Music/Musician – Page 7

Lost in Louisiana : My 1st DFF Assignment

For my first official assignment for DFF Magazine:

“Suck The Head’s Psychobilly Showdown” July 8th 1991 Vol. 54

Suck The Head got their name from a popular tradition of sorts while eating Crawfish down in the Pan Handle region. It means that a Person literally sucks the juices, brains, small caps of meat out of the Crawfish’s Head like a fucking Swamp Dwelling Zombie.

Now Suck The Head was gaining attention due mainly in part to their Raucous Booze Fueled Live Shows, and a penchant for Bar Fights. Suck The Head was a Psychobilly Loving Trio comprised of Donovan Wyatt on Guitar and Vocals, Kaden Crew on Drums, and Drunk Mulligan on Drums. The 3 meet each other growing up in Triumph Louisiana with a population of a mere 216. None of the group’s members attended High School as they worked a myriad of jobs to help support their families meager income.

Kaden was a deck hand on a shrimping boat, Mulligan Noodled for Large/Giant Catfish (one day as a joke he was Noodling with his pecker, but unfortunately for him it was a Alligator Snapping Turtle living inside the cave in the river bank. The AST lunged at Mulligans member and managed to severe the head of his schlong. Later a Team of Asian Specialists from Germany replaced the missing head of Mulligan’s prick with the tip from one of his big toes), Donovan hunted Alligator’s along the way.

Suck The Head’s pre show warm up is a vulgar display of Alcoholism. Before each show the 3 members split a Manson Jar of 171 proof Moonshine, and 3 30 packs of PBR. The drinking however doesn’t stop once Suck The Head takes the stage. Sporting their usual on stage attire made up of a Wife Beater Shirt and Old, Worn Out, Scum/Dirt covered Overalls, and Barefoot. As the show goes on the band takes increasingly longer breaks between songs in favor of drinking more. Once the Whisky starts going down like water all bets are off.

Donovan has been arrested several times for drunkenly stage diving into the audience to fight some audience member over god knows what (usually Donovan would say the person was looking at him in some disrespectful or mocking manner) Once Kaden swung his bass guitar at a disruptive fans head, but missed accidentally striking a older woman who had had 1 to many facelifts causing her face to completely pop off. Kaden then drunkenly tried to staple the woman face back on before the police came busting in. Mulligan was notorious for getting drunk and not only picking fights with show promoters/Club Owners over pay, but he was also well known for running off stage to the nearest farm and sexually assaulting a variety of farm animals.

Suck The Head’s debut album “Backwater Bitch Slap” on the Indie Label Spastic Colon Records next month on March 17th, and will be available in limited release. If I had one criticism it would be that the band has NO presence on the Internet (which granted nowadays is utterly fucking insane) due to the fact all 3 members of Suck The Head despise computers and are known to sporadically smash fans smart phones in disgust if they see them fiddling with them at Live Shows/Appearances. All in all though Suck The Head will always be a local Louisiana Legends, yet their chances to break out beyond the boarders of Louisiana itself are slim to none.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober

Jesus Christ, Kevin Micheal and GG Allin

Live:

Albums:

Portraits:

Versions and Evolution:

Comments and Fan Art:

Friends:

Death/Funeral:

Prologue To A New Project Piece

Lets get to the point I’m a huge GG Allin fan though even I can’t agree with all of his Rock’n Roll Rhetoric and a few of his Batshit Beliefs. Plenty of people over the decades have attempted to chronicle the life and music of GG Allin.

There are 2 documentaries (Live Fast Die and the more known Hated In The Nation) that are extremely different in how they cover the subject/subject matter. The first follows a Punk Music Fan as he learns about GG Allin after reading a short 75 word article in a Hardcore Music Mag. The second was directed by none other than Mr. Todd Phillips while attending NYU in his junior year, and actually followed GG Allin on Tour/On The Road. Both are exceptionally well done and deserve proper recognition in their own right.

GG Also appeared quite promptly in the early 1990’s (1990 after his release from prison to his death due to a drug overdose on Heroin combined with Alcohol in the summer of 1993) He is most notoriously known for his appearance(s) on the Geraldo Riviera Show where he was known for his furious ranting and raving (much of which was incoherent) and combative attitude especially towards the disapproving audience members.

GG was also covered predominately in print through countless Magazine articles on his life/music, and News Papers articles on his arrests/trials/outlandish antics or behavior (GG was arrested over 51 times during his life mainly for his extremely aggressive and raunchy stage antics.)

GG even wrote his own book (his prison-era memoirs) titled “My Prison Walls” containing letters, illustrations, prose, and GG’s personal account of his time spent in prison.

So I’ve decided if a picture is truly worth a thousand words, and that GG has already been immortalized in Film, the Media, and Television alike I will be posting a solely pictorial piece on GG Allin. It has take an extraordinarily long time to hunt down a sufficient number of pictures, but its not been an impossible.

Now with that said I feel it is important and pertinent to list the most prominent facts pertaining to GG Allin and because of that I am writing this Prologue Post.

GG’s Father was an religious fanatic who was vehemently anti Social and more than likely suffered from Schizophrenia though that has remained unfounded. GG’s father didn’t have friends and hated most everybody and detested society. He was also know for flying into rages where he would go into the backyard and dig 3 graves (one for his wife, one for GG and one for his older brother Merle), and told them he’d kill them and bury them in the backyard if they didn’t obey him.
The GG moniker came from the simple fact that his older brother Merle couldn’t pronounce Jesus so he would call his little brother GG.

3. When GG was born his father named him Jesus Christ Allin after having a conversation with God in which God told him his son would be coming of Christ.

4. GG grew up in a small cabin in the woods with no running water or electricity.

5.GG’s father demanded absolute silence after 9pm so after 9 no one was allowed to talk.

6. GG’s Mom finally ditched her abusive husband and renamed GG Kevin Micheal Allin.

6.GG Allin started his music career as a drummer and transitioned into singer when he formed the band The Jabbers.

7.GG Allin promoted excessive amounts of Alcohol, Drugs, Sex, and Violence against Authority, Society and Haters/critics/wannabes mainly.

8.Again GG was arrested over 51 times during his musical career and in 1990 was sentenced to 3 years in Prison after alleged allegations of abuse by a fan. GG served 18 months of his sentence before being paroled. GG broke parole almost immediately to go on Tour.

9.GG never completed a full Tour due to personal injury or being arrested/jailed.

10.GG believed Rock’n Roll had been watered down into a bullshit form of music and he wanted to return the “Edge” to Rock’n Roll returning it to its former deviant form.

11.GG worked with numerous bands such as The Aids Brigade, The Jabbers, The Texas Nazis (who kicked him out), The Murder Junkies, AntiSeen, The Toilet Rockers, and The Scumfucs just to name a few.

12.GG used to attend High School in Drag and attended his brother’s wedding as both The Maid of Honor and Best Man.

13.GG Allin stage acts consisted of: Nudity (stripping buck naked during his performance was a GG staple) or GG appearing in just combat boots and a jockstrap with the words “EAT ME” written on it. GG was also known for Pissing on his fellow band members, Self Mutilation (GG would cut and carve himself up with broken beer bottles or crushed beer cans), Fights with the audience, Smashing the microphone into his clenched teeth (he once knocked out 6 of his own teeth during a single show, Live sex acts (fans would preform dude sex acts on or with GG during the show), Drinking Excessively/Drugs, Vandalizing Clubs/Venues, and GG’s most famous act of shitting on stage. GG didn’t just shit on stage he rolled in it, smeared it on himself and audience members, threw it at the audience, and even eating it.

14.GG’s shows usually lasted only 10-15 minutes before the promoter, club owner or Police shut it down due to violence, obscenity, assault or destruction of personal property (The Venue/Club)

So with that I end this pre emptive prologue piece and hope you check out the forth coming GG ALLIN: The Man, The Myth, The Monster Pictorial.

Thanks For The Read as Always,

Les Sober

Tori Amos: A Quick Clarification

It’s no secret that I’m about the farthest fucking thing from a Tori Amos fan, not by a long shot. I find her music extremely melodramatic with Heavy Piano, it the only music that makes Emo look like it has balls. Amos’s Lyrics are Vague and as for “singing” Amos opts to howl, wail, and Yodel her way through every damn song like she’s America’s answer to Iceland’s Bjork.

Its also no secret that Tori Amos has had a long torrid love affaire with cocaine. Tori Amos is essentially a life long cokehead and it shows in her so called music.

There is a popular Tori Amos song (who’s title surprise, surprise I don’t know) BUT the Chorus is;

“God sometimes you don’t come through…”

To be crystal clear Amos’s is not making a profound statement about a religious deity. She is making a exclamation about her Coke Dealer.

Now I’m no Saint or anything resembling one and I’ve been in the situation Tori Amos finds herself in as far as the subject matter pertaining to this song. Its definitely one of the shittiest feelings know to all mankind to be Coked out of your mind tweaking like a Son-Of-A-Bitch and you can’t get a hold of your Drug Dealer.

The intense feeling of utter desperation taxed heavily with anxiety and uncontrollable racing thoughts/pulse, pounding heartbeat, Paranoia, and the intense craving is one of the reasons drug addicts question why they do the drugs they do when their Sober.

The most fucked up thing is I really hate Cocaine, I was never into stimulants, Depressants were my favorite drugs. What I mean by that is Coke made me feel more not less. So I haven’t done Cocaine in 14 years and have no plan to indulge in it ever again.

Thanks For The Read,

Les Sober

GG Allin In His Own Words

Song: “Bite It You Scum”

Written By: GG Allin

Preformed By GG ALLIN & The Murder Junkies

Lyrics:

” You want me to Kiss Your Ass?

Well Bend over Buddy here comes my Foot!

I don’t need your crying ass Shit,

Temper rising pitch a fit”

Chorus: Bite It You Scum!

Bite It You Scum!

Bite It You Scum, Here I come!

Bite It You Scum!

Well you want me to contribute,

All I got is blood for you!

All you want is more and more,

Gluttony You Pig! You WHORE!

Chorus: Bite It You Scum!

Bite It You Scum!

Here I Come,

Bite It You Scum I want your cum

Bite It You Scum!

One day when your end is near,

I’ll be laughing at your fear,

When I’m done there be no one,

then who will be fucking up my fun? NO ONE!

Chorus: Bite It You Scum!

Bite It You Scum!

Bite it! Bite It! Bite It! Bite It You Scum!

Bite It You Scum I’ll never run,

Bite It You Scum!

Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggghhhhh!

Bite It You Scum!

Bite, Bite, Bite, Bite It, It, IT, IT

Bite It You Scum!

Bite It You Scum Sucking Fucking Whore!’

The Deviant Detective Ep 3 : Looking For The Cock Rock King

Rock kicked his feet up onto his desk with a solid thud. Rock picked up a copy of the local paper “The Fanatic” because you’d be surprised what ideas one can come up with by just reading the paper.

Rock flipped through the pages casually until he reached the back of the paper. At the back of “The Fanatic” was the local entertainment/art scene.

Rock never paid mind to the entertainment section it was all shit. Today though Rock realized he’d not only have to read the entertainment section, but also pay struck attention looking for any possible leads. His new client the underground self proclaimed Queen of Punk Ivy Savage had little patience and a huge fucking drug habit.

Rock scanned the concert section and found Ivy’s missing boyfriend Eddie Oi’s band The Fuck Me Pumps were scheduled to play that night down at a small hole in the wall called The Boozehound Lounge. The Boozehound was only a couple of blocks from The BarFly Bar which Ivy had mentioned as a possible hangout of Eddie’s.

Rock placed his feet back on the floor, downed 4 fingers of Kentucky White Whisky, lit a cigarette and exhaled with a labored sigh. Rock knew what he had to do. Rock called a cab and headed down to what was referred to as the dive district.

The dive district was a run down part of the city with abandoned factories, dive bars, shitty clubs, Soup kitchens, Hobo Haven (a tent city of sorts consisting of the cities many homeless), methadone clinics, the county mental health hospital, mom and pop liquor stores, Pawn shops, Strip clubs, Old school Porno theaters most converted into sex shops, the slums run by lecherous so called land lords, and the solid waste authority.

On the ride Rock decided it be best to pick the cabbies brain. Next to bartenders cabbies were the unofficial information sources of street knowledge the who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s the life blood of the city.

“Hey buddy how long you been driving the dive district route?,” inquired Rock

“22 years and thats 20 to damn many,” gripped the cabbie

“I’m looking for some punk rock guy named Eddie Oi. You know the prime punk scene hangouts and clubs?”

“Fuck that shit. The Fuck Me Pump’s aren’t punk rock, their fucking cock rock. your looking in the right neighborhood but wrong street if ya know what I’m saying pal.,”

“What in the name of Christ is Cock Rock?,” asked Rock as he reached for his trusty flask.

“Cock Rock,”said the cabbie “Its like punk rock, 3 chord shit played as fast as humanly possible. Instead of politics or social commentary Cock Rock is essentially a shitty porno put to music. Think 2 Live Crew but with guitars and all that shit.”

“Shit and I thought Punk was the soundtrack of the gutter but damn just like always theres something worse than what you think. Wheres a good place to start the search?” Rock wondered aloud.

“Easy you go to The BarFly Bar. When you get there ask for Bloody Sod Bollocks he’s the godfather of underground hardcore scene. He used to be in some famous British hardcore punk band back in the day called Shit Out of Luck or something like that. He’s been here in the city so long he knows every-fucking-body. You looking for a musical you go talk to Bloody Sod.” claimed the cabbie in utter confidence as he pulled up to the curb outside of The BarFly Bar.

Well isn’t that convenient as hell thought Rock. All signs seemed to point to The BarFly Bar and that would be Rock’s jumping off point. Rock exited the cab making sure to give the cabbie a hefty tip not for the ride but the information. Any asshole can drive a car.

The BarFly Bar looked like the kind of establishment one would expect to get stabbed in. The bar smelled foul like a locker room and a well used port-o-potty combined. Jesus Christ Rock thought I’ve been in shitty bars before but this is by far the shittiest. It’s like every other shitty bar came to The BarFly and took a massive shit in it.

The windows where blacked out to spare the bottom dwelling patrons having to face the light of day. Cigarette smoke hung in the air wafting around the lights like restless spirits. The bar was located to the left of the main entrance. The bar itself was lined with decreped and wobbly stools patched together with duct tape.

The bartender/owner was a stout man in his early 60’s whose collection of tattoos had deteriorated into sloppy blurs over the decades. His large gnarled hands with thick calluses spoke hard life of manual labor and long hours. The wrinkles in his face where etched through time like the feordes and ran just as deep.

The handful of patrons were spread through out the bar all of them alone. The exception being a middle aged couple who seemed oblivious to the world around them as the slobbered all over one another. It was the equivalent of watching a extremely shitty home made sex tape.

Rock saddled up to the bar preferring to stand over sitting on one of the STD ridden bar stools.

“Hey Bartender let me get 3 fingers of Westminster Whiskey and an ash tray while your at it,” Said Rock slowly rescanning the bar.

“I’m Gunny bartending is what I do.”replied Gunny as he angrily pulled the cork from the whiskey bottle “Ive got no problem letting you know that I don’t like dicks in my bar private or otherwise.”

“Well at least you didn’t say cop. I’m looking for Eddie Oi he owes my client money. Thats where I come in.”

“Who doesn’t that grimy little shit owe money to? I haven’t seen him since I 86ed his bar tab, and told him until he repays it all drinks will be on a cash transaction.”

“You have any idea where he might be Gunny?”

“Hell no. But Justin Sane the drummer in his little shit band is in the stock room.” said Gunny as he started to wipe down the warped bar top.

“What the hell is he doing in the stock room?” Rock asked downing his drink in one gulp before signaling for another.

“Some junkie groupie took him back there, sad the high light of this pitiful girls rough life will be sucking Justin’s baby dick in the back of a shitty bar.”

Rock downed his second drink in the same fashion as the first. Turned to face the stock room door at the back of the building. Rock steadily approached the stockroom door preparing for whatever maybe behind it. Rock stopped right in front of the door, grasped the greasy door knob firmly, and shoved it open like a steroid ridden line backer.

Stockroom more like storeroom is more like it Rock thought the instant the door gave way. None the less there was Justin propped up against a pallet of beer boxes with his red liberty spike mohawk, tattered leather vest infested with a collage of various band’s pins and patches, generic white t-shirt with a anarchy sign spray painted on it in a sickly green, slew of amateur India ink tattoos that gave way to the track marks beginning to establish themselves. His cut off jean shorts around his ankles while some skanky bleached blonde was on her knees in front of him her head bobbing like she’d been infected with a potent fast acting poison, and the only cure was located in Justin’s cock.

Before Rock had a chance to react all hell broke loose. Rock was grabbed from behind and thrown violently backward into the door frame . Ivy Savage came barreling past Rock in a goddamn flash, then she snatched the groupie by the hair and tossed her aside like a fucking rag doll. The instant the groupie was sent tumbling into a near by liquor rack Ivy dropped to her knees. She grabbed Justin’s massive member at the base with one hand and the tip with the other. What happened next defies logic. Ivy now with Justin’s huge lap hog in her hands bite down on it full force like she was rabidly attacking an ear of corn. Inspire of Gunny’s disparaging comments pertaining to the size of Justin’s “baby dick” Justin was hung like a goddamn donkey. The kid was 5′ 9″ and a 100 pounds soaking wet and 10 of those pounds were due to his dick Rock thought sarcastically. Justin’s porn star sized cock was inevitably too thick for Ivy to bite it clean in half which seemed to be her true intent.

In spite of Justin’s unforeseen girth Ivy earned her moniker of savage. Ivy gleefully started biting mouthfuls of Justin’s schlong spitting them out one after the other while screaming like a blood thirsty banshee “I’M IVY FUCKING SAVAGE! I’LL POISON YOU LIKE IVY AND BRUTALIZE YOU LIKE A FUCKING SAVAGE!!!!”

Rock had had enough of this bullshit for the day. The groupie cowering in a corner kicking and screaming, Ivy’s genital based cannibalism, and Justine guttural growls as blood splatter covered the entire room. Rock reached over and took a bottle of cheap rot gut booze and brought it crashing down upon Ivy’s head knocking out cold. Rock turned and exited the storeroom shutting the door behind him.

“Holy Hell what the fuck is going on in there?!!,” demanded Gunny scowling at Rock intensity.

“Gunny, your closed for the evening,” replied Rock with calculated calm before promptly leaving the confines of The BarFly for the soothing insanity of the city streets. Then it suddenly occurred he had failed to locate the so called underground godfather Bloody Sod Bolloks.

“Goddamn it! Shit,shit,shit!! Goddamn Bloody Sod!” Rock said aloud in utter frustration.

“You looking to find Bloody he’s at the Methadone Clinic everyday at 5pm to hook up his daily dose.” commented a disheveled homeless kid who was lurking in a dark doorway like a ghost of society.

“Thanks for the tip,” Rock said handing the homeless kid a twenty “Buy some fucking food. Don’t spend all this on dope or drink.”

“Sure thing,” the homeless kid chirped excitedly at the sight of the twenty.

Sure thing my ass thought Rock as he turned away from the kid and headed off towards the City’s sole methadone clinic at a quick clip.

To Be Continued…

The Deviant Detective Ep.4 : Shit Sandwich Lunch Special

The Deviant Detective Ep.2 : Getting Directions From The Blind

Readers: There are a great deal of Obscenities and Blasphemies in the following Story. Heads up and Have A Nice Day.

“Rock Hard that you,” asked the stranger as they leaned against the wall for support.

“Yeah I’m Rock Hard come into my office and tell me what the problem of yours is.” said Rock in his authoritative professional detective voice.

Buy the time Rock reached his office door he knew who the stranger was. It was underground punk rock icon and lead singer for The Furiously Fingered Five Ivy Savage.

She wreaked of cheap gin and cheaper cigarillos. Jesus Christ Rock thought to himself she’s a fucking train wreck. It was obvious the rumors where more than true.

The Meth induced orgies, shooting smack in her snatch, drug smuggling, assault, DUIs, countless rehabs, grand theft auto, drug possession, and possession of an illegal fire arm 4 times in 6 months that fucking Ivy Savage.

Rock jingled his key in the office door until it begrudgingly opened.

The door swung open slamming into the wall so hard the glass shook like a new prostitutes on her first “date.”

Rock walked over to his antique solid oak desk he had salvaged when the city demolished the 1930’s repossession power house Snide, Pompous and Braggart back in 1974. Rock slowly lowered himself into his chair as it creaked in protest.

“So if it isn’t the infamous Queen of Punk Ivy Savage, your reputation precedes you,” Rock said eying his new client up and down.

“I’m fucking used to that propaganda puke, its all horse shit a huge fucking load of steaming hot horse shit.,” Ivy replied angrily.

Ivy was pacing like a jack rabbit on a coke bender constantly fidgeting with her hands. As she spoke Rock took note of her eyes and how the darted around his office unable to stay focused on a damn thing. These were the classic signs of a rock bottom gutter dwelling druggie.

“Whats the problem,” Rock asked bluntly.

“My motherfucking boyfriend is fucking missing and I can’t find my bitch,” Ivy replied coldly.

“How do you know he didn’t just split or end up in the ER for overdosing something along those lines?!”

“I’m his goddamn meal ticket and that little scummy shit damn well knows it. I pay for our booze, drugs, food and hotel room down at The Opulent Oasis for christ’s sake. He’s a fucking moron but he’s not that goddamn dumb.”

“Alright then when did you see your boyfriend last Ms. Savage?”

“Call me Ivy for fuck’s sake, theres no Ms. about me thats for sure. I saw him just last night when we were having a private party in our hotel room. I went to take a shit, it was round 3 am or so and nodded off on the toilet. When I came to it this morning it was 11 fucking thirty and he was gone.”

“Whats his name, whats he go by,” asked Rock as he started to get rather irritated. To calm his nerves he took a long slow sip from his flask and let the whiskey do the rest.

“He goes by Eddie Oi he’s the base player for The Fuck Me Pumps,” said Ivy mattarfactly her voice void of emotion.

“Where does Eddie and his band or friends hang out at. Where do they spend their time? Where do they go? What do they do all damn day?”

“I’m not his fucking biographer. This is the shit I know bout to answer your fucking questions. Eddie doesn’t have any fucking friends just goddamn dope dealers and drug buddies. As for him and his shitty band they spend a good amount of time at The Barfly Lounge down on the skids. He sees his main dealer at least 8 times a day scoring dope and all that drug shit.”

“Eddie got a record?”

“No and thats a fucking surprise and a half. He’s never even been arrested for drunk and disorderly nothing, not a single goddamn thing so that won’t help your search.”

Rock lazily moved the files on his desk around randomly just to look more than what he was a dinosaur and a goddamn drunk with a violent disposition. Rock shunned technology whenever possible unless it was absolutely necessary, but Rock decided to revisit the idea of getting a computer so he could fain interest while surfing the internet.

“Look just find the fucker and let me know so I can bitch slap his stupid ass back in fucking line,” demanded Ivy.

“Calm down I’m taking your case and I’ll find Eddie no matter where he is or where he may be hiding at I assure you of that,” Rock said in total confidence.

“Thank god for that then.”

“I’ll need a retainer of $1,200 plus daily expenses. Take it or leave it I’m not the one with the problem.”

“Call my fucking manager Harvey Schister. His number is 555-7683 and he’s a real son of a bitch but don’t take his shit because he’s full of shit.”

“Alright then I will call Mr. Schister this afternoon and get started immediately after I get my retainer.”

“Well I’m gonna piss off then, but I’ll be on top of you like a 600 pound prison booty bandit, I don’t take shit from anyone ever.”

With that Rock showed Ivy to the door locking it behind her. Rock didn’t want to be disturbed he had to process his meeting with his new client Ivy Savage. Where could he find the best leads he wondered as he lit a cigarette blowing the smoke out of his nose like a exhausted dragon.

This case is going to be a goddamn drunken drugged out insanely dark horror show Rock was convinced of that.

To Be Continued in The Deviant Detective Ep.3 : Finding The Cock Rock King.

The Other Side OF The Galaxy by Spacedog

The other side of the galaxy
The other side………

That is where I have been living the past few days. Isn’t it ironic that was the place I was trying to get to for 12 years or more and now I’ve finally arrived. thanks doctor dippy. But this is not the side I wanted to be on. There is so much pain here and no laughter. I can’t stand it. My favorite memories do not help me. All I have is my music.. My Tori, my industrial, my rock, my dance, mostly things without words well except tori she always wins. I’m not living by words today it’s all deep fused emotions. pianos and drums and synthesizers (sorry guitars not this week). pianos, pianos. I love pianos. errrrrrrrrrr. im actually not sad, that’s why I put indescribable. im useless cheer, if i were regular cheer i’d be on recall like them dell batteries. i need a recharge so my roulette wheel stops spinning. it’s tired of spittin out random numbers. i wish someone could pull me out of “the other side” but this ain’t like some quicksand where I’m like ,”Help pull me out big strong man”, no it’s more like I just jumped from a plane and don’t know where the cord is. im not in danger of splatting. i like that noise tho SPLAT!!!!! back to my piano cove.

I Was A Teenage Murder Junkie pt.4: Salvation of the Streets

Mike shoved the doors of the basement delivery and much to our surprise they swung open like a $2.00 Hooker’s legs on pay day. We bum rushed out of the confines of the basement show leaving the ensuing riot behind us. As we emptied onto the street it resembled the most messed up parade anyone could imagine. Several police cruisers were parked out front in various and precarious angles outside of the bar with their lights blazing as a handful of cops wandered around amidst the occupants of the bar. The regulars were at the outskirts of the crowd bitching about being separated from their beer and bar because of some punk kids shit show (that shouldn’t have ever been booked) as The Barfly was in deed a Bar not an actual show venue. The base of the crowd outside were not just the fan’s that attended the show, but an increasing amount of onlookers out from the shadows of the shitty streets they called home. It was quite obvious that there simply were not nearly enough police officers to accomplish much of anything accept a couple of initial arrests, and not getting killed in an already out of control situation that since they intervened seemed to only escalate more and more. Plainly put it was a numbers game and the police were well outnumbered.

Our small clan stood in a tight circle around GG who was beyond agitated and was now bordering on his usual redirect of hate against the entire fucking planet. All I remember from standing in that circle as we franticly threw together some resemblance of an escape plan that I was completely distracted by GG. Well not GG as much as the way he smelled to be more accurate. The pungent stench of stale beer, body odor, blood, feces and urine combined into a force all its own burning ones nostrils and causing ones eyes to water profusely. I have smelled rotting roadkill baking under the hellacious heat of a Texas summer heatwave that didn’t wreak nearly as bad or strongly as GG that night in the ally. The most immediate part of our plan if we were to escape unharmed in one piece and avoid incarceration was to camouflage GG like any anonymous fan. While the first responders found themselves out matched had inevitably radioed for much need back up, and GG was their main target. GG’s girlfriend grabbed a dirty bandana from out of a trash can in the ally and furiously started wiping the blood from GG’s head as well as face. The Mike contributed his leather biker jacket and one of the few other fans with donated a pair of cut off sweat pant shorts. GG took the fitly bloody bandana from Liz and fashioned it so it not only covered his shaved head but also obscured his eyes. With GG now dressed identically like one of his disenfranchised fans we slowly exited the ally into the main street. The police were to distracted by all the other bullshit going on they didn’t notice our exiting from the ally next to the bar. We started walking briskly in a tight knit group with GG on point. We made it all the half block down to the corner of the block without issue until we (moreover GG) was detected again not by the police or adoring fans, but by one of the amassed spectators on the opposite side of the street from the bar.

“GG IS FUCKING GOD!!” screamed the unknown onlooker like a fucking air siren circa World War II. Thats all it took to get the attention needed for the fans and mentality of the show to spill out onto the streets like blood from a severed artery. The fans and onlookers started to walk down the street in our direction, and unwanted attention. We managed to make it 3 blocks before GG decided to start engaging his following fans and assorted others like the onlookers. GG started by responding to the chants and screams of support which only served to rile the crowd into a further fury. We could hear the sounds of bottles breaking, trash cans being tossed and an assortment of other sounds of destruction as I began to worry that the incoming police back up might spot us thus ending our escape and starting the jailing process. GG didn’t seem to give a shit anymore as he continued to encourage the chaos. GG was leading the procession of misfits and deviants through the South Philly streets like a demented Pied Pipper leading his personal army of rats.

The only thing that finally got GG to snap back to reality and realize the true and present danger of the surrounding police was his desire to party. No surprise GG was a heavy drinker and endorsed drinking as well as drug use in any and all forms (GG also endorsed violence especially against authority) ,and his Achilles hill made him focused at the task at hand: Don’t get arrested (again) and get drunk/high. We soon realized walking wasn’t going to work as no one knew where we were or where we were going not to mention we were being escorted by a unruly gang of miscreants spreading destruction in their wake. I managed to wrestle a crumpled $20 bill from my tattered jeans and got Liz’s attention. I gave her the twenty and told her it was for cab fare to get GG out of here once and for all. We unfortunately had to walk several more blocks until we had a chance in hell of catching a cab in spite of the nights already tumultuous events. At last one of the few fans with us a small greasy guy (he was 5 foot nothing at best) with 5 o’clock shadow got ahead of us and managed to hail the only cab we had seen since arriving hours earlier. Liz jumped in the cab as fast as she possible could tugging on GG’s arm so hard it looked as if she was trying to dislocate GG’s fucking shoulder. GG paused as he entered the beat up gypsy cab and said angrily “Fuck you Philly!” and then preceded to getting the cab. As soon as GG was in the cab it took off like a bat out of hell with its ass on fire.

As I stood there watching as the cab barreled GG off into the night I thought to myself “I don’t know how the hell I ended up at a GG Allin show, but I was damn glad I came because you can’t make shit like this up.”

I Was A Teenage Murder Junkie pt.3: Here Come The Cops

As suddenly as they were switched off the stage lights burst back on. The confused and intoxicated crowd mingled around desperately trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with the on and off again lights. Just then the basement door flung open with such impact that when it slammed against the wall it sounded like a goddamn concussion grenade. The Bar/Club owner bum rushed into the room like a bull released from its pen at a rodeo. He strode to the middle of the room and promptly announced that do to “The Destructive Behavior Bullshit” and ” A Totally Fucked Up Band Lead By A Bald Degenerate Fucking Nightmare” was shutting the show down immediately. This did not bode well with the fans in the least. Instantly the Owner (and the 4 or five bouncers he had brought with him to work security, mainly his own) was plunged into a barrage of insults, violent threats, and pro GG Allin rhetoric. Needless to say the Owner made an extremely hasty retreat back upstairs to his bar. GG then took this pause in the pandemonium to address the crowd.

“Fuck is this Shit?! We want to keep playing but these motherfuckers keep cutting the power! The owner wants to shut our show the fuck down, do you want us to stop?!” GG yelled belligerently at the still awe struck audience. The unanimous answer of the crowd rang out like riot as fans screamed over each other like methhead auctioneers.

“FUCK NO!”, “GG IS GOD!”, “FUCK THIS SHIT!”, “RIOT TIME MOTHERFUCKERS!”, “WE WANT BLOOD!”, “BLOOD FOR YOU!”, “EAT MY FUCK!” and so on and so forth.

This incited GG like gasoline being pissed on a fire. GG was scowling in intense hatred apparently for everything and everybody present. GG was pacing the stage back and forth like a caged fucking animal as he quickly picked up his pace. GG grabbed a crushed beer can from the side of the stage and then used it to slash his torso preparedly like some primitive caveman’s knife.

From what I had reseated about GG Allin this kind of shitshow common occurrence at GG’s concerts. GG Allin concerts/shows on average only lasted 15-20 minutes total before (like now) the Club owner cut the power or the venue was stormed by the police. GG had been at this point in career to be arrested 52 times for lied acts, indecent exposure, obscenity and even shitting on stage. I had watched the infamous GG Allin documentary films called “Hated: GG Allin and The Murder Junkies” by a young Todd Phillips in 1994 (a year after GG’s death due to surprise, surprise a Heroin Overdose on June 28th 1993) In the documentary GG’s older brother Merle Allin and bass player for The Murder Junkies is interviewed rather extensively throughout. In one of the interview clips Merle even states this fact further.

Merle commented that”When you went on tour (with GG) you never expect to finish the tour and thats for one of two reasons either The Hospital or Jail.” referring to the fact due to his stage show GG not only could/would be arrested , but due to his intense performances GG could also just as easily end up in the ER.

Thats when a small calvary of cops started to slowly file into the basement show venue like the fucking gestapo. Apparently the Owner had fled back upstairs and called in the cops ASAP to bail him and his Bar out of serious trouble. The crown seemed to split into to distinctly different groups this point. The one group were the ambivalent and angst filled Anarchistic fans who stood their ground while antagonizing the cops relentlessly. The second group were the polar opposite as the scrambled for any exit out of the show before getting beaten and arrested by the militant police personnel.

My buddy and coworker Chuck has decided being antiauthoritarian to the core of his basic being was siding with those who chosen to enter into the escalating conflict with the cops. Meanwhile my other friend and coworker Mike and I agreed it was in our best interest to skedaddle like our lives depended on it.

While the insanity ensued The Murder Junkies stood on the stage just a confused as anyone else caught up in the may lay. GG had abandoned the stage and immersed himself in the crowd to avoid initial detection by the conclave of cops. A handful of GG’s hardcore fans had grouped up and were now attempting to get GG out of the building before being apprehended by the asshole authorities.

“GG Over here, Over Here GG Come on lets get you the fuck outta here” yelled the group of hardcore fans desperately trying to get GG’s attention, and aid him in his escape from prosecution. Finally at last GG’s then girlfriend Liz (who was leading the group) managed to grab GG”s arm and redirect him. The problem was while the escape group comprised of die hard fans had united and caught up with their quarry still had no real plan for escape. The motley crew of super fans circled around GG and were aimlessly migrating through the crowd towards the stage at the back of the room (being the farthest point away from increasing police presence). Once they reached the stage GG pushed and shoved his way over to his brother Merle who was still standing on the right stage smoking a cigarette. Mike and I figured GG and his Mega Fans were experts at exactly this, and being we too wanted to bail the fuck out for the identical reason figured it be wisest to follow them. We managed to make our way through the small sea of human bumper cars to the back of the room by the left side of the stage.

By now the the fight the power fans were locked in full on combat with the cops. Swearing at cops had turned into swinging on the cops. Beer bottles were being pelted at the police along with anything else that wasn’t bolted down. The police retaliated with excessive amount of mace and then upped the ante by taking their tazers out. As the first few fans were rendered enabled by the first wave of tazings the crowd got crazier. Fans were using chair legs and other various debris to club the cops like police piñatas. Some fans were flailing all over like snakes having seizures as the police used zip ties to restrain them. Others were continuing the chaotic carnage by battling the police, and others already detained and restrained were being led out of the show in a single file line. A security guard of the Owner had been leveled to the ground and was being mercilessly kicked and stomped by a growing gang of blood thirsty violent minded fans. The building noise was reaching a deafening level as all hell and high water had laid complete waste to any as resemblance of a concert.

Mike and I while following GG and his escape artist hardcore fans we had become stuck up against the left side of the stage. We could no longer move having been blocked in by a number of other concert goers who launched into a fan on fan full out fist fight. At this moment I looked over at Mike who shot his gaze up to the actual stage and I instantly knew what he meant. Mike hoisted himself up onto the stage accidentally bumping into the then guitarist for The Murder Junkies William Weber. Mike then helped me as clambered up on stage. The members of The Murder Junkies barely batted an eyelash at us as if to let us know they could care less who the hell we were. We weaved around behind the drum kit and the drummer Dino The Naked Drummer who was vacantly staring off into space or some shit. Once we had achieved moving across the stage Mike grabbed my arm. I asked him what the fuck could he possibly want, and thats when Mike directed my attention to behind the curtain hanging behind Dino. It was hiding the back wall where there to our enormous luck there was loading dock door. Its one of those street level doors you see walking down the street that opens from the basement of the building, and onto the street for receiving deliveries and such. This was the chink in the aggressive storm of utter anarchy that would be our escape to the freedom on the street. Just then Mike did something that surprised the shit out of me and then some. Mike fought his way over to the front right of the stage and blurted out,

“GG! GG! We can get you out right fucking now, COME ON!!”

READERS: Stay tuned For The Final Installment Of This 4 Part Piece. I Was A Teenage Murder Junkie pt. 4: The Salvation of the Street COMING SOON DATE TBD