Remembering Dave Street - The Punk Comic, Writer, Lyricist, and Actor

And what do we say to the God of Death…? Not Today.

Note: Most photos stolen from Dave Street’s Facebook and lack photo credits. My apologies. The rest are mine.

I am in shock that Dave Street is gone. 

Especially considering everything that had recently happened, everything that he had just been through. For those of you who don’t know:

Almost a year ago, Dave had fought tooth and nail as he clawed his way back from the brink of death. I went to visit him at the hospital and was aghast at the sight that I saw. With everything that has been happening since 2020, It was certainly the last place anyone would want to be… But there was more to it than that. 

You see, in Dave’s past, hospitals, doctors, and the American Health Care System were sort of a “Professor Moriarity” to his “Sherlock Holmes.” He and his mother, Adele, had gone through the wringer as they dealt with a lack of humanity, dignity, and general bedside manner that many encounter when navigating the adversity that can be found in the Medical Industry Complex. Dave even wrote a book about these experiences called, “What the Health, Mommie?”

And now, here he was surrounded by doctors and nurses trying to stabilize his condition, while Dave was fighting to get on Medicaid. The high sodium levels he was dealing with hadn’t just affected his body, but also his mind. Earlier that week, when we spoke on the phone, he was hardly coherent. It was heartbreaking and I assumed it must have been near the end. It had turned out Dave was inflicted by some form of cancer. I thought that this trip to the hospital might not have been to say hello but to say goodbye. 

He had lost a lot of weight. His frazzled gray hair had taken on a new level of theatrical chaos that I am sure would have benefitted a comic like Dave if he was up on the stage and not in a gurney bed. His face was gaunt and peppered with a five o’clock shadow that was so alien to the clean-shaven Dave I have known for the last 12 years. The worst part of all was the hospital gown that clung to his skeletal frame. It was the kind that only cared about modesty from the front and not from behind, eschewing any kind of dignity for practicality. 

I hated seeing him like that. Even more, I hated that I was thinking more about how this was probably the last time I was ever going to see Dave: Slightly more legible and coherent in speech than our previous phone conversation a few days earlier, he was now running from salty charm to sweet belligerence with any nurse or doctor who came through to give him a tray of banal hospital food or checked on his vital stats. That this is the end of the line, for someone so vocal to be silenced by a final stay in a hospital room.

After everything that he had experienced, everything he wrote about, Dave was going to die in a hospital bed.

I first met Dave because of my infatuation with The Misfits. Dave worked at Natasha’s, the home of the first Fiend Club, and was not just friends with the band, but also played manager for them to help secure some gigs with The Damned. For anyone to have witnessed that, it must have been a zany wonderful time to be a fly on the wall.

Natasha and Dave

Dave always claimed that he hardly remembered the late 70s through the 80s when he was a “Punk Comic,” swapping out Lichtenstein for the surname of Street. He would go on to open for bands like The Ramones, The Cramps, and The Misfits and even put out a 7 inch of his stand-up. I am glad I have a copy. I never got to see any of Dave do material from his old act, but it was easy to imagine the effect he could have on a crowd with the idiosyncratic, whimsical charm that still oozed from his pores decades later.

The first time I came over to his house, I met his mother Adele. It was the last years of her life and she was the type of warm, personable, and endearing person that made you feel like you knew her your whole life. Adele was an extra grandma stowed away in South Plainfield, New Jersey, just in case you ever needed one. I don’t know what their relationship was always like, but Dave was so loving and tender. A good son, the best son, at a time when Adele probably needed it the most. She was adored and cared for.

The interview we conducted in 2010 was not the last time I put Dave in front of the camera. A few months later he came up to Hartsdale, NY to star in an adaptation of Terry Bisson’s classic short story called, “They’re Made out of Meat.” Dave rightfully played an alien named “Saughul” who is disgusted by a report he receives that Earth people are in fact made out of meat. Whenever Dave would call me, he would always say, “Hey!! Jeff!!” with his signature inflection and I would always respond with, “Dave Street Meat!” 

One of the greatest tragedies is that Dave was not in more movies as some sort of character actor. He would have owned that well.

When I began work on my first feature film, “Romeo’s Distress,” I knew Dave had to be involved. Not only did he bring the character of Uncle Elmo to life, but he put on a wig and “fake shemp” the body of Grandma played by my actual 87-year-old Grandma Renee Mandel. Dave was also gracious in allowing us to sleepover and shoot the scene in his house. He was also with us at the world premiere. 

Dave took his roles in these films very seriously. He was always off-book (memorized his lines) and would craft hand gestures to accentuate his dialogue. The craft of these gestures was quite profound and always elevated the work he was doing.  It came naturally to him.

Performing was in his blood, as is evident by all the amazing work he did in schools as a kid’s education performer. And though that was how he made his living, Dave was a radical who truly and deeply cared about social, political, and environmental issues across the spectrum that all held a common theme: The way they affected and marginalized various groups of people. He was like a lobbyist, but a good one who always desired a change to the system that holds people down. These issues and themes informed everything that Dave would write: Books, scripts, plays, comics, and poetry. He was also a lyricist for The Undead, Bobby Steel’s band after he left The Misfits. 

I learned a lot from Dave.  

He espoused chivalrous values and ideals that could sometimes be endearingly quixotic about how one should conduct themselves. Dave was also there for one of my personal artistic low points. The feature film we made was playing an event that wasn’t quite what it was supposed to be. Without getting into details, it was quite humiliating and as a result, there was barely anyone who showed up to the screening. And it would have somehow been even worse if I didn’t have Dave by my side. 

We had the option to sort of leave “out the back door” and write off a bad situation, but Dave told me that we should stay no matter what. He said that I should stand by my work and be proud of it - even if this event was somewhat embarrassing, that I needed to see it through. He kept telling me, “you never know what could happen.” Beaming again with this warm, quixotic optimism that was hard to ignore, I listened to him. 

Dave sat by my side as we watched the film. It was something I never want to do again, but I am also so glad that I stood by my work and saw it through to the end. I never forgot it. For years afterward, every time we spoke on the phone, I would remind him of how much his words meant to me at such a low point.

Those values and ideals came straight from Dave’s heart. He had so much heart. The biggest heart I know. He believed in the boundless power that a positive mental attitude can help someone through anything. Dave tried to live his life by that principle as best as he could. He would leave little post-it notes scribbled with mantras of encouragement around his computer desk. They always involved things that he wanted or needed to materialize. And even if they never did, he still invested in that power. He always believed. It kept him going. 

The “Try”-Angle of Success

Dave also came up with the “Triangle of Success.”  It was something that he conceived when writing a play called “The Problem,” in which Dave brilliantly characterized metaphors for many of life’s relatable problems through the personification of them. You recognize how a show like South Park would have been lucky to have Dave writing for them when you see “The Problem,” which my wife Einav and I were fortunate enough to attend when they were doing workshops of the material. 

This is Dave Street’s “TRY”angle of Success:

1. At the base of the triangle is “clear communication.”  This is the basis and foundation of the triangle. Always make sure you are communicating clearly and totally what your message is and what your agreement is. So many times we have problems in life because we assume we know what the other party has communicated to us and we are wrong. It is so important to always clearly communicate down to the last detail or any relationship, any agreement.

2. The right side of the triangle is “keeping our word.” Once we know what we have communicated, then it is up to us to keep our word. Aside from things like an “Act of God” clause, when things happen that are outside of our control, we should do everything we humanly can to make sure we keep our word.

3. The left side of the triangle is “controlling our emotions.” The reason people break agreements is because they get angry and upset. They know they have communicated clearly, they know what they have given their word on, but they don’t like what that person just did to them and decided to change what they agreed. We can’t let emotions provoke us into negative behavior. We can’t let our emotions break our word. We can’t let our emotions go against what we have clearly communicated. 

I like to imagine that Dave partially decided to call it the “T-R-Y angle of Success” because these ideals may seem deceptively simple, but can be very difficult to put into practice. In the end, we are just people, afforded the opportunity to try our best.

And now, for all that wisdom, for all the positivity he put out into the world, here he was in the twilight years of his life, with serious health problems, unable to work, and mounting medical bills that were already weighing down on other previous debts - stuck in a hospital bed that he might never leave. 

NOTE: This photo is from 2014, and NOT the hospital stay mentioned here in this writing.

I wasn’t the only one to visit Dave of course, and that genuine human connection must have been a tonic for his weakened yet enduring spirit. He was well-loved and taken care of in that regard, especially by his niece Morgan. Notwithstanding, it was still hard for me to imagine him escaping this fate that seemed before him. 

It was now the early afternoon and Dave’s lunch came. He began worrying and fussing over something with the tray of hospital food. I told him that he needed to recover so that he could be in my next film as we had previously discussed, that he needed to keep going and keep writing and being creative.  

And despite his haze, what he said floored me. Even now, as I write this: Dave’s eyes were closed and he told me… I’ve been writing this whole time. In my head, I’ve been writing, I never stopped. 

Despite the betrayal from his own body, during what had to have been some of his darkest days and lowest points, he never let that creative spark die. He never lost that optimism that he could get out of that hospital, let alone function autonomously and domestically in his own house. He was already thinking about how he was going to turn these harrowing experiences into a new book.

Dave wanted to get better. He still wanted to do things. He still wanted to create. His body was ailing, but his mind was more passionate than ever. And that seemingly quixotic, misplaced optimism that told him he would come back from this ACTUALLY ALLOWED him to get out of that hospital Alive…

And that seemingly quixotic, misplaced optimism that told him he would come back from this ACTUALLY ALLOWED him to get out of that hospital Alive…

…And he did write that book. It’s called, “Waking Up Nowhere.” 

 It’s important to note that even though he had complicated feelings surrounding his experiences with the American Healthcare System and the Medical Industry Complex, he was so grateful for the Doctors and Nurses who saved his life.

The next time we spoke on the phone, he was back from the brink - convalescing, reciting monologues of things that he had written in his head. I am so glad I have them recorded. We made plans to come down to Jersey and shoot his scene for the new film. Considering we were back at the same house and the part I had in mind was so similar, we decided he should just reprise his role of Uncle Elmo. And he knocked it out of the park, bringing the same passion and energy that had previously. 

It was an amazing thing to witness. Dave wasn’t just back from the brink of death, he was living at home, functioning autonomously, walking a mile every day, and regaining his strength as he lifted cans like weights. His mind was sharp again, he was back to his old self, writing that book as well as writing lyrics about punk rock thank yous to the Doctors and Nurses who took care of him.

It was the best possible way I could have seen him for the last time without exactly knowing I was seeing him for the last time. 

Dave had previously requested that he sit in front of the camera and have me interview him about some of his experiences when we finished shooting his scene. As I write this, I do recall some weird, unspoken mutual feeling… Some intuition. You can see it in the video as I asked him impromptu questions off the top of my head, thinking that this video needed to capture his essence somehow. He had an idea that they could have been his final tapes. That, fortunately, ended up not being the case.

We said our goodbyes, until next time…

But that is the thing about getting out alive. It’s just an illusion. Nobody gets out alive. 

This will sound cliche and lame, but it’s almost as if he really did tell Death, “Not today.” And Death listened. But Death always comes back. 

Bob, Dave’s cousin, told me over the phone that he went in his sleep. And I was relieved - not because Dave was gone, but because he got to go in the most peaceful way possible. 

He didn’t die in his darkest hour at a hospital, wrapped in a gown, showing his bare ass to all who might enter the room. He overcame all of it and died triumphantly, with the dignity he deserved, in his own bed, peacefully with a smile on his face after spending months and months with renewed vitality and creative outpouring in his writing. 

A testament to his Try-angle of Success.

The last time Dave called me, I didn’t pick up. I made the conscious decision not to. I wasn’t able to talk at that moment. I never returned his call in time. And that is something I will regret forever. It’s not the first time it has happened either, those who ignore painful lessons are doomed to repeat them. But I take solace in the fact that when we first spoke after he had been hospitalized, delirious and incoherent, I began telling him that I loved him and ended every phone call with some variation of, “I love you Dave” or “I love you, man” or, “Love ya, man.” 

And I know those were the last words between us. 

I promise I will read that book, Dave. I can’t wait for everyone to see you in your final performance in the new film. You may have moved on to the great beyond, but your essence, your beliefs, and your ideals carry on in all of us who were blessed enough to be in your presence.  

You have taught me that even when the body fails, the spirit can carry you forward and never give up.

Shine on, Dave Street.

​​November 14, 1949 - April 5, 2022

Love ya, Dave.

Am I Demon? [72 Hour Cut] EXCLUSIVE FEATURE FILM

What does a NOBUDGET "Feature Film" made in 72 hours look like? 

It *can* look like this. 

For the Sick N Wrong Film Festival 72 Hour Film Debacle, which coincided with my 36 birthday, I decided I would do something crazy, impulsive, unreasonable, and mostly insane: 

I conceived, wrote, directed, produced, shot, edited, starred, exported, and uploaded a "feature length" mockumentary aka schlockumentary about a fictionalized version of myself in 70 hours.

It was quite the undertaking, I only slept eightish hours combined over the whole weekend. Remember, this had to be edited and sound had to be added on top of the shooting and “acting.”

I guess I wanted to see if I had it in me to achieve such a feat. Good or bad, I was willing to try.

Originally, as far back as September, we were planning to shoot the feature in 24 hours, edit it 24 hours, and then leave 24 hours for compression and upload time. 

I had written a detailed treatment for a completely different idea and engineered timed improv segments that would flow into explosive plot points throughout the story and hopefully come out to 70 minutes.

A feature film can technically be as short as an hour long, but most consider feature length to be at least 70 minutes.

As the weeks carried on, between planning to shoot with Black Magic Cinema Cameras in 4K, and trying to schedule rehearsals for the film as well as other snafus, it became clear that this was not going to be feasible. Especially, when it used an idea that I really liked - something that I would eventually want to write a more fleshed-out treatment.

I figured it would be better to just pull the plug and do a fun short. And a part of me wishes we had because it would have been shot on the cinema camera and looked really spectacular. 

But then something came over me. It was unexplainable. An impulsive decision was made, to do something unknown and feature-length in 24 hours before the 72 began. I went out with my cell phone and LED light and shot what you see here. I am not sure if it is unwatchable. It might be. I know if I had used the cinema camera, we would likely not have finished.

In addition to the chaos of trying to shoot (on a cellphone) and edit a feature film in 72 hours, we drove to New Jersey to catch the Mourning Noise reunion and try and fold it into the feature. It was a great time and we got a lot of great cameos/crowd cameos including Pat Duncan, Mourning Noise, Marra's Drug, and members of Misfits, Samhain, Danzig, Robby Bloodshed, Mister Monster, See Plus, and more! It was so great to see everyone so soon after the VFW show. Mourning Noise and all the other bands crushed it, and a lot of money was raised for charity - great job, Steve!

The film clocks in at 70 minutes with a lengthy credit sequence ( an old reliable trick utilized all the time).

It was a grand experiment and I am grateful to have done it. But I understand why it is better to not do something for the sake of doing something.

What will become of this thing? I don't know. Myself and Jack (who plays Jack in the movie) have discussed adding some animation and additional footage to make it feel more like a feature.

So except for here and the debacle screening, this cut/version or maybe even the film as a whole will only be available here on Patreon as a special exclusive.

The Misfits: I'll Remember Halloween

The Misfits:

I’ll remember Halloween

“Happy Halloween.”

There is nothing more fitting to hear from Glenn Danzig right before he and the Misfits launch into the song itself. In October, in New York City, at (sold out) Madison Square Garden. With The Damned opening, 40 years after the Misfits opened for them at Hurrah’s. 

A quick history lesson from Billy “Stark” Stone (lead singer of the Blessed) here, he tells it on a Facebook thread:

“Just for the record and a bit of trivia....not to blow my own horn ( I prefer someone else to do THAT) but that whole thing, those two bands opening was arranged by moi I My first band The Blessed were booked to do that( Our Manager Eileen Polk had ‘retired” and I was managing the band).it was to be called The Damned Blessed Blessed Damned Nights. Two nights, first night we would go on first and the second night The Damned would go on first essentially opening for us. But our guitarist @ the time refused to do it ( having been on The Anarchy tour etc etc) so I had to bow out which Hurrah’s was NOT happy about as posters etc were being printed.So, I suggested The Misfits and The Stimulators, who they were not all too familiar w/ and I contacted each band and put everyone together and the rest is...whatever. I think the success all the various bands have had is fantastic and any book ( especially ones that are due to come out in the near future) This is the true and unadulterated facts. I only believe in the truth no matter how hard and brutal. Leave others to their myths.”

— Billy "Stark" Stone, Bryan Swirsky's Facebook post

Photographer unknown, please message me if you know!

This is not some Misfits Nerd fantasy written on Misfits Central in 2007, “Whoa, imagine if, like, Glenn and Jerry reunited for a sold out NYC Halloween show. And like, The Damned are opening and they had Dave Lombado from Slayer on drums and it was at Madison Square Garden!? That would be so sick. That would be so amazing to see!!! I know it will never happen though.”  

The time is nigh.

Rich and I, waiting for death to rip our backs out.

No, actually, that really just happened. October 18th, 2019. 6 years to the day after Danzig and Doyle play a Misfits set at the Roseland Ballroom (RIP).

As the days counted down to this historic event, I poured over its connotations many, many times in my mind - revelling in how significant and validating it is for the band, the fiends, the fans, and the punk rock community as a whole. A grand victory.

I’ve seen the spectacle twice before: Chicago Riotfest and New Jersey’s Prudential Center. And while the Chicago show will always be burned in my mind as the greatest of the three, I think the NYC MSG is my favorite. It is their true homecoming show. You hear everyone talk all the time about Jersey begin the hometown show, but that’s inaccurate. 

Although the Misfits are from Lodi, New Jersey, they are actually a New York band, and played NYC far more than they ever played Jersey - before they became a true touring band in ‘81-’82. I’ve conducted many interviews over the years, and the thing I heard the most from people in the late 70s/early 80s punk scene was that the Misfits only came out to play NYC around Halloween time or, “only on Halloween.” This of course is not completely true as any Misfits Nerd who has memorized Misfits Central (or spent a fortune collecting fliers) will tell you, but it is a part of the band’s original mythology and further deepens the significance of an October show.

I had never seen The Damned, and they were excellent! It’s amazing to see a band that has consistently been playing for 43 years, still sound so tight. They worked the crowd with their jovial, mischievous chemistry on stage. At one point, their keyboardist, Monty Oxymoron leaves his keys to dance like a mad man between Dave Vanian and Captain Sensible. Eventually, Monty accidentally knocks Vanians mic out of his hand and Vanian mischievously passes by Monty and his keyboards to bash the keys. What a fun band.

I wish I knew more of Rancid’s catalogue, they were also great and further added to the crowd’s energy, churning them into a frenzy. There were a ton of Rancid fans on the floor. While I appreciate them and their music, I didn’t like that the Damned went first and felt they should have been direct support to the Misfits with a longer set. Not sure of who was in charge of that decision, but I found it disrespectful.

The Misfits came out and everything exploded. Epic as ever. The sound was perfect. Everyone was firing on all cylinders. Glenn’s voice was top notch. There was minimal power sliding from Jerry, much to my dismay. But the energy between Jerry and Glenn felt positive. Doyle shined in the spotlight with his Some Kind of Hate guitar solo. Every time Jerry would break a bass (which he sometimes would punch in half) Glenn would playfully joke about how angry Jerry is with his heaps and tons of basses. It warmed my black heart.

The highlight of the evening came towards the end. I was on the floor, in and out of the mosh/circle pit (depending on the song) for most of the show. It was as violent as Chicago Riotfest was and I did get rocked in mush by a lummox at the beginning, but I felt nothing as I was possessed by the music and the energy all around me. Along with me and the rest in the circle pit was this girl in a wheelchair. She was fierce and fearless. Determined to have a good time, wheelchair or not. She spent pretty much the entirety of the show doing laps. Various crowd fiends would run interference so that she had a minimum of a few feet to steer/negotiate the floor. No one pushed her. She wheeled herself. I was in awe of her, and her strength and did my part too, when we crossed paths from time to time. She was as much of a rockstar as the monsters performing their dark magic before us.

There was not too much crowd surfing during the show, until this girl in her wheelchair sparked a revolution. There she was, floating about a sea of people. Supported by what I would only describe as heroes and nothing less. She was like Iggy, covered in peanut butter on the night that he famously walked across the crowd hand on foot with the Stooges in Cincinnati, Ohio in 1970. Supposedly, it was Stiv Bators who handed Iggy the peanut butter.

Photo by Tom Copi

As she floats angelically towards the stage, wheelchair and all, Jerry and Glenn take notice. The crowd is going NUTS. Everything in Madison Square Garden has momentarily stopped for this girl floating above the crowd in her wheelchair.

There is no act or gesture that could better suit what Jerry did in that moment. He took off his non broken, full operational, custom made Devastator bass guitar with a glowing red cyclops skull and hands it to the girl in the wheelchair. Apparently, she too is a bass player!!

It was Dave Grohl’s wet dream and he would be jealous.

In some weird way, we all vicariously received that bass, or a piece of it when Jerry handed it over. The moment was a souvenir for everyone to take home and talk about. I think it will be legendary in the years to come.

No matter how he conducts business, Jerry Only is truly one of the nicest, most generous musicians ever. This is just one of many examples. No one can deny how awesome he is to his fans. In this regard, we Jews would call him a mensch. It was a great way to finish the show.

According to the setlist/photos floating around on Facebook, they played all but 3 songs with a 15 minute(?) late start. 

Supposedly this is the “last” show, although no one said anything of the sort on stage, and we’ve heard it all before. I am sure, if the offer is right, that won’t be the case. There is just too much money to be made. Could ya blame ‘em? They deserve it. All of it.

Secretly, and greedily, I kind of wish it was the last one. It was the perfect show for them. The perfect way to victoriously go out on top: Selling out MSG with the Damned opening. Despite Doyle’s dream of playing Giant’s Stadium, It can’t get bigger or better. This is it!! Let this be the final period in the book of the Misfits:

And then, in October of 2019 they sold out MSG with The Damned opening - where they played in top form. The End.

10/21/19 EDIT: Whoops, I spoke to soon. Philly 12/14/19.

💀

238 Likes, 54 Comments - Live Nation Philadelphia (@livenationphila) on Instagram: "💀"

Charliefits and the House of Wolfman

Charliefits and I first met (along with Bobzig) backstage at a Danzig show at Chicago’s beloved Congress Theater (RIP) in 2008. We clicked immediately over our love for “Uncle” Glenn’s music as well as a variety of other shared interests. In the years since, I have watched from afar as Charlie has taken something he excelled at and apply it to all of his various interests in music and film to create gorgeous DIY collectible figurines. So skilled was Charlie in his work that what started as a fun hobby has turned into a full scale business operation with many, many satisfied customers along the way.

#misfits #danzig #samhain #glenndanzig #jerryonly #doyle #doylewolfgangvonfrankenstein #fiendclub #fiends #weare138 #walkamongus #crimsonghost #riotfest #riotfestchicago

14 Likes, 1 Comments - Jeff Frumess (@screaminjfrumess) on Instagram: "#misfits #danzig #samhain #glenndanzig #jerryonly #doyle #doylewolfgangvonfrankenstein #fiendclub..."

Just in time for Werewolf Wednesday. #lonchaneyjr #wolfman #mummy #kharis #lawrencetalbot #themummysghost #universalmonsters

41 Likes, 0 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Just in time for Werewolf Wednesday. #lonchaneyjr #wolfman #mummy #kharis #lawrencetalbot..."

Watching this from the sidelines has made my heart gush open, proud as hell for my friend. I am so happy for his success and only hope that it continues to grow bigger and bigger. I think I gravitate to this story in particular because it is a phenomenal example of how investment of time, energy, and love in one’s passions yield success as a byproduct and not the desired end result.

WIP. Tis the season for much more Frank. #frankenstein #boriskarloff #glennstrange #maryshelley #jameswhale #abbottandcostellomeetfrankenstein

91 Likes, 3 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "WIP. Tis the season for much more Frank. #frankenstein #boriskarloff #glennstrange #maryshelley..."

Yesterday was Jason's birthday and I forgot! 😱 #jasonvoorhees #fridaythe13th

135 Likes, 2 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Yesterday was Jason's birthday and I forgot! 😱 #jasonvoorhees #fridaythe13th"

Thinking of October. #halloween #michaelmyers #halloween3 #seasonofthewitch #samhain #ghostbusters #trickrtreat #jasonvoorhees #fridaythe13th #80shorror #johncarpenter

557 Likes, 20 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Thinking of October. #halloween #michaelmyers #halloween3 #seasonofthewitch #samhain #ghostbusters..."

Who loves the 80s? #creepshow #gremlins #returnofthelivingdead #monstersquad #fridaythe13th #mypetmonster #killerklownsfromouterspace #80s #80shorror

882 Likes, 24 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Who loves the 80s? #creepshow #gremlins #returnofthelivingdead #monstersquad #fridaythe13th..."

If YOU reader are into REALLY COOL collectible figurines of your favorite pop culture horror/scifi icons, then go check out Charlie’s ESTY HERE - https://www.etsy.com/shop/HouseofWolfman

Follow him here at @Wolfman138 on Instagram

#SUPPORTINDIEART

#SUPPORTINDIEHORROR

In the words of our beloved band, I only say to you - Charliefits, “GO! GO! GO!….. WHOAAAAAAA!!!!!”

Just felt like pointing out that Danzig wore a Basket Case shirt during Samhain era. I actually made a replica of that shirt and have one somewhere around here. And my cards for Belial packaging arrived this past weekend! #samhain #basketcase #glenndanzig #belial #danzig #misfits #misfitsmonday

359 Likes, 10 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Just felt like pointing out that Danzig wore a Basket Case shirt during Samhain era. I actually..."

Etsy shop is active once again. I added a bunch of new wall plaques and so far, there's just one of each to test the waters. Also listed the new Necronomicon magnet and the very last 2 Monster Squad sets, and I do mean LAST since those molds are toast. #frankenstein #dracula #brideoffrankenstein #wolfman #phantomoftheopera #creaturefromtheblacklagoon #monstersquad #boriskarloff #lonchaney #lonchaneyjr #elsalanchester #evildead #evildead2 #necronomicon #brucecampbell

175 Likes, 6 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Etsy shop is active once again. I added a bunch of new wall plaques and so far, there's just one of..."

I'm the wooden mallet, the sharpened stake. I'm the precautions you forgot to take. #tsol #silentscream #nosfetatu #dracula

189 Likes, 5 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "I'm the wooden mallet, the sharpened stake. I'm the precautions you forgot to take. #tsol..."

Tarantino’s 9th FEETure: Once Upon a Time in Hollywood Review

Tarantino’s 9th FEETure:

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

It makes sense that QT is planning to retire after a 10th film (although it won’t last in the long run). He has been slowly evolving over the last 15 years to a point where he is beyond making films and now he is simply working in the wrong format. The change really started with Kill Bill (a flawless masterpiece on every level) and seems to have reached a breaking point with Once Upon a Time...In Hollywood.

Each new “film” he makes feels more like a tapestry of wonderful scenes with phenomenal dialogue that suffer from overindulgence. This due in part to the possibility that QT is surrounded by too many “Yes Men” who are not going to help him shape and sculpt his work into something that cohesively feels like a singular cinematic movie instead of the sprawling collage of tangled (yet entertaining) structureless narrative.

Initially, OUTIH started out as a novel and it really shows as it feels like a completely different beast from everything else he has done. The dialogue is vastly different, not for the worse - but more of a departure from the signature stylized voice that he is synonymous with. I also found the minimal plot to be far too bare for Tarantino’s usual self-indulgence. Brad and Leo’s “arcs” feel much more like POV chapters in a book. And without a more structured plot to drive us forward, I felt the running time much more than I normally do when seeing a QT film, even The Hateful Eight. Of all his films, Kill Bill truly encapsulates the perfect ratio of plot/running time in a QT movie (after the beginning of this evolution to long form TV). Not sure if that makes any sense… It does in my head.

Also, that is not to say that the subject matter, individual scenes, characters, setting/production design, scenes (on an individual level) were not enjoyable - but it was not as smooth and easy to digest as the others. I think it will probably take a second or third viewing to further cement these feelings.

Tarantino has said this is his most personal film. My friend “Tony” floated me the idea that Rick Dalton is simply an extension of Tarantino and his anxieties of trying to stay relevant as he obsesses over what his legacy will be. Perhaps this all plays into his planned retirement after one more film?

Partners

Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt as the almost-washed-up-drunk Rick Dalton and his lethal stunt double sidekick Cliff Booth have wonderful chemistry together. Their partnership and underlying characterization plugs right into QT’s obsession with cowboys, cops, and the like from the 50s, 60s, and 70s. And much like Kato from The Green Hornet, it’s the sidekick (and his wonderful dog) who mostly ends up doing the heavy lifting.

Sharon Tate

I personally detest most true crime stuff and was very nervous about what he would do with the tragedy of Sharon Tate. Whatever happened would definitely affect the way I would feel about the overall film. It didn’t help that there was a bunch of controversy surrounding how much screen time Margot Robbie had - which began to fuel my suspicion of the worst: Sharon Tate would be nothing more than an exploited sacrificial “prop” meant to be gutted in the background while QT’s characters (probably Leo and Brad) would be bumbling around in their own storyline, right under history’s nose. 

To my great relief, the resulting film couldn’t be farther from that truth and I thought it was a touching gesture considering all of the disgusting reenactments/retellings of this poor (pregnant) woman’s final terrifying moments. Instead, we are given a (pseudo-clumsy) sleight-of-hand magic trick where we think we know where it is going despite knowledge gleaned from the past.

I didn’t specifically read anything into her lack of dialogue. While she doesn’t speak much, she exudes a graceful presence. Margot channeled a living candlelight vigil to the real Sharon Tate and all of her hopes and dreams, the pride she showed in her work, and most importantly allows us to imagine what could have been for her (more on that below). 

The sad reality is that many of us, (myself included) casually know Sharon Tate as the pregnant actress who was brutally slaughtered by Charles Manson’s followers or simply as Roman Polanski’s actress wife and nothing more. QT changes that with OUTIH by showing us (the real) Sharon Tate acting opposite Dean Martin in The Wrecking Crew. It was a touching, respectful tribute and a true testament to his intentions of having Sharon Tate in the film. Furthermore, we only see Charles Manson in a brief moment in what could have been (and usually is) all about the twisted life/mind/events of Manson and his “family.”

Bruce Lee

While QT goes to thoughtful lengths to delicately handle Sharon Tate’s subject matter, Bruce Lee (in one of the best scenes in the movie) is kind of treated with clumsy abandon and disrespect. Here, we see one of martial art’s greatest icons reduced to some what of an aggressive, cocky, cartoonish fool in Cliff Booth’s fantasy to help himself feel better about not being selected to work on set with Rick Dalton. Within it’s full context, I don’t think Mike Moh is actually meant to be playing Bruce Lee. Instead, he is playing Bruce Lee as how Cliff Booth imagines Bruce Lee to be. The idea and the scene are brilliant and add to Cliff’s characterization…

Oops

And as I think back to the scene itself, and the recalls to Cliff killing his wife, I am now realizing that perhaps I am wrong and it wasn’t a projection of what would happen but rather a flashback to what had happened before. If that is the case, then it is I who is misunderstanding the scene. Uhhhhh...

Feet

QT LOVES feet. I mean, he really, really, really, loves them. There are marvelous stories about how much he loves women’s feet. OUTIH goes out of the way on a few occasions to remind us of that in a big way. It makes me wonder a whole bunch about the casting process on a QT film. I would not be surprised if they were shoeless auditions.

---

Slapstick Violence

Tarantino has gotten to a place where he loves to communicate brutality through comedic means. Continuing a trend that also sort of started with Kill Bill, OUTIH crescendos with goofy, over-the-top slapstick violence. So much so that it leads me to believe that Quentin Tarantino would be the perfect candidate to make an Evil Dead (or 3 Stooges) film. If Sam Raimi, Robert Tapert, and Bruce Campbell reigned in Tarantino on a short enough leash, we would wind up with a great fourth entry.

I am not sure if it is QT’s intention, but he always seems to justify his punishment-through-violent-wrath with the lowest common denominator of common sense morality of good and evil. Which is not to say that it is invalid or weak, but merely common sense. There is no Walter White nuance here.

• Nazis are evil, killing them is good.

• Slave owners & KKK are evil, killing them is good.

• Murdering, robbing, gang members are evil, beating them and killing them is good. 

• Manson Family members are evil, killing them is good. 

I found this antagonistic device satisfying as I watched the hilarious depictions of Chekov’s dog and flamethrower destroy two evil women and one evil man. Is it exploitation? Misogyny? I am not sure, probably on some Freudian level.

Playing with history

Watching the conclusion of OUTIH feels like therapy in a certain sense, by confronting the demons of a real life traumatic event in our pop culture’s history. 

I cannot speak to this experience (and wish to remain sensitive), but I have heard survivors of rape discuss how they have worked through/confronted/dealt with personal trauma by watching movies like Last House on the Left and I Spit on your Grave. If QT is a purveyor of pop culture mash up or as I read recently on Facebook, “A Cultural DJ” of sorts, is this his way of dealing with this tragic, traumatic, public historical event as a whole? It might be a bit tasteless/inappropriate to try and compare the two in this analogy, but perhaps the ideas behind both are similar in nature. I’ll leave it at that.

Bottom line, seeing Sharon live and the Mason Family killed in this alternate history left me with a cathartic feeling as the credits rolled. Yes, she died IRL, but this one time, she didn’t and it was beautiful.

Insider Baseball

Regarding the “Cultural DJ” observation gleaned on Facebook, there are oodles of noodles of tasty cinematic easter eggs/nods like all other Taratino affairs. But QT takes the insider baseball to a (somewhat agonizing) whole new level with OUTIH. The level of care and detail is astounding. I’ve heard various people online essentially exclaim that this is Tarantino letting his geek flag fly loud and proud. But isn’t every Tarantino affair a similar flag waving? Is it too distracting? I think cinemaniacs (like myself) are so blindly frothing at the mouth over stuff like the fictional filmography/history of obscure spaghetti westerns that they are overlooking a lot of problems with the movie as a whole. 

On an individual level, the detailed TV production/Hollywood business scenes featuring Rick Dalton are wonderful to watch, but don’t work as well when Cliff Booth’s storyline is far more interesting. Every time we cut back to a long Rick Dalton scene, I found myself pulled out of the movie, wondering where this was all going. 

The Big Screen has gotten too Small.

Tarantino ultimately needs to go from the big screen to the small in order for him to continue telling larger and larger stories. With a few heavy hitter producers keeping him in his lane and a solid TV network that will give him the keys to the kingdom, he’ll be able to make some of the best long form episodic, serialized television we have ever seen.

Nana watches Game of Thrones Chapter 3

Nana watches Game of Thrones

Chapter 3

Now that our collective watch has ended, my 90 1/2 year old Nana has decided it is time to see what Game of Thrones is all about. Here she talks about episodes 5 and 6 of season 1.

Nana watches Game of Thrones Chapter 2

Nana watches Game of Thrones

Chapter 2

Now that our collective watch has ended, my 90 1/2 year old Nana has decided it is time to see what Game of Thrones is all about. Here she talks about episodes 5 and 6 of season 1.

Nana watches Game of Thrones Chapter 1

Nana watches Game of Thrones

Chapter 1

Now that our collective watch has ended, my 90 1/2 year old Nana has decided it is time to see what Game of Thrones is all about. Here she talks about the first 4 episodes of season 1.

Our Watch has Ended: Game of Thrones

Our Watch has Ended:

Game (of Thrones) Over

Warning! Major Spoilers.

There is a lot to say isn’t there? I am not sure if I have the bandwidth to even attempt the sort of appraisal that it all really deserves. After the (now) series highlight of Season 6 E 9 & 10, we started to see (much to our collective disbelief) a steady yet gradual decline in story. This decline ranges from mild annoyance due to personal preference, all the way to sheer internet hive mind bafflement.

Instead of pouring over the many negatives, I would rather focus on the good things and the character pathos that left me overall satisfied with both the series as a whole and its conclusion.

13 vs. 20

Before I dive in, I think the single biggest piece of criticism to note is the extreme condensation of seasons 7 and 8, particularly 8. A friend on Facebook made this egregious error slightly more digestible by suggesting that I think of seasons 7+8 as one 13 episode final season. It is not a bad way to look at things, but it doesn’t help when considering that these 13 episodes are packing in 20 episodes worth of story?

67 vs. 6

Another friend on Facebook noted this: Those final 6 episodes abruptly derail/subvert the overarching story being told in the previous 67 episodes. It happens in a way that almost makes watching HUGE chunks of that 67 hour story completely unnecessary. It is hard to ignore the blatant truth of 13 vs. 20 and 67 vs. 6.

Lannister aftermath.

One of my biggest gripes (despite the scene/symbolism itself being good) was the choice of ending for Jaime and Cersei. Seeing their corpses gave that symbolism far more impact and for the sake of positive closure with the series, I’ll take it.

Tyrion uses Jon to kill Dany.

This five minute scene really makes the whole episode. It solidifies the choices and arc that the show runners were aiming for. It feels like there was a lot of G.R.R.M in this thinking/plotting and it was enough (for me) to process the quickness of Dany’s swing and what ultimately comes of it in the next scene. I also really appreciated Tyrion finally admitting his love for Dany, as well as their discussion on love being the duty of death and duty being the death of love. It applied to both of them in their actions. It was profound, and spoke to great truth - both within the show and in real life.

Jon still is the Prince who was promised. Duty is the death of love.

Building on the previous scene, Jon ultimately does what the Lord of Light brought him back for: He vanquishes the death that had come to Westros and saved the realm from more by plunging a dagger into the one he loved. It’s not perfect, but it works in the same way the Jaimie Lannister/Tyrion ultimately complete the Valonqar prophecy. Not on the money, but close enough. I am satisfied.

Death came from the other side of things.

Despite the 67 vs. 6 idea criticism, there is some noteworthy sleight of hand here, even if it wasn’t intended. Death was indeed coming for the realm, but it wasn’t just from the White Walkers! It was also from the “Fire & Blood” side of things: “A Song of Ice and Fire.” She was planning similar campaigns across Westros, from Dorne to Winterfell. Dany also completed her father’s last wishes, truly making her the “Mad Queen.” All of it a prophecy untold, that no one could see until it was too late -  except for one… More on that in second.

Dany does smash the wheel.

Nothing happens the way we expect it, especially in Game of Thrones. Even though Dany kills just as many (if not more) as the all the other big bads, she still does smash the wheel in causing her own death. The best antagonists don’t think what they are doing is evil or they can at least justify it in some way. She destroys King’s Landing and what it represents, which in turn leads Tyrion to persuade Jon Snow to kill her. Drogon then melts down the Iron Throne, ending the 300 year legacy created by her family’s house. I’d like to think that Drogon knew what he was doing and understood that nothing good comes from the Iron Throne and that it is for the best to burn the thing that lead to his mother downfall and death.

Did Dany really die?

Ok, she probably died, but put on your tinfoil hat for a second. Does Drogon spare Jon Snow because Dany is BARELY alive?! Targaryens have been killed by dragons in the past. Why didn’t Drogon roast Jon? I like the way things ended for Jon, but I would have been equally satisfied if Drogon’s flames also roasted Jon with the throne. A satisfying death/end for the “hero” of the story. But maybe Drogon resists because Dany is not dead, and he will carry her off back to Essos and away from all this mad conquest. It is fun to think about.

A wooden throne, not an iron one.

The best part about the Iron Throne melting down is its replacement with Bran’s wooden one, along with a pseudo “Parliamentary Monarchy.” It would have been silly and far fetched if they switched to true democracy. I loved how they all laughed at the thought, but it really spoke to the truth of the phony democracy of antiquated electoral college in the United States. Iron bloodlines no longer determine the next link in the chain and the throne of power is made of materials that need to be replaced over time.

Bran is lazy evil.

Bran is kind of a bad dude. He seems to keep his mouth shut about A LOT of things that could help/save A LOT of people. In the end he admits that he knew where this was going. Why else would he travel all the way down to King’s Landing? Bran was playing the Game of Thrones all along. He only opened his mouth when it would benefit him. In this way, the 67 vs. 6 idea ends up being an incredibly long con that ends with him being on the “Wooden Throne of the Six Kingdoms.” I hate this, but I also love it.

Arya sails away.

It was so wonderful to see Arya’s story end in this perfect way. It made The Hound’s words mean so much more. Arya realizes that revenge is empty and meaningless and will destroy you in the process. So she rises above it all and chooses to follow life instead of death by journeying into the unknown. She had no place in Westros, and now with no one to kill, it was time to go. Godspeed Arya, wishing you well.

Jaime on the books.

I loved seeing Brianne updating the Kings-guard record, it was the perfect call back from the end of their first journey together. But the moment is made less pure by the gross, unnecessary need to spoil the glorious platonic love they had for each other. Let’s just pretend that never happened, K?

There and back again: A Song of Ice and Fire.

This was very on the nose and even a bit groan worthy, but I like it the Lord-of-the-Rings of it all.

A small council of good.

Bran’s new small council of good felt like an extension of season 8 episode 2 with everyone bonding around the fire. Sans Bronn of the Blackwater, I can’t think of a better small council to leave in the hands of the Realm. Bran being wheeled out as discussions begin makes me think that he will have a hands off approach in his rule, which might be for the best.

Jon ends up in the North.

Jon’s arrest was frustrating after all the good he has done - he did not deserve this. And although I didn’t like that he was on the hook, I loved that he is sentenced to take the black. It just makes sense for the character. It felt like something that would have happened in the early seasons of the show. Jon was never going to sit on the throne, even if he was pushed to do so (even if it was the obvious solution to being with Dany). He didn’t care about his lineage, and he didn’t even want the honor of Sam name his child after him. All of his hopes and dreams died when he killed his Queen. All in all, it is very tragic and sad, especially when Jon is not sure if it was the right thing to do. One thing is for sure, it was the Bran thing to do...

A dream of spring?

How can Jon take the black when there’s no more wall and no more Night’s Watch!? It is all a trick, instead he meets up with Tormund and the free-folk to go north of the wall and live in peace.  As they walk into the trees (that look similar to where the series began), we can see a lone green plant sprouted out of the snow. With the White Walkers gone, perhaps the permanent winter is at an end and the North will go back to what it was when the Children of the Forest lived there.

It is the perfect end for Jon Snow and the Targaryen bloodline.

Follow up in 10 years?

It is a miracle that Deadwood is getting a film 10 years after it unceremoniously ended. Is it out of the possibility to consider that we will get some sort of follow up mini series or film in a decade or so? With the endless TV show revival renaissance and GOT being one of the most popular TV series of all time, I would bet my last gold dragon on it.

The Pixies: On Graveyard Hill

The Pixies

…“On Graveyard Hill.”

The Pixies have been trying out their newest songs live as they make their rounds touring - in anticipation of their forthcoming studio album in September, 2019. It is called “Beneath the Eyrie” and available for preorder HERE.

Songs played live include: Death Horizon, Saint Nazaire, Catfish Kate, Bird of Prey, This is my Fate, and The Arms of Mrs. Mark of Cain.

All in all, the new material is fantastic, but there is one song in particular that really feels like it could have been written sometime between 1987 - 1988. It’s called “ On Graveyard Hill.”

There is something inherently magical about music and lyrics of Pixies songs. They invoke surreal, visual imagery. “On Graveyard Hill” is a profound addition to their catalogue.

Thanks to Lukretiah 101 and AKF Live on YouTube, I was able to listen to it over and over - until inspiration struck for a music video using the live footage/audio.

This song felt like it needed juxtaposition with silent cinema like the Swedish documentary film - Haxan: Witchcraft Through the Ages (1922). Additionally, I incorporated some shots from the Fritz Lang’s epic Metropolis (1927).

With other cinematic influences like this or that, I’d like to imagine that the Pixies would approve of my choices and until we get the studio version, this tweaked live mix will do.

Lyrics

From the user “yarbles” - rank “Cult of Ray” at the Frank Black Forum:
”GRAVEYARD HILL (aka The Witching Hour, members of the band's crew have confirmed to a couple people that the song is actually named Graveyard Hill)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9DREvvlM3M

LYRICS (as best as I can make out)

And when the moon grows smaller
Donna picks out a flower
Gives her a witchy power
In the witching hour
In the witching hour

Donna taking a potion
Eating all my devotion
Fucking up my emotion
In the witching hour
Donna picks out a flower
In the witching hour

On the graveyard hill she's calling out her curse
I'm taking my last breath with each chapter and each verse
and soon I will be killed

In a poisonous forest
Donna lighting her torches
Her eyes are flying saucers
Her hair is black and gorgeous
I see her down at the crossroad
She could lead me to madness
She taking me into darkness
In the witching hour
In the witching hour
In the witching hour

On the graveyard hill she's calling out her curse
I'm taking my last breath with each chapter and each verse and soon I will be killed

On the graveyard hill she's calling out her curse
I'm taking my last breath with each chapter and each verse
and soon I will be killed

Yes soon I will be killed

Other Cinematic Influences

Misfits Reunion? Sometimes April Fools jokes can come true.

All the way up to 3 years ago, if you had said on April 1st, 2016 that Glenn Danzig, Jerry Only, and Doyle Wolfgang Von Frankenstein would reunite as The Misfits and play Riot Fest you would clearly be joking. If someone didn’t look at the calendar, their heart would skip a beat as they read the news. Today, not so much because we now live in a world where Green Hell has frozen over.

It is truly a surreal notion. The next time you think something is truly impossible, just remember that Glenn Danzig and Jerry Only shared a stage as The Misfits after 10/29/83. Anything is possible.

Art by Taylor Love

This is Us: Peeling Back the Layers

This is Us:

Peeling Back the Layers

WARNING: This review contains SPOILERS.

Please do not read or read with caution IF you have not seen the film yet.

There is one thing that is truly undeniable when it comes to Jordan Peele and his filmmaking: His originality. It is so refreshing in a time plagued with endless reboots, remakes, sequels, and homogenized tent pole concepts meant for the masses. It is that originality that gives Peele an endless well of credibility for me as moviegoer. I will go see ANY genre film this man makes, all you have to do is tell me it is a Jordan Peele film, and I am there - trailer unseen. His brand is that strong, and it continues to outshine any flaws that I have seen in his work.

Peele also possesses an immense pop culture intelligence that has afforded him the ability to subversively weave his influences as well as meaningful symbolism throughout the narratives of his films. Like Get Out, a lot that has been baked into the Us cake.

Things that stood out as I watched:

Shiny objects. The dead twin Tyler girls in the upstairs hallway lie in the same positions as the Shining twins! Considering that Jordan Peele was doing press dressed as Jack Torrance, this didn’t feel like a coincidence.

Froot Brutes. While the Wilson family sits around at the home of Kitty & Josh Tyler (Tim Heidecker & Elisabeth Moss), Jason can be seen eating from a bowl of Froot Loops sans milk. Is this meant to be a nod to the psychotically tranquil scene where Rose Armitage enjoys her segregated “white” milk from “colored” Foot Loops? Does this add further evidence to the crazy reddit theory about Jason? What kind of psycho eats dry cereal as they drink milk? Scary stuff.

C.H.U.D is MY bud. I LOVED seeing the C.H.U.D tape among the other VHS on the shelf at the beginning. Not only is it a nod to the subterranean on goings mentioned just before in the opening preamble, but it feels like a little wink from Peele to reassure Horror fans and Genre nuts that they are getting something good. Additionally, I really appreciated seeing the random tape with a written on label - nostalgia city.

All those damn Vampires. Much like the C.H.U.D tape, another one of those winks was using Santa Cruz and its pier as the setting for the story. It too ties into the whole subterranean theme with the cave that David and his coven of Lost Boys hang out in. It is such a magical yet ominous place that laid on a nice layer of dread, especially in the opening flashback. There is even a very brief mention of the filming of some scary movie that Adelaide’s mother tells her father.

Tuned in. The comedic use of NWA’s song Fuck the Police is the perfect button of satire on the eerie juxtaposition of the Beach Boy’s Good Vibrations playing as the Tylers are savagely murdered by the doppelgangers.  As I’ve read elsewhere online, it ties into the idea of the police being worthless much like we also saw in Get Out. Peele’s cinematic use of music rivals Quentin Tarantino, Martin Scorsese, and Danny Boyle.

Chiller. The Thriller shirt is another tasty visual treat that really make us feel the time period, much like the VHS, and the location of Santa Cruz. Just seeing it made me feel the same feeling I felt watching the Thriller video as a lad and added to that same ominous tone. It felt like it was the template for Peele in the same way that Halloween was the template for the opening of Get Out.

Everything went black. I’ve read online that the golden scissors are clearly a symbolic way of revolt by cutting the “Tether".” In hindsight, this is quite obvious. But at the time while I was watching I could only think of the reversal of the silver spoon - a popular expression for those fortunate to be born into wealth. The golden (or perhaps it is brass) scissor (as well as the red jumpsuits) represent a life of endlessly toiling in a garment or sweatshop.

By Steve Dziedziak, Instagram @blackeneddesign

Nobunny loves you. The Tethered are some sort of failed experiment who (exclusively) eat  rabbits - kindred spirits who have always been test subjects in one way or another. Did the cloning start off with experimenting on rabbits? This might explain the rabbit surplus. As I talk about below, it just feels too surreal to be explained in any sort of rational way.

Psycho Killer. There is a really fun theory that Jason is a deadite, there is also a theory that Michael Myers is one of the Tethered. It makes sense. Wow! Such a great idea. It’s as if we have retroactively found mythologies for these slashers! I’m digging it, and with those red jumpsuits they wear, I once again wonder if it is meant to be a tip of the hat in some way.

Revenge. It was really great to see all the Black Flag t shirts! There were 3 in all that in hindsight are pretty self explanatory, it doesn’t get more subversive than that! First we see the My War  shirt at the beginning, followed by the classic bars, and lastly, Jealous Again. So perfect. I love this sort of thing - a great lesson for any filmmaker looking to add rich, symbolic detail to their film. Before the band, the Black Flag was a symbol of Anarchy. I am surprised that Peele didn’t use the Damaged album cover as well, it would have fit perfectly with the rest.

Parental Advisory. Peele takes the gilded idealism (like “Just Say No”) of  Hands Across America from the 80s and just shreds it in the best way ever by turning this empty benevolent gesture from a bygone era into a malevolent focal point of chaos,  anarchy, and carnage. It is deeply linked to whatever trauma was felt by (the real) Adelaide Wilson and really says something about how random things can imprint people during horrific situations and become a symbolistic focal point for them.

I feel confused, but I am not sure if it is in that good way.

There are a few tiny gripes. I have too many questions about story semantics. They just could not be ignored no matter how much I enjoyed the terrifying performances, masterful filmmaking, dark comedic flourishes, and spine tingling suspense.

Normally I want to revel in the mystery. But with Us, I just needed more answers. I don’t know why. When I got out of the screening, it was a bit frustrating and my initial emotions left me feeling unfulfilled, but I realize that it is probably for my own good. Sometimes when it is all on the table, I begin to nitpick and complain about spoon-fed exposition along with the nagging question of “why everything needs to be explained?”

If I had to guess, it could have been this shift in tone from realism, to what seemed supernatural or surrealism, and then followed by another reversal to realism. When we first meet the doppelgangers, I was sure they had to be supernatural in origin. I was a bit shocked (also a tad let down when they weren’t) and that led to too many questions (not always a bad thing). I hate to say it, but the tonal shift feels (to me) a bit too post Sixth Sense “Shyamalanistic” like The Village: A misunderstood film, that should be better seen as a Twilight Zone episode.

I got questions.

Ok, I wasn’t going to dive in, but once I started I could not stop. I am still grappling with the “They” who created the Tethered. Who are they? The Government? Do “They” end up keeping tabs on everyone they have cloned and then pair them up? i.e. The Tyler’s and the Wilson’s Doppelgangers are married to the same people - or is that taken care of through the mental tethering aspect? What about their children? Are they clones? Or did the Tethered conceive those children? Is it possible that they are sterile and the only way they reproduce is to mirror the combinations made above by cloning the children as well? What about the scissors, red jumpsuits, and rabbits? If “They” who created the Tethered happen to be the Government, then these are weird items to include. They feel very surreal and lynchian - elements that do not reflect the scientific/realism of the cloning. I could not reconcile their union.

As the film lingers in my thoughts, I continue to glean what is being said online and my brain mellows a bit on the questions. I also realize that because of the brilliant twist ending, I will need another viewing in order to give the appraisal it deserves. Like any good film with a Sixth Sense level twist, the entire meaning is forever changed when you finish that first viewing. It will never be the same film again.

A sophomoric success.

Overall, Us is a well-rounded sophomoric (sometimes they can be sophoMORONic) home run with some frayed edges. I am stoked for his critical and box official success. We need A THOUSAND more directors like him. Peele must have felt the pressure as he crafted his second film. How do you follow up a movie like Get Out? It can’t be easy. Especially when the hype machine is constantly shouting hyperbole that “we” as an audience hope is true. Is Us a masterpiece out of the gate like Get Out? I don’t think so (although time will tell). Peele is forging a respectable body of work. He is on a path to solidifying a cinematic legacy like Hitchcock and Spielberg, however, if he is not careful he could go full Shyamalan. And as we’ve already learned, you never go full Shyamalan. Can’t wait to see what you do next Mr. Peele!!!

Post Note: I DO NOT hate M. Night Shyamalan or his films.

I think he is immensely talented and has the capacity to tell great stories (when he does). Left unchecked, we get things like The Happening and... so on.

Loads of Posers - Chasing the Chaotic Image

Long before there were Hipsters,

there existed Norwegian Black Metal.

Originally published at Ghastly Grinning, February 24, 2019

Lords of Chaos opens with some text that perfectly sums up what you are about to watch. “This film is based on Truth… Lies… and what really happened.”  Reading that really allowed me to divorce myself from trying to unravel truth and just enjoy the story.  I had a big problem with this in Bohemian Rhapsody. You can’t deviate from the truth with such an iconic, popular figure. I found it to work much easier with a film about an obscure subculture that no one really knows much about.

Lords introduces us to Øystein Aarseth aka Euronymous - the guitarist and mastermind behind one of the first Norwegian Black Metal bands, Mayhem. Euronymous omnipotently tells us the story of his struggles with his extreme music subculture, his troublesome friendships, and ultimately his own death. I haven’t read the book that Lords is based on (yet), but I was familiar with the story because of the Until the Light Takes Us documentary that it came out years before.

Writer/Director Jonas Åkerlund takes true crime material (that he knew at an intimate level, being the drummer of Bathory) and with painstaking detail, crafts it into an excellent heavy metal black comedy/horror thriller. Particularly, the comedic elements that permeate the whole film from beginning to end are brilliant, making for scathing, effective satire. He masterfully distills a tone that can instantaneously jump from being deadly serious to being deadly ridiculous. To invoke Mick Garris’ elegant terminology (by way of Elric Kane on Shockwaves Podcast), the comedy is SO black, that it ends up being as red as all the blood spilled in this film.

Just like the human body needs electrolytes for hydration, so does Lords need this comedy to balance the incredibly grim and graphic violence running through its veins. This is not cartoonish slasher decadence. It is the dark, matter-of-fact reality that occurs when you stab someone with a knife or blow your own head off. The film doesn’t sugarcoat the situation, the camera doesn’t cut away, and it is BRUTAL. BRU-TAL. It is the authenticity of this violence along with a lack of score that pays a sort of respect to these very serious things that really happened to actual people. Despite its content, nothing feels overly sensationalized or exploited. But that is not the case with most True Crime, more on that later.

The story itself is framed by this juxtaposition of wholesome Norway and the true Norwegian Black Metal scene within. It is the very vital foundation needed for this sort of satirical commentary. Several times throughout the screening, I am reminded of the Goth kids from South Park who mirror the perfect symbolic reflection of the goofy tongue-in-cheek celebration of all things dark and evil.

Subcultures tend to be the revolutionary counter-culture reactions to some sort of socio-political turmoil. But with the Norwegian Black Metal scene, you have this really nice place where nothing bad ever happens. There is no crime, no oppression, everyone has healthcare, but 75% of the population is Christian. And so the disenfranchised youth ends up taking on this extreme reverse ideology as a form of rebellion and expression of individuality. They despise the message of love that Christianity encompasses as a whole. At one point, Euronymous proselytizes his desire to spread things like hatred, sorrow, and evil.

Within this music scene, there is an obsession over purity and authenticity. Universally, in the prison system, one of the worst things you can be is a snitch or a rapist. For any musical subculture, it is being a poser. It is a word that gets thrown around constantly in Lords. For these guys, the music and lifestyle are a “religious” means towards a path of the authentic nirvana that they so deeply crave. As actor Rory Culkin said, ‘They are the hipsters of the metal world.”

Encompassing this cultivated dark image requires full commitment. But it is not so easy when Mom and Dad subsidize your life style by investing in your epic Black Metal record shop, or give you potted plants to take back to your pad. There is a brief moment when Bård Guldvik "Faust" Eithun (who lives at home) is halfway out the door to murder a gay man before mom innocently calls out to him about his whereabouts. You have to try really hard to be evil, no matter how much Mom loves you.

The seemingly never ending elitist quest to be the most extreme also comes at the price of everyone trying to outdo one another or impress each other. Swirling in the epicenter is the adversarial friendship between Euronymous and Kristian aka Varg Vikernes. They both want the same thing: To be taken seriously. But they go about it in polarizing ways.

Varg initially craves acceptance from this peer group. His initial awkward attempt to enter their black circle is rebuked by the Scorpions patch on his jacket when Euronymous dismisses him with a contemptible glance. Eventually he is given a Indiana Jones like test in Euronymous’ shop where he is told that the real Metal is hidden and if he wants it, he must find it. His childlike naïveté leads him to think these guys are the real deal, and so he too must prove himself by committing arson.

Rory Culkin is truly a chameleon, losing himself in the role of Aarseth/Euronymous. Jonas deliciously casts Emory Cohen, a Jewish actor to play the very anti-Semitic Varg. Much like the people that portray them, Euronymous and Varg are both are actors desperately trying to fit into their Black Metal personas. While Euronymous can turn it on and off (especially when things get illegal), Varg cannot. Underneath it all, Euronymous is a lazy, opportunistic braggart who is more than happy to take credit for these crimes in order to further bolster his carefully crafted image. Despite his superficial foul mood, he is patient and polite when it comes to the proper spelling of his forthcoming album De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas to Kerrang magazine.

Varg seems bedeviled by a soft upbringing that is heavily implied, he is mocked for his “Kristian” name. One can’t help but think that this was a personal barb against the real life Varg who is an observer of Odinism/Paganism that despises anything Judeo-Christian. Varg’s arsonist motivations are fueled by his resentments towards the institutions of Christianity and how they erased the Pagan/Norse cultures that existed long before. His involvement in this movement is his twisted way of trying to connect with his Viking heritage. In hindsight, their entire scene feels like a backwards attempt to connect with this past as these modern day Vikings. Their strength, masculinity, and machismo are directly connected to their tolerance of generally unlistenable music.

In the documentary Until the Light Takes Us, the real Varg goes into great detail to justify his “moralistic” retaliation (a firefighter perished as he tried to put out one of the church fires). His calm demeanor, well-read intellect, and soothing voice make him very compelling at times. But then you remember he is a piece of shit Neo-Nazi sitting in prison for stabbing his friend to death…

The film portrays Varg in a vastly different sort of way. He is a stocky, nerdy, socially awkward man child. It is Varg’s stupidity and adolescent naïveté that make him dangerous, fuel his crimes, and get him caught.

Euronymous’ tragedy is that he is always running from his truth: That he is a poser like all the rest. When the crimes of the Black Circle reach a point of no return, he relents, ready to sort of walk away from it all. After finding intimacy with the photographer he is always trying to impress, he begins to take the steps he needs to embrace who he truly is and does the most UNMETAL thing one could do... He lets his girlfriend cut off his hair. I would love to make an analogy to Samson and Delilah here, but I don’t think it fits because Aarseth never had the strength that he perceives in his Euronymous persona. It was always just a fragile, decorative shell that was capable of cracking at any moment. And now, here he is like a soft gooey lobster waiting for a new shell to harden when Varg comes knocking. Although no one will ever know exactly how it went down, Jonas shows us a very sad, ironic, tragic, brutal ending for our narrator as he begs for his life and for Varg’s friendship.

For me personally, I have never enjoyed the True Crime genre and generally find it tasteless - I say this as a horror film fanatic and gore hound. I think on an ethical, respectful level, 9/10 times it is better left to documentaries. Why do we need to see a reenactment of the horrible things that happened to real people? What about their very real families and their feelings? What purpose does it ultimately serve? Why is Lords of Chaos an exception? Because it creates a very important social awareness in the examination of depression, suicide, and the real violence involved when murdering another human being.

We hear all the time about how people commit suicide, sometimes seemingly out of nowhere, especially with celebrities. Depression is this terrible, deadly affliction that the average person simply doesn’t understand. But the tragic portrayal of Per Yngve Ohlin’s (AKA Dead) suicide takes us behind the curtain. It sums up for us that sometimes there is no rhyme or reason why people do this to themselves. Their brains are not wired correctly and they put themselves in very permanent solutions for (what might be) a temporary state of mind.

Dead’s worship of death while alive, seemed to be the only way he was able to really to feel anything at all. For when he is not worshiping at the altar of death he is practically catatonic in a purgatory of boredom and dullness. This existence is so painful for him that he rather not be alive.

Even being aware of the infamous story beforehand, nothing could prepare me for the shock I felt as I watched Dead violently end his life. There was something so real and genuine to the horror of it, no documentary could convey it in the same way. When Aarseth finds his friend, he is confronted with the actual reality of the brutality he pretends to encompass as Euronymous and has no idea what to do. How should Euronymous act? Aarseth decides that his alter ego would take pictures of the corpse, eat Dead’s brains (he didn’t), and make pendants passed off as actual fragments of Dead’s skull (he admits later that they were chicken bones). In his pathetic quest for fame, he goes for the lowest hanging fruit.

In some ways, Lords makes for a great spiritual companion to the punk rock indie classic SLC punk. Both stories circle around two friends in religious/wholesome places, where the main character (who is also the voice over narrator) finds out that he was a poser all along and falls in love.  While the real life Black Metal nerds and Varg groupies will lambast and skewer this film, I think Lords of Chaos is destined for immortal cult film status. It is a perfect document for its obscure subculture.

Rock Me Joe: An Awkward Pixies Moment

The Pixies truly are one of the GREATEST examples of how to tastefully reunite as a band while trying not to sell out. They play the hits. They make new music. They tour frequently.

In my book, they “cashed in” with the upmost integrity. I never get tired of seeing them live. There is no better feeling at a live show than a setlist where you are gonna know almost every song on a deep, intimate level.

To coincided with the 30th anniversary of their legendary EP and LP Come on Pilgrim and Surfer Rosa, The Pixies released, Come on Pilgrim… It’s Surfer Rosa.

It’s a “Three LP edition with new artwork reimagined by original designer Vaughan Oliver and the bonus disc, Live From The Fallout Shelter - one of the earliest recordings of the band, a radio concert that first aired in late 1986 on WJUL-FM in Lowell, MA.”

The next step in the usual tired, cliche reunited band cycle is to tour on one of their iconic albums on its anniversary, and play the whole thing in it’s entirety. The Pixies are no strangers to this ritual, but unlike other bands, they do it with class and consideration.

When they play Come on Pilgrim and Surfer Rosa in their entirety, they replicate the dialogue on Surfer and make sure to play a stellar mini set of B-Sides that no fan in one thousand years would ever think they would get the chance to hear live like: Build High, Dance the Manta Ray, Rock a My Soul, and the Purple Tape version of Down to the Well.

That is what I call considerate!

My moment as an awkward Pixies cringe lord.

11/20/18

Rich and I walk up the sidewalk to Brooklyn Steel when I see him. Off to the side, is a bald gentleman in a cabbie hat smoking a cigarette in the cold. He faces the brick wall of the venue. He clearly doesn’t want to be noticed.

645 Likes, 14 Comments - Joey Santiago (@joeyalbertosantiago) on Instagram: "Lollapalooza Paris."

I grab Rich’s arm and SQUEEZE as to prevent any verbal expression that would draw attention to who I know it is… One of my ALL TIME guitar heroes . <GASP>

Joey Alberto Santiago. A man whose music I have worshiped for the last 14 years, since that first time I played Doolittle in the tape deck of my ‘94 Toyota Camry, stands before me. He is a magician that can make his guitar speak in a shrieking, tortured, wailing, emotional musical language that compliments the obtuse, subversive, abstract lyrical poetry, and the raw, focused, primal screaming of Black Francis.

Rich understands the squeeze and takes a hard turn with me. In the 7 times I’ve seen the band since 2005, I have never been fortunate enough to see a Pixie outside of the green room/tour bus/back stage in the wild.

Executive decisions have to be made in a matter of precious seconds. It is my ONE CHANCE to talk to a hero of mine. I would regret it forever if I didn’t try. I go for it.

He turns and sees this DERP(me) standing before him. I assess the situation.

The weather report is not good.

(My appraisal of) his face says, “Dude- I’m so just trying to smoke a quick cigarette right now without anyone noticing me so that I can go back inside where it is warm. I gotta play in 30 minutes. Please don’t bother me.”

I really don’t blame him at all. Like any good smoker who can’t smoke inside, it is never too cold to go out and have a cigarette.

A valuable lesson that I’ve learned when meeting people of note: It is important to realize that your special one moment in time with them is just one of a million of their seconds. Who knows how they are feeling in that day, hour, minute, etc? Don’t take it personally.

At this point, I kinda wish I could abort the mission, but it is too late to retreat.

My legs carry me towards him as my brain sends signals to my mouth piece to speak. My mouth opens and nothing comes out. I have NOTHING to say. I ask my closest companion, my Brain to send me stuff to say. As die hard fan, there is million things to say, and Brain doesn’t send me any of them. Maybe that is a good thing?

He waits for me to talk. Brain scrambles to put a sentence together. He sends me the wrong sentence, “Thank you so much for a great show.” Stupid Brain!

My tongue, the unsung hero, catches it before it can leave my mouth. Cunning Tongue!

Instead, I say, “Looking forward to a great show tonight.” Or some variation of that… Joey nods. I think he says, “Thanks.” I can’t really tell because I know I have already fucked this up.

I walk away. Joey smokes on, not being noticed.

I die, as I try to deconstruct this exchange that probably lasted all of 30 seconds?

During the show, in between moments of musical ecstasy, I think about what I could of (or should of) said. As I write this, I think I should have walked up right behind him while he was making out with the brick wall and whispered, “Rock me Joe,” and just continue on nonchalantly. I don’t really know. It would have made for a much better story than this one. What would you have said?

I still feel like a derp thinking about this. I will remember it forever.

Sorry I bothered you Joey, thank you so much for a great show.

A playlist featuring Pixies

Requiem of a Fiend: The Misfits Reunion at Riot Fest in Chicago

Photo By Nile Cappello

(Originally published by That’s Not Current on 9/20/16)

September 18th, 2016. Douglas Park, Chicago.

It is the third and final day.

Everything up until this point is nothing more than an appetizer, a bonus for the reason I am even at Riot Fest in the first place. It is hot, and everyone is wearing black. Not me though, I’d rather be comfortable.

I have never seen so many Misfits shirts and tattoos in my life.

Sitting in the grass by the guest press entrance, I suffer through my first exposure to the Deftones. Sorry to say it is not my cup of tea, but their large draw at the Riot stage would probably disagree. How many of them are here to see The Misfits? Probably all.

The sun sets as I hydrate and eat. Energy is needed, and I try to rest my feet because I know what is coming. My voice is raw and hoarse already, I may be getting sick, so I speak sparingly. It worries me that I may not be able to sing along.

A vow is made: No matter how great the temptation is, I will not take any pictures or videos with my phone. The show must only be seen through my eyeballs. I will let everyone else take pictures and video for me.

A text comes through from my man on the inside.  I migrate towards the center LCD jumbotron screen between the two stages in hopes of getting backstage but I cannot make contact… with my contact. The Deftones crowd is too dense, there is no longer any wiggle room to negotiate. Reluctantly, I retreat.

I meet up with Charlie, Bob, and Sandra, they are posted up by the guest press entrance. We hold a make shift symposium and study the geography of our surroundings and debate where the best place will be to start the show together and where the best place will be to finish it.

Charlie, Bob and I first met at the Congress theater (RIP) at the end of a Danzig show in 2008. At the Danzig Legacy in 2011, we all managed to get backstage and took turns taking pictures with Glenn Danzig, Doyle, Steve Zing, and London May. It was amazing.

And now, here we are in 2016 finally seeing the thing we dreamt of most of our lives. Something we endlessly debated, and probably thought could never materialize. I am glad I am with them. We are together in the moment, this is how it should be. We now all know, that NOTHING in life is impossible if Glenn and Jerry can reunite.

It is mutually agreed that we push forward diagonally stage left (Doyle’s side). Rob Zombie plays next door. All the other bands on other stages finish. Their crowds funnel behind, sending us further forward. To call it a sea of people would be an insult. It was an ocean. We chat with our surrounding “community”. A guy named Karl/Carl waves a flag with Karl/Carl on it. Some drunk asshole thinks he’s Moses and starts violently surging through the ocean of people. He is rough. Everyone near him points and calls him an Asshole. Another drunk asshole trails behind, spilling his beer. To our left a void opens up. Two behemoths clash. It is probably a territory dispute. It dissipates, and we are all once again left waiting.

I ask Bob the time until the show. It’s negative 5 minutes. There is a hard curfew, it can now only be a 67 minute set!!

The intro begins. It is the kind of music/ambience you hear on a haunted Halloween CD. A deep, monstrous voice speaks, “I am going to eat you.” The air becomes kinetic over the Ocean, before the erupting thrall to come.

Sounds.

Doyle’s guitar. Jerry’s Bass.

The curtain drops. Lombardo’s drums.

Glenn is a ferocious wolverine.

Suddenly, death comes rippin’.

There is a surge.

Everyone fades away, as we are churned by the Ocean’s current. I try to weather this force of nature. The crowd tightens. Shoulder to shoulder. The flank that was just watching Rob Zombie must be pushing from the left. It loosens, and I am sucked forward into the first of many circle pits. I jump around and have a good time, but don’t stay. A rolling stone gathers no moss. Except for negotiating the occasional tall fellow, the closer I get, the better my view. I am a moth drawn to the light.

There are tech issues but the band sounds great. Jerry is right. They are at the pinnacle. Old timers may have seen them back in the day, but never like this. We are at the right place, at the right time to see Glenn, Jerry, and Doyle. Monsters are among us. They play their songs, and it inspires unity among us in the Ocean, and we sing. We don’t know each other. Under any other circumstances, we might not like each other… But tonight, we turn to each other and sing the lyrics like we have a thousand times before – On our iPods, YouTube, CDs, tapes, and vinyl. We put our arms around each other. We are strangers embracing, in disbelief that we are seeing what we are seeing.

Some of the audience don’t know the words. But it’s ok, they know Woah, Go, and No – and that is all they need to join our fellowship.

And then there are ones who frown. They don’t sing. They don’t Woah. They have no clue. They just know this is an historic event, and they are curious to see what all the fuss is about. They’re on their phones. Or watching the show through them, probably thinking about all YouTube hits they are going to get from their cellphone video, that they will probably forget to upload anyway.

They are here in place of the fiends who could make it out. The fiends who deserve to be here to see history taking place.

Now, I am closer.

We are 138 is about to begin. A girl takes an iPad!?! out of her bag. She starts recording. It blocks her face from the stage RIGHT in front of her. She is happy to watch through the screen. I am not, it blocks my view. I talk to the back of her head,

“Hey, I’d lower that if I were you, it’s 138, I am about to lose my mind.”

She doesn’t even turn around, instead turns slightly to the side and scoffs.

A loud crescendo of chords.

Silence, and then like a baseball chant… 84,000 people all sing that WE ARE 138. The song RIPS wide open.

I jump in front of iPad idiot and do exactly what I said I would: Lose my mind! From behind I feel punches and slaps on my back. I jump up high like Air Jordan (at least in my mind) and soldier on forward into another circle pit.

A guy who has no business crowd surfing, crowd surfs despite gravity’s insistence otherwise. He is concerned for his well being. I am concerned for mine, and I try to have nothing to do with it but somehow find myself holding him up with both hands (I do have help) but still, it makes me feel like Superman. He is passed on. Something drops - delicate aviator sunglasses, I try to return them to the surfer by placing them on his face. As he floats away he lets me know they are not his.

Paradoxically, I somehow never seem to completely run out of energy. My onboard reserves may have depleted, but I am now tapped into the music.

Nothing can stop me.

I am closer still. For a brief moment, my vow is almost broken, I almost take a picture.

Layers of various condensed liquids cling to my person. More liquid falls on my head, gross. I smell it. Thank God(s) it is not beer, just water. It is actually refreshing like the cool breeze that occasionally graces us with its presence.

Miraculously, I have found the ability to sing without any voice. Anything less than singing would have been unacceptable. Dehydration headaches (from trying to sing as loud as possible) have begun. Certain sound levels make it momentarily unbearable. I press on, hoping to squeeze every last drop of excitement from the show.

We are close the the end.

We ALL sing Astrozombies. I close my eyes in the middle of the chorus, having ascended to musical Nirvana as I Whoa with one of my all-time favorite bands. Because, when the Misfits play, Glenn doesn’t sing at you. He sings with you. And we sing with him.

Then we sing Skulls. It’s awesome.

The end of the show has come.

Last Caress is everything you could hope for. Danzig and Doyle play a game of chicken to see who is going to false start? the song. The band’s whole mood is jubilant and playful, except with the tech stuff.

The set ends and the band walks off for a (hybrid) moment. When they return, Jerry takes a moment to thank the fans with some poignant words. Glenn shares a tidbit about the origins of the Bullet EP cover – how he sent Jerry to “borrow” a picture of JFK from the library. Glenn reminiscences about how they were ahead of their time. They smile and fist bump. The camaraderie is amazing to watch as the crowd picks up on it with some applause.

If you don’t know the name of the next song they played… Then why the fuck are you reading this?

I am now 25(ish) feet from the stage, and it is here that I will remain.

They play Night of the Living Dead. Glenn tells the Ocean that they’ve ran out of time.

He asks us all, “What do we think of that?”

And then, “You know that we don’t give two fucks. We’ll play more songs.”

And we all cheer. They launch into She.

Unlike Denver, we bear the fortune of hearing Attitude and the Ocean churns one last time. Jerry throws his bass guitar high in the air and it breaks. Lombardo throws drum sticks. Jerry first tosses the bass headstock with cyclops skull into the crowd. He then thinks it over only for a moment before tossing the WHOLE bass in after.

The show is over. The Ocean calms and recedes, leaving the savage remains of carnage from the brutality witnessed. I traverse the front railing to meet my inside man. People shine lights down to reveal PILES of shoes, clothing, and other various personal effects. The piles of shoes and socks is astounding. People search for their keys, wallets, and cellphones.

I joke about finding a piece of Jerry’s “Devastated” bass guitar. A friend would later tell me that he witnessed six people holding onto the bass headstock with the cyclops skull. No words uttered. Just six angry dogs with an equal claim on a bone.

I make it to the barricade and manage to get backstage via my inside man. I touch Glenn’s giant fucking pumpkins. They are light and seem to be made of fiberglass. He is right, they are pretty fucking cool.

I shake Doyle’s hand, thanking him, my friend Sal introduces me to Jerry. I thank him as well for an incredible show. Jerry is warm, friendly, and gregarious. I am amazed that he gives me some of his time despite having just finishing the show. He takes a picture and signs my Dave Lombardo setlist. I will be framing it.

 The night is complete. I am glad I saw the show from the trenches.  Anything else would have been less, as the trenches were the only way to take in.

And so, I leave Douglas Park with an experience that few in the past have had, but for some reason – optimistically, I think more will have in the future.

Charlie and I find each other and I tell him about my backstage adventure. We get Mexican Tortas from a food truck by the California Pink line stop.

It is a night I will never forget.

And now, I want everyone’s skull…