And so it came to pass; Glenn Danzig and Jerry Only met between a pair of twelve foot jack-o-lanterns to belt out an hour’s worth of Misfits songs for the ultra devoted. No fistfights or lawsuits broke out onstage. Everyone seemed to be having fun, including Glenn, who is allergic to most forms of humor. In fact, at certain intervals, it sounded like this ferocious hound of hell was workshopping his standup material—and the crowd was loving it.
Part of me wants to chastise Riot Fest organizers for not offering a high quality live stream of these Misfits, something for which I and many other fiends would have paid a nominal fee. A greater part of me understands that cacophonous cell phone videos are more in keeping with the live recording legacy of this band. Even through pigeon shit fidelity you can tell the ‘Fits performed well, holding perfect tempo and pressing their fervor into the music (Glenn especially). A few clips have moved me emotionally.
The million dollar questions now: will Chicago receive a concert of similar character or will the bloom be off the skull in a couple weeks? Will there be future gigs in other cities? Will there be an album? How will all this affect eBay sales of Graves era merchandise?
The rumors were true: former Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo is the fourth participant in the Misfits reunion scheduled for Riot Fest 2016 (the first show of which is this weekend), overcoming the major obstacle of having never been a member of the band. Namaste, Dave.
Look, I love Dave Lombardo’s work. He’s a monster, an icon, an innovator. I listen to those Slayer records all the time. I’m intrigued to hear what he’ll do with material from Static Age and Earth A.D. It’s just that the original Original Misfits had five or six different drummers, and they’re all still alive. Glenn and Jerry couldn’t bite the kielbasa and get Googy for these two gigs? Make it a true reunion? There’s no way his fee is higher than Lombardo’s.
I get it. The Original Misfits™ have to consider the fact that this reunion could grow legs. Dave Lombardo has more experience than every Misfits drummer combined (some of whom haven’t even looked at a set of drums since “The Jeffersons” was airing). He’s prepared at any time to do other festivals, or a tour. More importantly, he has no pre-existing issues with Glenn or Jerry. Dave’s not gonna make trouble over some shit that happened in 1981.
Also, remember: this episode is mostly a legal resolution, an agreement between Glenn and Jerry so they stop dragging each other to court over pictures of skulls they stole from somebody else in the first place. So how heartbroken can anyone be? Shouldn’t we just be glad these guys have finally stopped suing each other?
Hire Charo as the drummer for all I care—I’m tired of reading legal documents. They started stacking higher than your records years ago.
Where ever you have to go next for this book, I’d like to pay. Hurry up and take the money before I die.”
So offered a very kind and arrestingly macabre family member a month ago, one who wished not to trifle with any crowdfunding business. What am I, too good for my goddamn family? I accepted and booked passage to Japan. An eye-opening and fruitful excursion followed, one that enriched not only my forthcoming book but also my friggin’ soul. Please enjoy some captioned snapshots from my journey below.
Thirteen million people live in Tokyo, so it’s a little congested (as you may gather from this morsel of skyline). Many of the city’s streets are unnamed as well, but if you’re good with landmarks you’ll have no problem getting around. And the subway isn’t that difficult to figure out. Even when it is, the staff down there are more than happy to assist the hopelessly confused. The first time I bought an incorrect ticket they knew before I did!
The four hundred fifty yen breakfast deal at Matsuya, one of Tokyo’s most beloved fast food establishments. Perfect for the language impaired tourist—punch your order in on the computer, take the ticket it prints out, sit down, give the server your ticket, BOOM, food. And tasty as all get out.
The Shibuya district at night. I don’t know if you can tell from this image but many of the crosswalks in Tokyo are at odd angles, curving and stretching diagonally as if to anticipate jaywalking patterns. Pretty clever.
Poorly translated bootleg apparel is a cottage industry in Japan and they’re laughing all the way to the bank. Not even the Bortles are safe.
Physical media isn’t dead in every corner of the globe. To wit: the eight story Tower Records in Shibuya, an unreal monument to music and consumerism. Yes, they have the new BabyMetal. They have an entire floor for J-Pop (and one for K-Pop, and one with a book store / restaurant).
A tribute to fallen Megadeth drummer Nick Menza on the Western Rock floor of the eight story Tower Records. I tried to have a moment of quiet reflection but there were approximately five stereos within two feet of this display and they were all playing different things. There’s some noise pollution in Tokyo.
A fresh burger from Freshness Burger. That’s egg and chili on that bad boy (at least that’s what I think it was). No fries, or “potato” as they like to call it. Gotta cut back somewhere. Freshness Burger is reasonably priced but many an item or service in Tokyo is not. New Yorkers will feel at home.
Here’s what happens when you attempt to photograph an exclusive event occurring in / around the Harajuku area’s Tamagotchi store—an employee of the store will give you the big “no” while a cop tries to decide whether or not to yell at you. They were firm but polite. Those folks crowded around the window, they showed up so early—don’t cheapen their experience!
This is the interior of a Disk Union, a record store chain that has twenty or so locations around Tokyo. Every one I visited was crammed with stock just like this. Found lotsa rare greatness here but the favorite record shop I visited is Recofan (which is just one outlet in a mall) only because it has the largest, most varied (and cheapest) used section.
Some concepts are universal, like fishing programs on Saturday morning television. This woman was very excited to have caught her little buddy here. Later that day I watched a dubbed version of The Rocketeer. That film may have been a bigger hit Stateside had they sold it as a Japanese property.
I cannot lie: I ate at KFC in Japan. The chicken is prepared for an Eastern palette. It’s lighter, thinner, less “down home” (in the parlance of U.S. comfort food). Still plenty of grease, though. Yes, this particular location has an actual bar. You need a craft beer with your biscuits and gravy?
I don’t know what this is all about. I guess you can live out all your Nintendo fantasies in Tokyo, even as Captain America and Cookie Monster.
All the excitement of Doritos without the excitement! This is good place to mention if you’re out in Tokyo and you need help or directions, the average Japanese citizen would love to assist you but conversational English skills are rare. Learn to say “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Japanese, do you understand English?” in Japanese and conclude interactions with a bow (luckily some words, like “coffee” and “Barack Obama,” transcend cultural barriers).
The kitchen / office of my sublet in the Shinjuku neighborhood. Figuring out the microwave wasn’t easy but I eventually sorted out how to properly heat a dumpling soup from 7-Eleven (surprisingly high quality). Did I mention the jet lag from the U.S. to Tokyo? It’s Herculean. If there’s a secret to conquering it I still don’t know. Spent many hours standing around this room in a daze.
Q: How Goes Work On Your Book About Punk Rock’s Development In Regions Outside The United Kingdom & United States?
A: Work is constant. I wake up thinking about the book. I hit the bed thinking about it. The time between is a big loop of researching, reading, and writing (don’t worry, I give myself time off to eat and monitor Misfits reunion rumors). The whole thing can feel overwhelming but in a very positive way. It is exactly what I want to be doing right now. Also, Clowny Clown has been to this rodeo before. The abject fear that pressed down on me as I worked on This Music Leaves Stains a few years ago is gone. I know what to expect, not just from the process but from myself.
In case you’ve forgotten the pertinent details of this tome, the Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group will be releasing my nearly 400 page exploration of punk rock’s development on the international level in October 2017. Learn all about the shape of ferocious underground rock music as it grew in places like Russia, Japan, China, Africa, Belgium, Brazil, Nepal, Poland, and even the Canary Islands. Like Stains, the first edition will be hardcover, and if that son of a carpenter pops off sales-wise they’ll do softcover. No title yet but I assure you it won’t be Mr. Jim’s Mondo Punko.
Dangerous Rhythm, one of Mexico’s first punk outfits, circa 1979. That same year they released their first single, “No No No.” Clack here to hear it.
If you’d like to help out with some of the costs that accompany researching a project of this nature (and believe me, there are costs), feel free to visit the GoFundMe page for this friggin’ thing. Every cent is appreciated.
What else can I say? Thanks to youse all for the support and interest, it’s a hell of a thing and I’m happy to have it. Hope you enjoy the book when it’s done. Can’t wait to see it in your grubby little hands.
Recently I visited the cozy urban confines of Oslo, Norway to chew through research for my coming book on punk rock’s development outside the U.K. & U.S. (thanks, crowd funding). I found the people friendly, the food exquisite, and the water pressure in most bathrooms adequate. Here are a few images from my journey with the requisite commentary.
The bucolic Norwegian countryside as seen from your plane as it soars into Oslo. Unless my geography is total excrement, that body of water is the Vorma (Warm) River.
The days are long during Scandinavian Summer. Some argue they never really end. This photo was taken at three in the morning in downtown Oslo. My internal clock was definitely thrown by the lack of dark. I ended up sleeping in shifts of three or four hours throughout my stay.
Oslo’s Grand Hotel, where they award the Nobel Peace Prize. You would be surprised how close this esteemed building is to a T.G.I.Friday’s. I looked at the menu; they have the same Jack Daniels-battered crap as the T.G.I.F.s here. It all probably tastes better in Norway though since they have such strict regulations against preservatives and chemicals.
A group of teenage-looking guards at Norway's Royal Palace. There’s a whole protocol to be sure but it seems less intense than guard situations in England or the U.S. Getting a decent picture of the palace and its impressive surrounding vegetation is a little difficult—at least it is if you're me, a real not professional photo-taking guy.
Concrete proof they have more than one car in Norway. Let me also take this opportunity to dispel the myth that Norwegian money is wooden. It is not. It is paper and coins just like everywhere else.
My go-to breakfast spot on this trip was Kaffe Brenneriet, where you can get many a delectable item (like this ham sammy). They have a few locations around Oslo and their staff is quite pleasant enough I must say!
Indeed, we all demand den beste pølsa (the best icing) for our hot dogs. Your guess is as good as mine regarding the contents of this grocery store item. Not pictured: the Heinz brand American Hamburger Sauce.
Vibrant trees in Grønlandspark Botsparken, a recreation area just behind Oslo Prison. It’s the country’s largest prison but they only house three hundred fifty inmates. Might as well be an elementary school. America’s largest prison, Louisiana State Penn, is home to five thousand.
Everybody speaks English in Norway, as evidenced by this hilarious graffiti.
The fountain that anchors Sørli plass, a nice little area for reflection that rests near the intersection of several traffic arteries. Only the adrenalin junkies on mopeds gave me any kind of pause.
There’s a great three story record shop in Oslo called Råkk og Rålls and it’s the only place I’ve ever seen this beautiful piece of crap on vinyl. Didn’t buy it because I needed a concrete reason to return.
1. Let It Be (1984)
It’s all here: stirring romance (“Androgynous,” “Answering Machine”), exhilarating throttle (“We’re Coming Out,” “Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out”), utter tomfoolery (“Gary’s Got A Boner”), tremendous production. And that Kiss cover? How dare they move us via the songwriting of Paul Stanley?
2. Sorry Ma, Forgot To Take Out The Trash (1981)
You can feel the wood splintering as this album busts through. A triumph of zip gun punk melting into rock n’ roll branded by the nascent Westerberg’s candor and wit. It’ll make you believe again and again and again.
3. Hootenanny (1983)
Chaotic and chicken fried the same way their live act could be (“Lovelines” is just Paul reading the newspaper over the band’s noodling), is this the truest representation of the ‘Mats? A rambling rush glued together by smudges of incredible melody that club soda sure as hell ain’t gonna get out.
4. Pleased To Meet Me (1987)
Stripped to a three piece with mounting pressure to quote-unquote make it and these dude still deliver massive kick. Every song’s a potential FM hit. We can recognize why this didn’t happen. Society at large basically doesn’t give a rip about Big Star or covered bridges.
5. Tim (1985)
Overcomes the handicaps of an enormously ugly album cover and flat soda production with truly monolithic songwriting. “Bastards of Young,” “Left of The Dial,” “Here Comes a Regular”—legends unto themselves.
6. Stink (1982)
A dip into hardcore punk. According to these dizzy Midwesterners, the genre needs harmonica (“White & Lazy”) and power ballads (“Go”). Plenty savage and fun. Bob Stinson’s leads go off like tracer missiles.
7. The Shit Hits The Fans (1985)
Most artists would bury a recording of a bad gig. The Replacements released this one as quickly as possible. Such is their charm. After a few listens you grow accustom to only hearing sixty seconds of every song that strikes the band’s fancy (including hits by Zeppelin, U2, and R.E.M.).
8. Don’t Tell A Soul (1989)
Their most naked stab for chart glory. Desperation doesn’t taste too bad coming from these guys. That said, they should have gone whole hog and asked Paula Abdul to do something.
9. All Shook Down (1990)
This one gets an asterisk since Paul recorded it as his solo debut and the label railroaded him into filing it under Replacements. Lots of acoustic pop not very removed from the ‘Mats DNA…but definitely not the trouble boys.
What a fine time to remind you I am the author of This Music Leaves Stains: The Complete Story of The Misfits (not so complete any more), available for purchase here. The Austin Chronicle likes it, saying I “pull no punches” as I “accurately and respectfully” barrel through the group’s saga. Psychobabble claims this volume is “informative” and “thorough” and “pretty much anyone will get a kick out of it.” You know what? I don’t think it’s too bad either.
Here’s something you can do for free: take a look at the online photographic supplement for This Music Leaves Stains and see a wealth of Misfits imagery I couldn’t afford to license for print publication. Imagery like the photograph above. Look at that goddamn punk rocker. He’s sick of everybody’s shit.
If you’re curious how a dope like me wound up writing a book like that in the first place, this interview might help explain a thing or three.
Thank you for your interest and consideration. We remain one thirty eight.
Original recipe Misfits Jerry Only and Glenn Danzig, 1979. Photog unknown.
In not very surprising news considering the recent past, founding Misfits Jerry Only and Glenn Danzig have announced they will take the stage with Jerry’s brother Doyle and a drummer to be named later for several performances as “The Original Misfits” at 2016’s Riot Fest. We understand this to mean Glenn and Jerry have finally stopped suing each other over ownership of the Misfit logos and skull faces. Fantastic. I’m excited to see the exclusive merch they plan to roll out for this landmark concert engagement.
My enthusiasm for the reunion itself is mild. Of course Danzig goes back to the Misfits, driving a stake through the heart of its legal monster with option to make a final artistic statement on the matter if he chooses. Of course Jerry agrees, because it’s spectacle (and profitable). A bigger surprise would have found Danzig buying back the performing rights to the Misfits and icing Jerry out for the rest of his life, or Danzig retiring from music and moving to Nepal to become a monk. Sting went back to the Police. Nesmith went back to the Monkees. Of course Glenn Danzig goes back to the Misfits.
Everyone goes back to the well—especially if the well vomits money.
Obviously there is also cynicism in my heart that any of this will actually happen. Riot Fest is four long months away, and these guys have lived in acrimony for a far greater period than they ever spent making music. Will Jerry and Glenn make it to September without another donnybrook or injunction? Maybe if the Original Misfits drummer is one of their lawyers.
It’s like the Mets. I wanna believe, but history and logic tells me otherwise. Stranger things have happened, I suppose. We’ll see come September.
Prince's music is so potent and intoxicating that despite universal acclaim it still seems underrated. What sacred art, what sacred love.
— James Greene, Jr. (@HoneyIShrunkJG2) April 21, 2016
To say anything else may be exceptionally unnecessary. And yet…
It was only a few years ago that I began digging into the Prince catalog. I purposely started with The Black Album, my reasoning being, I know the hits, I know Prince can orchestrate pop perfection, let’s see what it’s like when this guy is stumbling. Prince suppressed Black for nearly a decade because he felt dissatisfaction with it (one rumor suggests a bad ecstasy trip convinced him the album projects too much evil). Yes, I often begin my journey into legendary bodies via a most dubious property. What can I tell you? I’m American, I’m obsessed with failure.
My immediate reaction to The Black Album: if this is Prince at his worst, sign me up. Sections of Black’s malcontent electro funk are misguided, sure, but as with all his work, Prince commits with such totality (even to utter silliness) you can’t deny the sale. You remain absorbed and ultimately feted.
Now The Love Symbol Album and The Gold Experience are go-tos. Bold, decadent, liberating, rich with flavor. I also spend a lot of time getting lost in the grooves and hymnals of Chaos & Disorder. Sign O’ The Times? That thing is a best of / greatest hits unto itself. And of course, the one Prince album I paid close attention to at the time of its release, Batman.
I want to say I understand people who dog the Batman album but I actually don’t. Prince captures the glamor, the restlessness, and the bankruptcy of Gotham City. The music freezes, it bleeds, it works both within and outside the motion picture’s context. I can’t comprehend why “Partyman” and “Trust” aren’t FM radio staples. The balladry avoids being overwrought. What a thrill to have it all culminate in the white knuckle lunacy of “Batdance.”
“Batdance” is on this Warhol level, a gleeful vandalism of Neal Hefti’s 1960s theme, a schizophrenic pastiche of Burton’s film driven by fascist percussion, indiscriminate keyboards, searing guitar, and direct dialogue samples. It’s jarring and insane but again, Prince commits. That’s why the song reached #1; the Artist’s dedication willed this cacophony into something incredible.
It feels strange to comment on all the risks Prince took in his career, if only because he possessed the celestial wizardry to more or less conquer them all. Is there another human being who could have successfully changed their enormously bankable and recognizable name to a singular character of their own invention with no known (or offered) pronunciation? Ricky Shroder has spent decades trying in vain to make people drop the “y.” If he had adopted a symbol we would have sent him to live on the international space station.
Thanks for the fifty-seven years, Prince. You will never be equaled.
Perhaps you know I am currently working on a book that will explore punk rock’s development in Europe, Asia, South America, and other corners of the planet that aren’t the U.S. & U.K. Research can get expensive and obviously I’d like to make the thing as boss as possible so when Rowman & Littlefield put it on shelves in October of 2017 you can look at it and say, “Goddamn! That’s a proper book.” So look deep in your heart and possibly your couch cushions and consider donating to the associated campaign:
Thank you for your consideration, however fleeting. Here now, apropos of nothing, is a photo of Bruce Willis in a bunny costume.