designed to sound different. This one actually was not on the list. It started out of the five-song EP we were cutting. And then we were in the studio, and In The Red called up, and it came up that there hadn’t been a new Dirtbombs album in four years. So I thought, ‘Aw, shit, I better get on that.’ I figured this one was totally unscheduled, so it’ll be something unexpected.
I’m kind of excited about this whole list thing. Is it something you can email me?
Naw, it’s some shit I wrote in a notebook that’s sitting in my basement in Detroit.
Is 50% of the list crossed off? Or are there still lots of things to come?
There’s two more on the list. Two more records, after which I will have said everything I’ve planned to say with the Dirtbombs.
Can you please tell me that one of those two is going to be the bubblegum album?
One of the two is the bubblegum album. For real. You’re one of the only people who’ve asked me about that because this album was supposed to be the bubblegum album. And like I said, we weren’t really cutting the album when it happened, so the next album—probably. I have to admit, I’m a huge Archies fan. I think the Archies are great. However, the Dirtbombs’ instrumentation of the band lends itself far more to Kasenetz-Katz.
Are you going to cover Captain Groovy and His Bubblegum Army?
Yeah! It’ll sound a lot more like Kasenetz-Katz—totally.
Any B-sides, like ‘Sticky Sticky,’ or something rare? Any backwards songs?
Well, the working title of the album is Gooey Gooey Chewy Kablooey.
Goddamn—that sounds fucking awesome! What year is that coming out?
I don’t know.
Well, we’ve still got to enjoy this one for a while. I listened to ‘Wreck My Flow.’ It’s dirty, but it’s also very rhythmic—very on-time and tempered. Do you use any samples or tricks to get that sound so consistent? Or is it just pure rock ‘n’ roll power?
Let’s go with that! I don’t remember where the actual title came from. The song itself started being about driving down a street in Detroit, and it sort of became the craziness that it became. Every song on the album started being about something else, and sort of became a social-political rant.
You played with some classics back in the day. You were on Andre Williams’ Black Godfather album, right?
Yeah, I did basically everything except the basic recording on Black Godfather.
Was that around the time he converted to Judaism? Were you there when he got his tip snipped?
That was after, I think. I just saw him in Chicago—about a month ago. And he looked really well! He looked alright.
Wasn’t Dan from the Gories on there?
He was on Silky. Black Godfather was all these different bands recording different tracks.
But you get along with Dan. You guys weren’t the problem that split up the Gories.
We still get along, actually. Zach was in one of Dan’s bands. He’s on long-term loan. I asked Dan to do it, but he was busy.
Do you ever think about getting a reformed Gories back on the road?
No. In a word, ‘No.’
Do you ever get jealous that Dan had sex with Cynthia Plaster Caster?
I can’t say that was ever a source of jealousy! I didn’t even know any of that had gone on until after it was over, actually.
She’s still casting people, so you know, your time may come.
I’ll get my chance, I’m sure!

THE DIRTBOMBS WITH TV ON THE RADIO ON THUR., NOV. 6, AT THE WILTERN, 3790 WILSHIRE BLVD., LOS ANGELES. 9 PM / $23.50 / ALL AGES. LIVENATION.COM. THE DIRTBOMBS’ WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED IS OUT NOW ON IN THE RED. VISIT THE DIRTBOMBS AT THEDIRTBOMBS.NET OR MYSPACE.COM/THEDIRTBOMBS.