GOT SLUDGE IF YOU WANT IT...BUT IT COMES WITH A COSMIC PRICE Years from now, when Matador will be known as the AmRep for the late double o's and Matt Kosloffs' pubic hair will be auctioned off at Sotherbys', there will be kids digging through piles of chest hair and gravy lookin' for obscure artifacts from this time in weirdo history. There will be plenty of CDR's, 7"s, etc. filled to the gills with poser shit, but I'm supposing there will be some stuff worthy of the dig. One such dinner plate will be this Snake Apartment 12" just released on the Parts Unknown imprint. Rhode Islands' Snake Apartment seem to fit snugly in with your Urinated-On Trousers...your Cockcleaners...your Helmodummies, etc. but what they got that those dudes don't is two peg legs both rooted firmly in those shitty 80's and those even shittier 90's. Sure, these guys know the second side of 'My War' like the back of their schlong, that's a rather obvious (and very beautiful) thang. But the opening track on this disc, 'Paint The Walls', was a hard flashback to fifteen years ago on those first couple of listens. I shut my eyes and sprang back to Tad yelling at kids in my hometown to stagedive. Was this good? Do I even own a Tad record anymore? After awhile, these self Stalinized thoughts became decent memories and made me think, 'Shit, maybe I should get those Vertigo records outta hock?' Is it time for a re-think on Helmet? I guess anythings better than staring at the walls... Nonetheless, the dudes evenly worship the sludgy riffage of Ginn and the Sub Plopped 90's headshaker sound with equal aplomb and pretty gnarly results. Maybe I'll even knock the remote off my paunchy gut and see these guys if they're stupid enough to wanna play New York. Hot damn! So...if you consider yourself 'Mr. Vegas', send twelve bones to fatrich1@yahoo.com and lemme know what you think...Like I give a shit...

There will be a slight decline in posting here for a week or so. Shithead ghetto youth and banker asswipes have caused me to need extreme therapy in the form of hot rock massages and breakfasts at the Frontier. Hopefully you can get along on your own.

COLUMBUS OHIOS' VEGETATIVE STATE HAVE BEEN WATCHIN' YOU THROUGH THE WIND-UH!

Above -- Vegetative States' spiritual leader receives a happy ending from hot gook gash.

Since those culture vultures over at the Bull Tongue have hepped themselves to Clevelands’ Homostupids, the collective we had to find some new young Midwestern Punker necks to sink our tender fangs into. After much perusing of countless distro websites, we settled on this three song single by Columbus’ Vegetative State. What made us settle on them you axe? Well, the cover seemed to be a homage to Don Knotts, a sure sign of quality. I just figured, anyone willing to be so blatantly retarded in the graphics department has to have something going on in their musical pants. And as usual, I was right. Reports tell me the cats behind these tunes are of the young and drunken variety and it certainly shows. The two tracks that make up the first side have an inept quality to them that sounds like an early live tape of the Germs or that first Court Martial single played by mentally challenged walruses. The flipside of this single was the thing that made me really sit up and take notice though. It’s this long winded Psychedelic Punk mistake entitled ’Laguna Beach Rules’. It sorta lumbers on for awhile in a weird fumbling fog until the guitarist busts out this solo that sounds like it’s straight off of ’Kings of Oblivion’ or something. Is all this blundering a pose? How can you sound like you failed a tryout for Maniax one minute and then mimic Larry Wallis the next? The record is just this huge, hanging question mark for me. A total mystery item. A total mystery item with a MySpace page…. Oh brother! You can order this sucker for four clams here --
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=21529336

Now someone get me a flea bath...quick...

C'MON IN EVERYBODY! AN EARLY MID-LIFE CRISIS FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE!!! A few weeks ago, a buddy and I drove down to Philly to see an honest-to-goodness real life Hardcore show in the year 2007. The line-up couldn't be beat I thought. Canada's Fucked Up, the recently resurrected Philly Hardcore legends YDI and Virginia's Government Warning. As the days grew closer, the shittier my work situation became and my contempt for the adult rat race grew. I counted the hours until we left on this trip and wondered in my head if I would actually clock some kid in the pit while Fucked Up busted out that 'Police' jam. I had a checklist in my noggin of all the new fangeled Hardcore platters I would pick up at the show. Yes, I agree it was sad, but it was helping not clock a client in the mouth, so I stuck with it. One night when I was walking home from work, I thought how much I needed something like Hardcore now more than I ever did when I was a kid. All I had then was an implanted hatred of the norm. Now I have bills, a crap job, an honest fear of everything and no hair. What do I have to go off to in my current situation? Tell me!

The ride down was great. Good jams and kindly fat asses serving fried chicken. After a few beers, we walked down to the hall where the show was going on. 'Y'all think it's Woodstock down here?!?' axed a street urchin to a group of fresh-faced Hardcore kids. Ah, guff from the local color. Perhaps Punk Rock hasn't changed that much... Government Warning was already rollin' when we got in. Within seconds, as corny as it sounds, everything felt real. I'm not saying I had some post-revelatory moment. I'm just saying the energy felt pure. Government Warning were tight shit with a drummer that's a phenomenal spiritual son to Lucky. Kids knew all the words and good dives were done (Feet first...nice touch!) While I was watching them, I flashed back to Flipside videos of Stalag 13 and Adolescents. So far, so good. I'm usually pretty opposed to seeing reunited Punker bands, but I felt the need to see YDI as I found them to be an open-ended case in my life. My brother had their 'A Place In The Sun' 7" and that record really intrigued me. When I finally got to see them as a tot (Opening for Samhain maybe?) there was not a flannel shirt or bald head in sight. Elbow length leopard skin gloves and frizzed out hair is what I got. I just caught on to all this aggro face to face and everybody was going metal or wimping out. I was bummed. Their singer Jackal came to the stage tonight in an old ass Upstarts shirt and leather pants. He said it was nice to be playing in front of some 'young guys' rather than 'old farts in bars'. He seemed happy. I mean, as happy as you can look singing songs like 'I Killed My Family' or 'Mad At The World'. There was certainly nothing offensive about it. They was no pandering or posing. Why should I suspect that in the first place? Is there really anything they should expect to gain? These are the thoughts I wrangled with as I kept gazing at Jackyls' Upstarts shirt and thinking 'If he takes that thing off, I'm grabbin' it and running off to Mexico'. A few old faces were caught up to (If you told me I'd be in a room with the likes of Robby Redcheeks in my 30's, I'd think you're on the pipe) and I went to swill more beer during the wait for Fucked Up. I guess in the interim of guzzling brews and shooting shit, someone let off a fire extinguisher in the hall. The whole crowd was more or less standing outside the hall covering their faces. Again, more proof Punk Rock never changes. Once the hall was cleared, Fucked Up started out with 'Police' and my compadre said 'Shouldn't you be killing someone right now?' But I didn't. C'mon, the idea of a grown man beating the hell out of some kid in a sleeveless Japanese HC shirt sounds funny at first, but in reality it's sadder than sad. So I just stood to the side and pushed back kids that barrelled into me. One guy seemed like he was doing it on purpose, which in my pittin' days, was an extreme no-no. I pushed him by the neck while holding either end with my pointing finger and thumb. It was then some large kid with a shaved head said in my ear 'Yo, you can't be doing that shit!'. I rasied my brow and squinted at the kid. It was then I knew I couldn't go home*. Madonna's 'This Used To My Playground' played in my head and I sulked to the back. Why was I someplace where some kid is telling me what I can't or can do? Why did I push this kid by the neck? Fucked Up played for awhile with numerous technical difficulties which sorta was bringing me down more. But overall, I'd say the evening was a success. Much records were bought and much sweet beautiful drunk talk was made over Black Flag and Judge. But will I go to another HC show again? I'd say 'yes'. The lofts of Brooklyn are filled with bands I've seen over and over again. Even if I've never seen them, I feel I have. Some might say the idea of HC in this time and age is kinda weird. I think so too and that's why I wanna dig into it. The sight of the guitarist of Government Warning in a Chronic Sick shirt was mindblowing to me. This thing has legs and gotten to the point where the kids started dictating the history. It needs further investigation. So excuse me if I misplace that Birds of Delay review somewhere, I'm listening to 86 Mentality.

WHO BE THE KING? Pictured above -- King Darves performs after getting over what looks like a bad case of V.D.


A few months ago, I went off on some major props fest here regarding all those crazy kids in the New Brunswick/Highland Park area of New Jersey and their crazy ways. Most of them I knew in the CDR/cassette format and I done seen a few with my own peepers to know they were legit, but the one that was still cloaked in a cheesecloth of mystery to me was this guy from down there who went by the name of King Darves. I saw a few of his tape releases lying around at a relatives' apartment, but I was too busy at that particular moment gettin' lifted and listening to all the newest blippity bloop 12"s' to give it a listen. So friggin' finally I get a hold of a CDR he did with the title 'The Sun Splits For...The Blind Swimmer' a few nights ago and I gotta say I'm as bowled over by this as I've been by all that shizz from the same area rug. For some reason, I figured he was either doing some sorta big boned noise thing ala the thing he does with Mr. 2673 named Asps, or a lame 'New Weird' knock-off. So I was rather shocked and pleased when the prettiest sound with a deep, rich voice came out of the headphones that made me tap my toes and nod my head like a little goil. Now, I get the feeling you're gonna take one look at the photo of KD pictured above and think 'Oh boy! Another guy with a beard and an acoustic guitar, where's my ax?' But it ain't like that I tell ya! The bedrock of this' mans' conncoction is certainly folk based, but he ain't wearin' no headband and singing of pixies. This is somewhere between rollie cigs and the foggy vision of Big Pink from somewhere on Jersey Avenue or maybe a one-manned Meat Puppets. And this kid can really cobble something together in his kitchen sink. I haven't been this dizzy for a one-manned (genuine) musical matter since last years' Colossal Yes disc, which is really saying something if you've ever been around me when I'm in my 'Drunk and boring you with shit you don't care about' mood. But where Mr. Yes wants to be Elton John fed through Kendra Smiths' kidneys, Mr. Darves wants to be Dick Curless fed through a Rutgers' students' bowels (Right after the Tuesday night veal loaf) You get my drift? Enough gay ass word play...Get with this kid at his MySpace thingy and tell him to make more and feed them to a public too fat on Wooden Wand as well as his vanishing shlong...

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=32085219

Other good shit that might get talked about when I'm not so bloated on garlic...

Various Artists -- 'No Bullshit Volume 2' 7" (No Way)
Mala -- 'Bury Da Bwoy'/'Hunter' 12" (DMZ)
Government Warning -- 'No Moderation' 12" (Feral Ward)
Vegetative State -- 7" (Death by Noise)
D. Charles Speer -- 7" (Sound @ One)
Koro -- 'Speed Kills' 12" (Sorry State)
Order -- 'Kickball' 7" (?)
Emeralds -- 'Dirt Weed Diaries Vol. One' CDR (Maim & Disfigure)