Sunday, February 28, 2021

barf


     I’ve always been a cynical, critical, lyrical, fucked up mess. I’ve largely got no complaints about that, I don’t know what choice I’ve got. I’ve shared with past girlfriends how I don’t know what happiness is and how it’s not something I strive for. This horrified one of them and made another one scoff because she was much darker in her outlook. Personally I think that’s the issue with many people, they pursue happiness too forcefully. I don’t give a shit. Happiness comes around when you’re not looking for it. To seek it out makes it elusive. I don’t mind trying to set myself up for it but I refuse to beat myself up chasing it as it runs out the door. I don’t fret bad days, they are many, they will happen, and must happen to make the good days what they are. If everyday was good I’d take it for granted and not give a shit. I treasure the bad days in equal measure.


    And yet in the face of disaster after disaster I still laugh at my own jokes. Since I’m mostly alone I’m the only one who gets them. It could be worse. It seems like it could always be worse. I’ve grown sick of that phrase. Still, I’m content. I have a short list of regrets, most of which eat me alive so I do my best to make the most of what’s in front of me.


    I’d been seeing a psycho therapist these last few months. He’s blind. I thought that was good symbolism. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Turns out he’s an idiot. When the nazis stormed the Capital building he started talking about the dangers of Antifa. I didn’t even bring that shit up which makes it seem even more insulting for him to start talking about it. I wanted to punch him in the face. He would’ve never seen it coming. It would have been funny, and a great story, but it wouldn’t have solved much in the long run so I merely broke it off with him instead. I should have stolen something from his office, but he didn’t have anything that interested me. I’m looking for a new therapist now. I’m only interested in seeing female therapists after listening to that pseudo intellectual macho shitbag. However I do agree with him that I need to stop smoking pot and maybe start trying to be an artist again.


    I’m trying to figure out how to stay positive without being delusional. I’ve been volunteering and that helps a lot. And yet I still find myself looking for new avenues of escape. Without smoking doobies. I was never much of a drinker. I just hate having to piss all the time.


    Sleep has become harder to slip into. Turning off my mind doesn’t come easy. Getting out of bed in the morning has become harder to do. I find myself unable to open my eyes, to motivate. I push myself back into dreams which I don’t remember. I think I need a dog.


    I find new daydreams in which to escape. Many of these dreams aren’t new. For decades now I’ve wanted a hole to open up under humanity to drop us all into the magma core. I lull myself to sleep with visions of it burning to the ground. I want the engines to be gummed up and sputter to a halt. The buildings crack and crumble to the ground. I want everyone to weep the same tears that are falling onto my face. Only silence and screams as a fever pitch of humanity drowns together in the inevitable coming flood. Burning hand in hand in the same remorseless pangs of contagious anger that can not be withheld as we choke and die alone in the smoke filled terror of our own consumption. Til there is nothing left to mourn. A flowing river of pain, and resentment, and fear, and disgust as humanity is torn asunder and chaos smashes the safety and security of the wicked as all hope is left to decay in the flotsam leftover from the tragic illusion that we can stem the tide.


    I don’t want to be alone in my anguish. I want to get some of it on you. I wanted you to sneeze it into your hand as you press the button to get you to the ground floor to spread it to the next. On and on in a cycle of emotional pestilence. I want the bombs to go off one by one by one by one until no more darkness exists, only light illuminated by a destruction without end.


    If you’re in a shitty metal band please feel free to use these as lyrics, just give me credit. Then please do heroin until you can’t anymore.


    I thought I was unique. It’s been a surprise and a disappointment to find that more people feel that way then I could have imagined. It makes me not want to have those thoughts again. But how am I supposed to get any sleep without the dreams of the conclusion dancing in my head? Knowing there will be finality is one of the only ways I relax at night. The latest wrinkle in my fantasies harkens back to the first Indiana Jones film. I imagine the Conservative movement opening the Lost Ark as their faces melt off of their skulls. Those thoughts put me to sleep like a baby.


    Lately I hide in memories of space ship rides away from disappoint. That’s some really defeatist bullshit and I’ve always hated when others hide their heads in the sand. I guess I’m surprised in myself for now considering that to be an option. But it’s fleeting. I think this daydream stems from my recent attempts to catch up on Star Trek the Next Generation. I missed that shit the first time around. It’s better than Star Wars anyway, but I still find myself falling asleep on the Millennium Falcon every other night. More often I find myself falling asleep to the standard American prayer mantra: one million dollars, two million dollars, three million dollars- falls in my lap, falls in my lap, falls in my lap. Man that’s fucking pathetic.


    I’ve run out of hope and regained it enough times to recognize the cycle. I thought by now I’d run out of things to be afraid of, I tried to make a point of finding more things to make me scared, to make me shaken to my core. Come to find most of the shit that strikes fear in heart is already inside of me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be a man and become a better person for making inroads to figure myself out instead of trying to figure the world out?


    I didn’t have kids. Sometimes I think that may be the problem. Maybe I’d care more. Maybe I missed the boat. Now I have no reason to worry about staying afloat? I’m gonna say it’s too late for that now. Also, why would I subject a new life to such distresses, the worst of which we have yet to glimpse. Humanity isn’t nearly bottomed out yet. Just imagine how much further we have left to fall?


    The truth is February wasn’t so bad. Maybe March will live up to the promise of Spring?
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Wednesday, February 17, 2021

Eazier said than done


     I like to write about pop culture. I like to read pop culture. I like to live in pop culture. It’s fluff for which I can have a definitive opinion about without feeling defensive. Although it’s impossible not to step on toes, I feel most people aren’t petty enough to be offended by my opinions on fluff. Haters are always gonna hate haters. But I must insist most of my output isn’t based on hate, it’s cynicism which is only slightly less attractive.


    Examining pop culture allows me to stretch out writing muscles in the search for truth with low stakes. All I care about is truth. In all that I do. Which I consider a noble pursuit, however I’ve come to realize the truth sets no one free it mostly just pisses people off, which makes me think I’m doing something… I was going to say doing something right, but that’s not the right word. I’m doing something worthy of consideration. If for no other reason than giggles. However I realize most of my efforts in seeking truth through critiquing and examining pop culture are masturbatory. However there are worse things to be. Just look on social media.

Disclaimer: There is liberal use of the N word and B word in the following essay. As a white man I apologize in advance for using these derogatory epithets. I abhor these word but critique of the works examined below require me to include these word as any analysis of Ni**as With Attitudes (NWA) and Eazy E must reckon with questionable language front and center to their expression. Obviously. The least I can do is not spell them out.

I knew this n****r… back in uh, back since the n****r was little…


    NWA has a great deal of cultural gravitas on it’s shoulders which is well deserved, along with being comedy, and tragedy. It’s been said they may be the most “punk” of any group in hip hop history. That may be true.


     It’s hard to deny the explosive power of a song like Fuck the Police. A statement so iconic it’s basically textbook at this point. Even at it’s inception it was universal and fully formed, overwhelmingly confident in tone and unapologetic in nature. The song was impossible to ignore and yet it was so boldly profound it could be, and largely was, viewed comically from many audiences who couldn’t fathom the reality the song was trying to address.


    The brutal urgency of the message sent up flares. That’s all art can do. The situation didn’t change. I shouldn’t have to explain to you how it means the same thing today that it did 30 plus years ago. Sadly the song’s relevancy bears out not as a rebellion but as a shameful stain on America’s conscience. It was truth set to a beat. But in 2021 what is the legacy of the world’s most dangerous group?


    The consensus among historians and even the group itself, points to a combination of genius wordsmith (Ice Cube writes the rhymes that I say), genius musicianship (Dr. Dre…) and the injection of capital and nefarious show biz wrangling (Eazy E and that jewish guy) which sparked a wad of dynamite leading to a complete overhaul of hip hop as a genre and a cultural force for good and ill. (Bad meaning bad not bad meaning good)


    As much as NWA blew the doors off shit they certainly come across as amateurish in some ways that are hard to reckon with in hindsight and that’s part of why they eventually fell off.


    The movie Straight Out of Compton was a mildly entertaining way to spend an hour and a half but being a superfan I left the theatre feeling like I’d been cheated. It was well crafted, but I wanted to see something new, something I didn’t already know about NWA. As soon as I came into their orbit I was obsessive about these guys, pouring over every detail which was often hard to come by since they were still vaguely underground but rapidly coming to the surface. As a result the movie played out like my own memories. (Aside from MC Ren getting the shaft.) Not sure what I was expecting but I knew what was going to happen almost every minute throughout the film. I will say the film made me think about how it’s sort of embarrassing to admit they were favorites back in the day.

He once was a thug from around the way. Eazy, but you should- B*tch, Shut the fuck up. Get the fuck out of here.


    Being a lightning rod for controversy makes the groups legacy as hard to narrow down as their oftentimes questionable taste. When I look at their catalog now I gotta say most, if not all of their output is downright ignorant. I’m reminded of the fictional group the MauMaus in the amazing Spike Lee film “Bamboozled.” One character remarked how the MauMaus aren’t just ignorant they’re “ignant.” Would I go so far as to call NWA ignant? Uhhhhh. Yes and no.


    Their presence in hip hop and American pop culture is so towering it’s astonishing. But maybe that’s just my perspective. The conceit of hiphop is such that it’s ever evolving, or getting worse depending upon how you look at it. But I’d be surprised if anyone under 35 would even give a fuck about NWA.


    There were other artists mining the same territory of criminal bravado prior to NWA blasting off. But no one is as hyper linked to the creation of Gangsta Rap than NWA. Feature length films satirized them (CB4), the media portrayed them as demons selling terror, other artists aped their style. In a push to capitalize on their success, record companies altered the course of hip hop and made Gangsta leanings almost a prerequisite for major label release. I grew up loving hip hop but even my last nerve was worked around the mid 90’s when you couldn’t escape a gangsta groove in hip hop, no matter how you tried. Soon it was all “wanna be gangsta fascination” and it lost it’s reputation in the process. It lost my interest, momentarily anyway. In certain circles there’s talk of conspiracy about record companies reinforcing stereotypes and pushing negative bullshit to keep the black community down and record sales up. The glut of gangsta records ad infinitum during the mid 90’s does nothing to squash that theory.


    Was this NWA’s fault? Of course not. But that doesn’t absolve them of certain “crimes.”


    Even at the height of my obsession with these guys there were still some things about them which I found unsavory to say the least. Much off this disillusionment came with the release of their third and in many ways most anticipated album “Efilforzzaggin.” It’s also the biggest disappointment of their career.


    To this day I’m still convinced NWA only released one album which is a stone cold classic. When I say this I’m including the later solo stuff as well. Their sole entry into the world of flawless long players is the first album by Eazy E: Eazy Duz It.


    I think most heads might agree, but for people who only know NWA from the blinding sheen of Fuck the Police that statements is blasphemy.


    Considering the splash they made in hip hop history it’s surprising to remember that NWA and the Boyz didn’t put out a whole lot of music. Just three LP’s under the NWA moniker, stunning solo work by Cube (at least those first two albums) and Dre (you’ve heard of him right?) and Eazy’s solo work. MC Ren later put out a solo LP as well, it’s under appreciated. But Eazy Duz It trumps them all.


    Maybe I treasure Eazy’s first album because it was my first experience hearing anything by NWA? Make no mistake it was also my first experience hearing so many fucking curse words in music outside the punk scene. In fact, it far surpassed the amount of fuck words you would normally hear in a punk song by a huge margin, plus you could hear every FUCK, SHIT, BI*CH, etc. as it was enunciated clearly and enthusiastically. It was a symphony of profanity that elicited squeals of delight from dumb ass kids like me who didn’t know any better. Even now I’d imagine the profanity quotient is abnormally high for this album.


     It was a novel mix that struck gold with solid beats, disrespectful obnoxious gangster fantasies, and humor. It painted a hilarious picture of life as a gangsta in “da hood.” Which had the effect of glamorizing something better left in the gutter. Regardless the shit was entertaining. While Eazy was clearly the baddest motherfucker on the block (nay, planet) he was also down to earth and not above self deprecating cracks about his age and how fucking short he was, but make no mistake he would stomp your motherfucking ass. Or pay someone to do it.


     Songs played out on this album were unique and creative, more so than on subsequent releases. Some were full on narratives (Nobody Move), some were comical commentary on daily life as a criminal (No More Questions) , but most were tales of bravado pumped up to 11 taking hip hop to a place it hadn’t been yet (2 Hard Muthas). It was groundbreaking, but again we have to ask, was it a good thing?

Get used to the crew bi**h…


     Who the fuck were these mother fuckers? They were my new heroes. And therein lies the rub. As entertaining, and incendiary as these characters presented themselves, are these really the types of people we want to see as heroes? Eazy made it clear when he rapped “I’m not a role model or a Dr. Suess.” But without the context I can’t help but admit these scumbags became champions for me and I know I’m not the only one.


    Prior to “Efil4zaggin” the world chomping at the bit to hear something, anything from NWA. They were the pinnacle of underground and yet they were on a higher plane than almost any mainstream shit at the time. The anticipation was palpable. When the album finally dropped it was an atom bomb on first blush. Repeated listenings found many fans disappointed. I was anyway. It starts off strong, and the beats, as usual, were impeccable. But the words and concepts didn’t have the bite we came to expect from the villains.

Say goodbye to the bad guy.


    When you’re a teenager being bad is being alive. It’s really the only thing worth looking forward to. So it came as no surprise that NWA would blow up, and blow up fucking big.


    I lost my shit the first time I saw the video for Night of the Living Baseheads by Public Enemy which had happened a year and a half prior to discovering Eazy-E. Coming to love hip hop in the same way most others were discovering it, I knew it was only a matter of time before a hip hop group would eventually meld a punk sensibility to their aesthetic with politics as an inevitable centerpiece. Using a battering ram of beats to smash racism, implicate the wealthy in a class war, teach the bourgeoisie, and rock the boulevard. It finally happened. I specifically remember crying tears of joy that someone found that sweet spot which appeared to be out in the open. The music called for it. The message needed it’s muse. Someone connected the dots. It was powerful. Cathartic. It finally meant something.


    Hearing Eazy-E for the first time did not have that same feel. But the impact was no less engaging. While I could relate to the words and rage that Chuck D spit, the world that Eazy-E brought into the open was alien. It was funny and yet disorienting. I had zero point of reference for the gangster world, and while profanity was a sure bet to win over dumb ass adolescents, it also opened a gateway to misogynist expression that must have fucked up a whole generation of young men who already didn’t know dick about women. While it came across as clownish, the constant demeaning of women became normalized once you played the same tape over and over for months to years on end.


    History is a motherfucker. And that motherfucker has gone a long way to making NWA a strange and singular creation that is hard to reconcile with woke 2021 perceptions. That’s a good thing. No scratch that, it’s a great thing. Politics, while not front and center, were implicit in their exposing the dark underbelly of America’s dream, and that is commendable. And yet we have to reconcile the medium and the message. They glorified bullshit.


    The shock, joy, and power I feel listening to these songs all these years is still present. But there’s no denying the edge is blunted as any knife’s edge would be after years of stabbing motherfuckers. But it’s also an embarrassing demise similar to the shock and awful mediocrity that was the end result of the aesthetics of punk and hardcore. Something that continues to swallow itself in the world that is no longer blazing a trail but prodding well worn highways of rote memorization and fetishization of one note. There’s just no way to keep that intensity of constant shock still seem germane. Instead it becomes spectacle that encourages life to imitate art. Sure, there’s always going to be a new crew of 15 year old punk kids for whom shock is a thrill pill that fits tightly inside quivering rectums, but for the rest of us this shit sucks if it’s the only note you can hit.


    This is where history really screws NWA. But it’s also the logical conclusion to where they we're headed anyway. They were just fucking around and they knew it. But the proof is in the pudding.

They were smart ass kids initially, but as we all know once Ice Cube bailed they lost direction and largely became a satire of themselves. Any examination of their output shows them to be comedians first and social commentators somewhere further down the list. It’s clear they claimed to be spitting commentary on society mostly in order to get away with being assholes.


    So what is their legacy? It’s a mixed bag. Listening to them today I still hear what I heard all those years ago. A bunch of smart ass punks loudly telling the truth. It’s funny because it’s true. But it’s also depressing as fuck. The beats are there. The sentiment is there. And yet all that misogynist, homophobic bullshit only adds to an ignant heritage that begat an aftermath of stupidity and continues to spawn more idiocy. Just labeling it as entertainment belies just how incendiary it was and how much it changed the game forever.


    They were truth tellers holding up a mirror. Teachers explaining to us what not to do. They were fucking great. They were fucking terrible. Sometimes I hate their fucking guts. Sometimes this gets stuck in my head: People talk shit about cancel culture. Some shit needs to be canceled. Shit like racism. Sexism. Homophobia. Billionaires. Class War. Gangsters and the culture that celebrates these leaches. If you don't agree maybe you should be canceled?
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Thursday, February 4, 2021

Interview with Danny Breeden- singer for FUCK SHIT PISS.


    I look to the past for inspiration. I revere history because you can’t know where you’re at unless you know where you’ve been. I’m up front about my fears of being perceived as nostalgic. Wistfulness is a pathetic refuge from the real, a place to hide from the now. Only a coward or a fool would insist that the best of all times happened in the past and nothing that could happen in the present or future could compare. I’d rather be dead than to believe some stupid shit like that. But if I’m being honest I also don’t want to be perceived as a nostalgia hog because I don’t want to believe that my best years are behind me and I have nothing left to contribute. Fuck that shit.


    I aspire to be relevant, in some way shape or form. Otherwise what’s the point? Why not try heroin? It feels good I’ve been told. These are fleeting concerns as I’m sure you’re aware if you’ve followed any of my tangents. I’m thankful to have figured out how important it is to be relevant, pertinent, apropos… true, only to myself. Which makes me cocky, arrogant, I’d go so far as to say annoying. But I like make myself laugh. I’m equally thankful to have learned that my own laughter is enough for me since I usually laugh at the truth. We could all use a bit of both right now.


    My opinions are merely that. If you don’t agree, I won’t be staying up late to argue with you, and I don’t give a shit about bringing you over to my side. Some truths are self evident. If you can’t see that then there’s something wrong with you.


    I’ve written with a jaundiced eye, ever critical about the triviality of the Las Vegas Hardcore scene. Maybe I’m embittered because I’m disappointed in the shortcomings of a childhood where I was told I could make a difference and yet I feel I haven’t made enough of a difference? I’m still working towards that. Maybe I’m motivated by a love of music and the excitement and passion to be found in pushing boundaries to forge a new path? I’ve found most people are afraid of the new, and I’ve met too many people who are tightly bound to the orthodoxy of hard edged music. It’s not just weepy nostalgia that brings about that attitude, I’ve met teenagers who are still fighting "punk rock" culture wars which were pertinent in the 70’s. (It's comical to think how close I was to strangling this punk ass kid wearing a Vibrators t-shirt who wouldn't shut up about how much he hated Fleetwood Mac. Morons.) That’s why I often think those who worship inane shit like punk rock are reactionary d-bags unworthy of respect. It’s funny to think how an iconoclastic style such as hardcore could foster a rabid devotion that clings to tropes and sounds that stopped being clever, let alone cutting edge, 30 years on.


    After all this shit talking I admit I don’t mind thinking back and finding memories and drawing inspiration from that time in my life, but I draw the line at invoking rose colored glasses to paint a picture of something which was more than it was. I’ve been guilty of adding to that facade I confess.


     The old days sucked. It was not as good as you or I remember and the business of making the world, and ourselves, better never ended. Doesn’t that sound self righteous as fuck? Borderline straight edge preaching. That’s my current mood, so I’m running with it.


     With these lofty concerns addressed by flowery bullshit I submit the following interview with a man who was quite the inspiration to me as a young man. I was lucky to convince Danny Breeden to do an interview with me a month and a half before the pandemic kicked in and ended civility as we know it. Danny was the lead singer of the influential and pitifully obscure LV hardcore band Fuck Shit Piss. For my money (actually I never paid them a red cent in all this time) Fuck Shit Piss was the best musical group to be founded in Southern Nevada and a clear archetype of what hardcore punk was as a sound and a “movement.”


     Their history is fraught with turmoil, angst, hilarity, and tears. Bent to nuances of history and fate, they were the last nail in the coffin of what can be known as hardcore punk. Sure there were shitty bands similar in tone in their wake, but Fuck Shit Piss was the ass shaking, graffiti writing, conscionable, reflection of violence and desperation that summed up the 80’s and gave way to the mediocre 90’s. Music in the LV underground sucked after they broke up, and while I commend them for getting back together to try it again in the 90’s I think they would agree it was a lost cause. Pun intended.


     I remember them as I first encountered them. The life of the party at a packed show at the Elks Lodge in North Las Vegas. While they were popular they were also intimidating which added to their charm and myth. The schism created by half the band come under the spell of fascism ripped apart the Las Vegas underground, a scar from which the Las Vegas underground never fully recovered. As devastating as that was it’s not something I hold in contempt for them. They were bellwethers as the national hardcore scene became increasingly under attack from the forces of right wing manipulation. And while it sucked to see it fall apart it was just another ripple in the history of a country divided by powers thought to be beyond our control. But if anything can be learned it’s that UNITY is more than just a catch phrase. Something we as a nation need to come to grips with. I’ve never been patriotic but I keep saying shit like that with more frequency as of late. Go figure.


     I wanted to interview Danny because I thought it would be fun. It was fun. He provided insight and laughs for me. I hope you might get the same way if you listen. I thank Danny for participating and I thank Checko Salgado for helping to facilitate the interview and for making it that much more entertaining by being involved. We’ve discussed the possibility of more interviews, and I won’t shirk from the opportunity if it presents itself again in the future. I’d love to interview Johnny Bangs, if you read this Johnny holler! I guess the future will reveal itself eventually.


     I’m remain skeptical of people who celebrate the old times too forcefully. There’s still life left to be lived, Danny has been a good example of that ideal put into practice. I continue to be inspired. There are two clips for this interview, be sure to listen to them both. About 2 and 1/2 hours.
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