Tag Archive | This Music Leaves Stains

Come Inside And Read You Can’t Come Inside

“I bet you have a lot of great stories about writing that Misfits book,” people occasionally remark, and they’re right.

Here now are those stories, collected in one easy-to-look at PDF. Who was nice / cool to me while I was making This Music Leaves Stains? Who wasn’t? What was the book tour like? Also, selected pieces of Misfits lore deleted from Stains that you might not be overly familiar with. Please, come inside and read You Can’t Come Inside.

If you want to absorb this thing for free, be my guest. If you want to give me money for it, wow, that’d be fucking cool. Think up an amount and Paypal or Venmo jgreenejr at gmail dot com.

Click the cover image or click this –> You Can’t Come Inside

The photograph on page 42 was taken by Rob Farren, whose name was accidentally omitted from the credits. James Greene, Jr. regrets this error. James Greene, Jr. also regrets the typos on pages 6 and 14.

Thanks for indulging me. I love you all.

Lesen Und Die Kraft Ist Mit Dir

New Zealand’s Love & Pop interviewed me last week about This Music Leaves Stains. Could be the best conversation I’ve had in a public forum about the book. Take a looky-loo:

JG2: The Love & Pop Interview

Less recently I curated an oral history of the Eddie Murphy disaster Vampire In Brooklyn for Hopes & Fears. Did you know it’s possible to smoke so much pot your eyes change size? Behold:

Drugs, Death, & That Wig

As always, thank you for your support and patronage. Namaste.

Q: So, Like, How Do You Even Get A Book Published?

A: One of the top questions I get since the release of This Music Leaves Stains and most certainly a thing that makes many a person on Earth go, “Hmmmm.” Monica Byrne recently posted a succinct answer / explanation to this on her blog; click here to read it. I would only add a few bits:

– you don’t necessarily have to finish writing your book before making the steps toward publishing; I only had two or three chapters done for TMLS when I started reaching out (in late 2010) to agents and smaller publishers who accept submissions from authors and it was still far from fini when I signed the contracts with Rowman & Littlefield (in early 2012)

– however it plays out, at some point you’ll probably have to write a proposal for your book (so as to avoid having the same conversations with a thousand different industry people); a proposal consists of one or two sample chapters, an explanation of who you are / your relation to the subject, an explanation of the book’s intended audience, any ideas you have for marketing, descriptions of similar pre-existing books, and a bit on how long the book will be and if it’ll require any special kind of formatting

– dovetailing with the racism and sexism of the publishing world is its age, which is predominantly old; the only reason TMLS exists is because one of the younger editors behind the project (someone actually involved in punk) showed the ruling board a Misfits Facebook page and there were enough members to prove to them that this band has some kind of value; recently I began work on another book that will focus on punk rock history and Taylor, the R&L imprint that released the paperback of TMLS, turned it down because their agenda is heading toward Baby Boomer material

Of course, per that last point, Monica notes in her post that we have the power to alter everything. So don’t give up, let’s smash the system, write write write, feel free to ask me anything about my nascent experiences in publishing at any time.

Q: You Figure Out What’s Going On With Your Next Book Yet?

A: Yeah, got a topic, got an angle, actually feel stronger about it than the Ghostbusters book that went down the toilet, slowly moving forward. Should find out this week if Taylor Trade (the people who paperback’d This Music Leaves Stains) wants to handle it. If they don’t, I’ll just find somebody else.

Not revealing the subject at this time but I will say: it’s not about InnerSpace.

El Book Touro Recappo

Three planes, a few trains, I don’t know how many busses, and a whole lotta trail mix. Get ready to taste the magic.


Kicked this bastard off by speaking to students/staff of Full Sail University. Since Full Sail is a media production school, instead of reading from my book I threw together a little spiel about punk rock recording techniques (i.e. why the Misfits sound like the Misfits and not Reeves Nevo and the Cinch). The attendees seemed really into it and appreciative. The only weird part was realizing the median age in the room was about nineteen; my references to ’70s game show hosts crashed out like SCUD missiles. Guess my next book should be about Bob Eubanks.

One of my joker friends snuck his way in to the auditorium during the Q&A portion of the presentation and kept referring to Glenn Danzig as my “white whale.” Bitch PLEASE. Anyone who knows me knows Charles Biscuits is my white whale, and that clown nearly swallowed me whole in ’09. Thankfully I grew up in Connecticut where maritime law forces all children to watch “Voyage of The Mimi,” so I know how to survive a shipwreck.


All my rowdy friends came over for Thursday Night Misfits.

The private launch party. For some reason I committed to a wine/cheese thing even though my knowledge of/familiarity with those foodstuffs is entry level. Yes, I had to refer to a chart to make sure I was pairing up the right stuff. No one puked, so I think I did alright. I’m just happy I got to kill a few hours with so many of the special people I’ve come to know via NYC living (even the one friend who attempted to purchase a copy of my book with a thirty dollar Marshalls gift card).

The after-party was even more off the chain, and by “after-party” I mean “bacon cheeseburger and fries I ate at the diner across the street from where the party was at.” If you want to see the writer at his most relaxed and comfortable take him to a Brooklyn diner.

I take that back: the soothe was greater the next morning when I visited my hometown, which is just over the New York border in the aforementioned Nutmeg State. There’s something to be said for New England train stations ensconced in autumnal colors, not to mention the exact Main Street where I spent so much of my adolescence kicking piles of leaves, pawing Batman comics, and guzzling Kiwi Strawberry Snapple (which is about as exotic as my Connecticut got in 1991). The batteries were fully recharged after that.


No event here, just decided to visit some recently engaged friends and soak up as much Mid-Atlantic warmth as I could before hitting the frozen tundra of the Midwest. I also enjoyed the experience of attempting to eat at Pho Bar, which is one of D.C.’s hotter ramen noodle spots: walked up their flight of stairs, was received by a host in a Bathory shirt who informed our party the wait was two hours and forty-five minutes, laughed, walked the fudge out. I instantly wanted to frame this experience. We ended up down the street at a British pub called the Queen Vic where I ate chicken curry poutine…as a meal. My cholesterol is putting up Jeter-like numbers.


The Megabus took the Liberty Tunnel into downtown Pittsburgh, which is not unlike the transition from “real world” into Toon Town in Roger Rabbit. Everything on Pittsburgh’s non-dt side is a bit chain restauranty and spread out and nondescript…then you whiz through the tunnel and at the other end you’re hit with this beautiful twinkling chunk of pure uncut city couched between three rivers. I’ll admit I was stunned. Even more stunning: the Hampton Inn I checked into had a hot tub that was still open at 10:30 p.m. Dunked myself into that at the first opportunity. No bathing suit, just my underwear, ’cause I’m a wild man who can’t be tamed by society’s rules.

Perusing my favorite section at Mind Cure Records.

Thanks to a combination of me knowing exactly one person in Pittsburgh (who was busy that night) and the Lili Cafe snoozing a bit on promotion, zero humans turned up for my reading in Steel City. I wish I could tell you I was utterly livid about this, that I threw some kind of hissy fit and/or was at least minimally depressed. The truth, however, is that I didn’t and still don’t really care. This was the last date scheduled for the tour and I had a feeling when I set it all up that I could be facing an empty house situation. Like I said, the amount of people I know in the area couldn’t fill a tandem bike. Ain’t no thang. I had a perfectly fine time chatting with the barista on duty and no tears were shed later as I sat alone in Primanti’s and wolfed down one of those famous sandwiches with the french fries in the middle.

If there’s anything to gripe about regarding Pittsburgh it’s that not a single person busted balls about my Mets hat. Yes, I’m complaining that people were too polite. Yes, I have a sickness.


This was my second sojourn to Cleveland in the past decade and I can now confirm to you that Drew Carey is not incorrect: Cleveland rocks. in fact, Cleveland rocks so hard I’m willing to bet it’ll be annexed by Brooklyn in the next few years.

Speaking of New York and all its endearing obnoxiousness, the pizza at Crust (which is on the outskirts of Cleveland’s Bergen Village) is on par with the pie in my adopted home borough. Even if you don’t agree, fellow jaded and grumpy New Yorker, you cannot front on Crust’s portion sizes. A single slice is roughly the length and width of a catamaran. I thought I was being punk’d when the girl brought it out. She literally served it to me on a hunk of wood! I could barely finish the thing; I got to the crust (ahem) and thought, Well, I’ll just use this as a walking stick now.

‘Twas a modest turnout for my reading across the street from Crust at Visible Voice Books, but those who came were totally amped for my being there, which felt great. Also great: Visible Voice didn’t just absent-mindedly put the Misfits on their house music, they let me choose my own pre-show tunes. I went with Rocket From The Crypt, because occasionally I go hard and like to pretend I have lots of sick tattoos.

Hotel in Cleveland. Remember that week we thought Andy was still alive?


The Book Loft (a store one could only describe as “labyrinthine”; it feels like you’re just crawling through a cave of books) offered the first experience I had where someone bought multiple copies of the book and had me sign them to different people. Very trippy but cool. Somehow I managed to do it without misspelling anyone’s name.

Columbus got the short end of the stick in that I was outta there in under a day. Thus, I cannot tell you the best place to get artisanal cheese or eco-friendly pet supplies in that area. What I can tell you is if you’re picking up the Megabus at the corner of High and Nationwide there is no signage and you just gotta trust that it’s gonna show up there. My inner Costanza was a little peeved by this but in the end I got on the bus just fine, cheddar cheese Pringles and iced tea in hand, ready for the journey to Chicago.


“That’s why they call him Joker. He just stands on street corners all day.”

“Bad juju” isn’t a term you’ll hear me throw around often but I definitely have it with Chicago. My first visit in 2007 was beyond crummy—it wasn’t one big thing, either, just a lot of little things. Same deal this time around. Couldn’t book a damn thing but had to pass through anyway. It rained/sleeted the whole time, one of those famous wind gusts knocked my camera off what I thought was a secure piece of fence and broke the lens, the crosswalks appeared to be coated with some kind of quick slip that slid me around like an ice skater, every person who said they’d party with me suddenly had a million things to do, and my head was pounding with dull pain the entire time.

On the plus side, the Silversmith Hotel where I stayed was/is an awesome blend of old timey and modern, and I had some killer pad thai from nearby Hot Woks Cool Sushi. Also, I remember being comforted by the echoes of wailing police sirens. Like NYC, Chicago is dense enough with concrete to let sounds of that nature reverberate for miles. Made me feel at home.

I guess you haven’t completely broken my heart (yet), Chicago…but you are certainly not “my kind” of town.


Finally, my favorite graphic novel and breakfast combined! This gem spotted at Source Comics.

Here was the first reading where the crowd was packed to a standing room only situation (well, the people in the back were resting a bit on the window sill, so perhaps leaning room only). Boneshaker Books even set up a snack table for attendees with motherfucking carrot sticks and hummus! That is, as their FB page told me upon initial contact, radical and progressive.

I had a five day break between events here, engineered partially so I could take a breather, hang out with my Twin Cities Get Fresh Crew, and catch up on freelance work. It was oppressively cold in Minnesota at this point but I didn’t let that stop me from going to record shops like Extreme Noise and Electric Fetus and buying stuff like Poison Idea’s Fatal Erection (purchased at the former) and the Last Action Hero OST (purchased at the latter). Also went to that bar/diner in St. Paul where they have all the old school video games set up but none of the consoles we tried were functioning…so eff that place right in their Yelp review.


Tossed salad and scrambled eggs! Frasier Crane is a little more uptight than the Seattle I know, but he still seems like an alright mascot to me. Witty, urbane, masking some kind of terminal weirdness. You could do worse, Seattle. Imagine being Kansas City and having bland wieners like Paul Rudd and Jason Sudeikis rep your town.

Once upon a time there was a spooky donut place that was never open.

Cafe Racer was the only place where other people were on the bill to speak. That took some edge off until I actually heard the guys (Chris Estey and Bill Cerise-Bullock) and realized how legit/clever they are. They could write their own Misfits books worth their weight in devilocks. Still, I think my bit went alright. My barometer is no one threw anything at me or tried to punch me after the show. And yet I split early anyway. I was tired but I also didn’t want to tempt fate.

Had breakfast the next morning with my friend Kris at Roxy’s, the restaurant where you can order a shot that includes a slap from your server. I don’t drink but I considered ordering one of these shots anyway because the girl taking care of us looked totally over it and I’m sure she would have rattled something loose with her love tap. That’s what you’re paying for, right? You don’t want some sissy slap. Hit me like I owe you money, sister.


Top of the world, Ma. Photo by Michael Poley.

Did my thing at Powell’s, one of America’s last great books stores. Definitely battled some nerves here. Again though, I have to praise the friendly and receptive attitude of those in attendance. A couple folks even asked to get pictures with me afterward. I tried to look not crazy but that’s hard when you don’t comb your hair ever and you think giving a double thumbs up is always endearing.

Spent the days surrounding my event exploring Portland. What a charming and beautiful city. Epic nature framing adorable urban/suburban enclaves. Coffee strong enough to stun a yak. Amazing record stores both big and small (Green Noise and Music Millennium were/are my faves). A fast food chain called Burgerville that’s more prevalent/delectable than McDonald’s. Air clean enough to wear to bed. My only complaint is the city needs a prep course for its recycling situation. The couple I stayed with had five bins for their waste and I still couldn’t be sure what went into where. I just tried not to consume at all. That’s sort of beating the system, right?

Oh, and I guess in retrospect the sky tram in Portland is kind of weak. I mean, it has very little practical application unless you work at the hospital where the ride terminates, and the views of the city…I feel you get views just as breathtaking on Portland’s various bridges. Still, at four bucks it’s cheaper than the Roosevelt Island tram in Manhattan (I think).

There’s my next book: TRAM WARZ. Which metropolitan area’s sky bucket will reign supreme? YOU’RE GOING DOWN, EL PASO.


Huge thanks again to all who hosted me, all who came out, and all who helped me get from Point A to Points B through Z. Love youse all.

Earth R.E.A.D./Ain’t No Goddamn Son Of A Book Tour Dates

Well, it’s November. Time to crawl across the country and read bits out of my book, This Music Leaves Stains: The Complete Story of The Misfits. I’ll also be signing stuff (copies of the book, your CVS receipt, your cousin’s pet tarantula) and answering your questions. Here be the events:

11/12 – Pittsburgh PA @ Lili Cafe 7PM
11/14 – Cleveland OH @ Visible Voice 6PM
11/15 – Columbus OH @ Book Loft 6PM
11/18 – Minneapolis MN @ Boneshaker 7PM
11/23 – Seattle WA @ Cafe Racer 9PM
11/25 – Portland OR @ Powell’s on Hawthorne 7:30PM

If you live in a major city not listed here please know I tried my best to penetrate every big time readin’ market. Alas, I am but a first time author and I just couldn’t crack the circuits in Boston or Denver or Wichita—or even New York, where I’ve lived for the past five years! Do you know how much of my fucking money the MTA has? And they couldn’t get me into book store or coffee shop one! It’s all politics. I don’t have to tell you that.

Hope to see you all out there. Thanks to Jon C. and Rollie H. for naming the tour. Thanks in advance to every person who lets me crash / drool on their couch. No thanks to Megabus and their rigid Midwestern scheduling.

Choose Your Own This Music Leaves Stains Media Adventure

Click this link to read an interview Retroist did with me where I blather on endlessly about the Misfits…


click this link to literally hear me blather on endlessly about the Misfits on the “New Books In Pop Music” podcast.

Either way you’ll get a good dose of me rhapsodizing about Static Age and debating how “real” Danzig “keeps it.” Who knows, maybe one of these interviews will convince you to finally buy my book (fourteen bucks, cheap!).

El Cheapo Softy Of My Book Now Available On Amazon

I have been informed that Amazon already has $14 paperback copies of This Music Leaves Stains available for sale. This is because, apparently, there never was a real “street date” for the release; it was just whenever the elves at Taylor Trade got it done. The projection was mid-October, but lucky for you, me, and the other Misfits fans of the world Taylor’s minions worked on the quicker tip (awesome, great job!). So why don’t you hit up Jeff Bezos’s Party Machine and cop my tome? Your local book retailer (Gram’s Reading Nook? The Bookmark?) probably won’t have This Music for another couple weeks. WHO CAN WAIT SO LONG?

“I Was Expecting More Pale And Pierced.”

That’s what the publicity guy for This Music Leaves Stains said when I turned in the photo at right as my official author image. First of all, I think I’m shockingly pale for someone who went to college in Florida. Secondly, just because I wrote a book about the Misfits doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally dress like an extra in Summer School (occasionally, every day—look, let’s not split hairs).

I love Earth A.D. but I’m not allergic to colors. Let’s smash hurtful stereotypes like these so future generations can live free (and not die hard).

P.S. – This photo was taken by Angela Dingee.

Pre-Order The Cheap Soft-Ass Version Of My Misfits Book

That’s right, the moment you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived: you can now pre-order the $15 softcover version of my book, This Music Leaves Stains: The Complete Story of The Misfits, direct from the publisher on their fabulous professional website. Why don’t you go do this already so you have something nice to look forward to in October?

Thanks again to everyone at Scarecrow Press and Taylor Trade for believing in and taking a chance on yours truly. The support means everything. I love all you crazy cats.

Coming soon: tour dates. Will I invade your town with my nasal voice and drowsy demeanor? Oh, you should be so lucky!