Live Shot #57!

 

Stephanie Neumann at Berkeley Arts Festival Building in May of 2015. Mills College music program graduate.

Cyber Bullies-Leather and Lazers; More Power Tapes 2018

 

 More audio fun for Disaster Amnesiac via Feral Kid tapes, this time in the form of Cyber Bullies and their blink and you'll miss it duration tape, Leather and Lazers. Paraphrasing from Frontier Records and their tag line for Circle Jerks Group Sex print ad, it's five chow blowing tunes in six minutes. Like I said, blink and you'll miss it. Featuring songs such as March 30, '81 and You Don't Care About New Wave, this release seems to mark Cyber Bullies as a band somewhat obsessed with the era in which groups such as Circle Jerks and their Los Angeles peers were putting out some of the greatest music in Rock history. These Bullies do a good job of shaping their take on that music, too, with cool organ sounds framing the quickly picked guitar riffs and tight drumming. It all hangs together well, with a fast-paced rhythmic focus. The singer sounds pretty crazed as he intones stories about being Born In the Mid To Late 60's and how Gorbachev was right. Is it currently not correct to express such an opinion about a Russian statesman, comrades? Judging from the looks of the guys on the cover, they probably couldn't really give a crap about that question, and Punk 'innit? This tape is certainly Punk Rock and Roll (is Disaster Amnesiac dating myself with phrase?), so, yeah, even if you do care a lot about New Wave in whatever its current form, you can also be a dude and care about aural blitzkriegs such as Leather and Lazers. Just remember to pay attention, because it's over in a flash. I bet that these guys are a stone hoot, live.

My Dream Machine

 

It must have been in about 1990 or so when Disaster Amnesiac, through the Temple Ov Psychic Youth (T.O.P.Y.), acquired a set of plans for a Brion Gysin Dream Machine. I'd been familiar with the Dream Machine for about a year or so, due to RE/Search's Throbbing Gristle/William S. Burroughs/Gysin issue, which I'd read pretty obsessively since acquiring it in Georgetown, D.C. before moving to California. Naturally, you'll recall that T.O.P.Y. had some kind of program in which its members would somehow send a sample of their blood or jizz, to be entered into some kind of catalog. Disaster Amnesiac can't recall the reason given for this type of initiatory move, but I can most definitely imagine Genesis P-Orridge laughing as he realized that there would be people out in the wilds that would assent to doing such an odd thing. 

As for me, there was NO WAY that I'd be sending my precious bodily fluids to some P.O. Box in Colorado, but when I saw that one could order the Dream Machine plans........that was an entirely different story. The plans could not have been that expensive, for 19 year old Disaster Amnesiac was not the greatest earner in Alameda County, so I was able to send off for them. 

A few weeks later, said plans arrived, and I got down to the business of making my Dream Machine. Along with the cut-out plan, printed upon a rather large sheet of paper, all that was needed was a turntable that rotated at 78 RPM, a light bulb, and a way to hang the bulb into the cone that the sheet of paper, with the cuts from the plan having been made into it. Easy, right? Perhaps for most young Post-Punkers, but I must admit that I struggled with the design. Having made the cut outs from the plan onto my sheet of paper, it turned out that I'd not cut the sheet to its exact proper length. This lead to me having to put weird staples into it as its cone form took shape; although it eventually hung together reasonably well, it was certainly not pretty. The bulb apparatus was threaded through a chain that hung from a plant hook on the ceiling of my bedroom. Disaster Amnesiac moved a desk underneath it, placed the cheap turntable that I'd acquired from a thrift shop off of Fremont Blvd. in Fremont upon it, and presto! Dream Machine activated. 

Having read so much about the altered states that could be accessed from use of the Dream Machine, I was excited to get to reaching them, that much is certain. The flaw in my design gave my Dream Machine a kind of swishing sound that occurred with each of its rotations, which made it annoying right off of the bat. It made for a kind of dragging effect as well. Still, I was able to sit in front of it, with Heathen Earth or Boyd Rice music going, and trance out reasonably well. I recall seeing colored, vertical stripes, perhaps some amorphous blobs, within my close-eyed perceptions as the Dream Machine spun. Never really got into the deep hallucinatory states promised by Gysin, Burroughs, Sommerville et al, sadly. Still, if memory serves correctly, my sessions with it were definitely relaxing in some way. 

Sadly, for some reason, in a fit of anger, one afternoon Disaster Amnesiac smashed the Dream Machine. I'm guessing the reason was some silly girl-related depression or some such nonsense. It was immediately obvious what a dumb move I'd made, and the regret was equally immediate. Stupid kids gonna stupid kid. Soon, I chalked it all up to being an "interesting experience", and moved on to my next foolhardy scheme. As said, stupid kids......

A bit further into the 1990's, I made friends with a young woman with whom I talked about art, and Gysin, and the Dream Machine. She was very kind and bought me a copy of another book about the artist, one which contained a plan for the Dream Machine, similar to the one that T.O.P.Y had been selling. I still have it. I wonder if the "intelligence agencies" that raided T.O.P.Y. headquarters still have their lists of all those people that sent their cash and spooge that Colorado P.O. box. 

Who knows, maybe this year I will bust out that second Dream Machine plan, head over to the swap meet, grab a 78 RPM turntable, and get to blissing out on the cheap again. Pretty sure the temper that smashed that first Dream Machine has been quelled enough, even if I get those measurements slightly incorrect again.

Corporate Rock Sucks: The Rise and Fall of SST Records, Jim Ruland; Hachette Press, 2022

 

Attention all SST personnel, former and current: Jim Ruland, in his excellent, newly published book about the history of your incredible record (and other media) label, Corporate Rock Sucks: The Rise and Fall of SST Records has put forth a proposition that could very likely right a slew of wrongs that occurred as it grew (and grew and grew and grew....and then began to shrink)! Let's be real, most of you dudes and dudettes, you survivors of a very specific culture war (would that society could go back to that particular one, as opposed to the one we are currently embroiled in), are now reaching retirement or even, sadly, end of life stages. Wouldn't it be wonderful to set some problems right? Wouldn't it be great to shift some negative karma towards the positive? For you, noble and righteous staff of the greatest record label of all time, that have not read the book, as well as anyone else that has not, Disaster Amnesiac will say: find it, read it to the end, and then consider Ruland's proposed solution. I'm telling you, it could work! 

Dear Jim Ruland: Corporate Rock Sucks is a great book! As Disaster Amnesiac delved into its pages, I was fondly reminded of the many interactions I've had over the years with SST. Having my musical perceptions permanently changed upon hearing Damaged. Discovering the strangely intense bands on The Blasting Concept, both I and II ("we don't need freedom!"). Delving into the highly creative worlds of so many of the late 1980's bands.  Saint Vitus and Chandler's buzzsaw soloing,  Meat Puppets cosmic Country, SWA, early and late. Everything Ginn does, to this day (yes, I know.....) Jim, you have written the definitive document of SST, and I thank you for the minutes spent marveling at the complete discography and newly published photos that you've provided. Truly excellent work! 

SST Record's story strikes Disaster Amnesiac as a music-based drama the likes of which the world hadn't seen since the Wagner/Nietsche flap. As Jim Ruland shows in Corporate Rock Sucks: The Rise and Fall of SST Records, it's a messy, oftentimes ugly story, but one that is highly compelling for any interested party. Ruland nails it. Seriously, though: I hope that all the injured parties (i.e. everyone involved in any way with SST) would consider the author's proposition. It's time to let bygones by bygones, it's time to get it happening, and it's time to fucking rock.

Nervous Tick and the Zipper Lips-Something's Gotta Bleed; Kafadan Kontak Records, 2020

 

A totally nice surprise came Disaster Amnesiac's way via Feral Kid Records, who kindly included the Something's Gotta Bleed tape by Nervous Tick and the Zipper Lips with a recent order. As I'd not expected it, and have really enjoyed hearing its sounds, a review felt appropriate! 

Starting off with the short instrumental Tying Up Loose Ends, Nervous Tick introduces his self-penned, self-played, self-produced project as one that seems to pull from the Golden Era of American Punk Rock, let's say 1979-1983. Power chords are allowed to ring out to a full physical effect while underneath it a  steady rhythm section chugs along at a quick pace. Things don't so much thrash as they jump, and the energy compressed within the track's 40 seconds set the stage for the rest of Gotta Bleed. 

Paranoia abounds on the next track, Haunting and Taunting. High pitched guitar riffs scream underneath the lyrics' frightened visions, shouted out by Nervous Tick in his gruff Punk Rock manner. More of that astute, moving drumming, more 4/4 than 2/4, pushes its energies toward a screaming concluding riff, once more with that scream, and quickly out. 

Fluid Exchange follows, introduced by kool Cold Wave synthesizer sounds, which embellish the tight guitar/bass/drums riffing throughout. The resultant atmosphere takes Disaster Amnesiac's perceptions to dark, Goth places, ones that tinged so much of said Golden Era, particularly in California. As those winds rage, the lyrics would seem to deal with the seamier side of things, but, as they're somewhat buried in the mix, it can be tough to tell. Sounds as if someone is washing away something.....sticky.....there at the end. 

The pace quickens a bit with What a Spooky Evening. Is this a tale of a person stranded at home underneath a clock, or trapped within some space that he doesn't want to be in? No matter which, it would seem that its chorus would make even a political prisoner smile a bit as they tapped their toes (assuming that they hadn't been lobbed off) to very crisp hi-hat tapping at the drums. Cool screams from Tick as well.

Twinned guitar riffing launches Shoot the Moon off into its quickly paced zone; they unite into a huge riff before devolving into skittering noise.  This song has the kind of energetic harmonies which would surely start people 'a pitting, as, indeed, their sounds are exciting without fail. That solidly simple drumming doesn't hurt with this. Like, one minute later, and it's all over, man! 

As Disaster Amnesiac has listened to I Don't Make the Rules (I Just Love 'Em), I can't help but feel that Nervous Tick has written the Official Anthem of Society post 2020. Y'all know why. As Nervous Tick says here, "feels nice and cozy in my little place", yeah, ain't that just about everyone's steze now and (God help us) in the future? Well, at least we get the message wrapped into more of that speeded up physicality that is evinced all over Something's Gotta Bleed. One could presumably take solace in that as they jack into Meta, I guess. 

The tape finishes on a rumbling, tom-tom pounded note with Wake Up Grumbling. It feels as though any person over the age of 40-ish that has taken the inevitable lumps dished out by society will be able to resonate with Nervous Tick's lyrics here. "I know I'm not essential/that comes as no surprise/got nothing important to offer/I know how I look through your eyes". Highly relatable, man. All this pushed by some jangling Street Punk guitar and a cool solo into a fade at the end, nice.

Disaster Amnesiac would love to see Nervous Tick and the Zipper Lips become a full band. There's a dive bar about two miles from my house in north western Tucson where they'd fit in fucking grandly. Hit the road, dudes! 

Live shot #56!

 

Anthrax, Pima County Fairgrounds, Tucson AZ 4/22/22. Blurry, but I love the surreal energy of this shot more than the full band photos, which seemed tame in comparison. 

"...it's so nice to see your smiling faces......"--Scott Ian from the stage mid-set.

Live shot #55!

 

Tom Djill, Jacob Felix-Heule, Jack Wright. Temescal Arts Center, Oakland 2018. 

First the set up, then The Sound.