Unsolicited Queers Review

The Queers
w/ Kepi Ghoulie, the Colytons
Asbury Park Lanes
6/25/08

So it’s 2008 and the Queers are still at it. I went through a long period where I actively denied they ever existed, probably between 1999 and three weeks ago. I’m not sure why. Maybe part of me was mad they never got the recognition they deserved and I felt like they were embarrassing themselves by continuing to play and make records. Maybe I was still holding a grudge over Joe not laughing at the hilarious Van Halen joke I made when I first met him. Who knows. As you could probably guess, I get weird about bands sometimes.

At any rate, I woke up a few weeks ago and I thought, “God damn it, the Queers were/are really fucking important to me. I’m going to stop pretending they never existed.” I’ve been spinning their discs night and day ever since (I also wrote this totally bitchin’ Crawdaddy piece about them). Last week, I went to go check the Queers out live at Asbury Lanes in New Jersey. I was gonna go see them on a boat here in NY the night before, but I bailed for fear of getting sea sick.

I showed up as opening band the Colytons were ripping through their nasally set. They sound pretty close to Screeching Weasel; in Screeching Weasel’s absence, I can accept this. The Colytons are from Australia. How they ended up touring boats and bowling alleys with the Queers is beyond me. The Internet? Text messaging? It’s gotta be some modern technology what got them to the States. Anyway, the Colytons – I approve.

Turns out I’m guilty of not really paying attention to the Groovie Ghoulies when they were around. I always thought their singer Kepi was a girl. Thus, I was fully expecting the second opening band, Kepi Ghoulie/Kepi the Band, to be fronted by some kind of woman-type creature. Imagine my surprise when this scrawny dude walked on stage wearing a shirt emblazoned with “KEPI” and then announced that he was, in fact, Kepi Ghoulie. WTF, LOL, LBJ. Kepi’s new band was typical sub-par pop punk yazz punctuated by the singer’s wacky presence (he cracked numerous jokes about the gentrification of once-decaying Asbury Park).

The interesting thing about this concert was every band used the same drums and amplifiers, and they all sounded great…up until the Queers. As soon as Joe and the boys (still that guy from John Cougar Concentration Camp and some new yutz on drums) took the stage, the lead microphone stopped working and the snare drum was making some weird scratching noise. The fellas were clearly not amused, but they waited patiently while the tiny sound guy ran to and fro the stage in something of a panic. Eventually, King Queer had enough.

“Fuck it,” Joe said. “We’ve had worse.”

With that, the Queers launched into “No Tit.” Overall, their set was a highly rockin’ affair. They only played two “ballads” – “Teenage Bonehead” and “Like A Parasite.” Everything else was straight up punk. Joe was exerting medium energy, but the band still sounded good. Well, as good as a band can sound with microphone problems and some weird scratching noise on the snare drum. They nailed the tunes that really counted. “Steakbomb” in particular was pretty hot. Also, “Love Love Love” and “You’re Tripping” made my balls explode.

Original Queers singer Wimpy Rutherford was in attendance, and you better believe he got up there with the boys to bark out some nasty jams (“We’d Have A Riot Doing Heroin,” “Fagtown,” “Monster Zero,” etc). I’d never seen Wimp live before. He comes off as a pretty disturbed guy. By that I mean I could see how maybe as a kid this guy really was kicked out of the Webelos. I don’t think I’d be comfortable leaving my offspring near him.

For their grand finale, the Queers tore through a few classic Ramones tunes with Kepi Ghoulie returning to the mic. It’s always a treat to hear the ‘Mones, even if there’s some six foot tall longhair drunkenly doing the Jitterbug next to you (people in New Jersey are weird). I was kind of hoping the Queers would bust out a Black Flag song or two, as former Flag singer Dez Cadena came out for these punk rock proceedings. They didn’t. Maybe Dez said to them, “Hey, don’t bother playing any of my old band’s songs, ’cause I’m not gonna sing them.” Or maybe they didn’t see him there. Who knows.

On a side note, I’ve been called out before for mistaking lesser punk rockers for the mighty Dez, but there was no question this time it was him. He was wearing a big sandwich board that said, “Yes, I am Dez Cadena, ask me about Rollins.” No, really, I’ve seen pictures of the guy recently and I’d swear on six Bibles and a copy of Crazy that this was him.

Now, without any further ado, here are some photos from this auspicious event. Click and they embiggen.

The Queers are here. Note the orbs. I didn’t know aliens liked bowling/punk music.

Dangerous Dave and Joe sing about something. Nice pants, Joe. I know an eighth grader in 1996 who wants his Jngos back.

Wimpy takes to the stage in an amazing Cocknoose shirt. It was hard getting a good picture of him. He moved around a lot.

Wimpy again.

The Burger King cup I took a picture of after the show to make sure my camera wasn’t fucked up (on account of all the orbs).

Final Grade: Three dirty Converse sneakers out of four.

This Almost Happened

A Socks the Cat Super Nintendo game. I think I speak for a nation when I say WTF?

An Open Letter To My Roommates

Hey guys,

You know I generally have no problems with you or your individual lifestyles, but I swear to God, if any one of you watches Across the Universe one more time with the volume turned up louder than Hiroshima, I will fully regulate on your dopey asses. By that I mean I will steal the DVD when no one’s around, climb up on the roof, and Frisbee it onto the roof of that nearby building with all the car parts and crap on it.

I’m sorry, but the only thing worse than hearing the Beatles at three in the morning is hearing you clowns singing along with the Beatles at three in the morning. Maybe all you need is love, but all I need is more than two hours of peaceful slumber. God damn.

Your pal in Christ,

Jim G.

Corey Feldman Has Issues (With Michael Jackson)

So I’m reading this interview with Corey Feldman where he talks a little bit about his recently revealed molestation, and the interviewer brings up the obvious:

“You were friends, famously, with Michael Jackson. Are you worried that people will assume he did this to you?”

Feldman responds saying it wasn’t Michael, but that he and the King of Pop have their own “issues.” I guess Corey is still pissed Jacko left his ass stranded in New York after 9/11.

Oh, did you all forget about that? Yeah, apparently in the hours/days immediately following the terrorist attacks, Michael Jackson sent special help to celeb pals Marlon Brando and Elizabeth Taylor so they could (ahem) escape from New York. I remember this “special help” being private helicopters, but the blurb I just read recounting this story claimed the mode of transportation was limousines.

Anyway, Jackson ferried Brando and Taylor out of the Big Apple but left his pal Feldman all alone in the danger zone. What Corey Feldman was doing in NYC in September of 2001 is anybody’s guess (conspiracy!), but ever since Jacko’s rescue snub, the singer’s been all but dead to the former Goonies star. Feldman even released a song dissing the Gloved One a few years ago called “Megalo-Man” (I heard that shit once and I can assure you it’s more ridiculous than anything KISS recorded post-makeup).

I guess this feud is going to continue until Michael Jackson apologizes, but if I were Corey I wouldn’t hold my breath. If Mike’s not sorry for inviting young boys to sleep in his bed (even after two separate charges of child molestation), I don’t think he gives a shit about leaving the star of Dream A Little Dream in New York after 9/11. I mean, that’s literally one of those life-or-death, who-do-you-save? situations. If Marlon Brando, Liz Taylor, and Corey Feldman were drowning and there were only two life preservers, I bet you nine out of ten people would be like, “Corey who?”

Personally, if I were Michael Jackson, I would take Feldman over Brando or Taylor, mainly because he’s younger and probably strong enough to help build a fallout shelter. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to soil my silk shirt and matching surgical mask lifting pieces of lumber or pouring cement. Leave that to peons like Feldman and Macaulay Culkin. Now that would be the way to go – rounding up former child stars in post-apocalyptic New York City to help build a celebrity fallout shelter. There’s a reality show that should have happened.

Wait, can we pause for a minute here and reflect upon the fact that, in this bizarre disaster film-type scenario, Michael Jackson did the normal thing? He rescued his two most famous friends. Jesus, Michael Jackson did something normal. That just goes to show you how fucked up things were in this country around 9/12.

But I digress. Don’t be sad, Corey Feldman. I promise during the next major American disaster, I will personally hire a limo to get you to safety. That’s an official JG2 promise to you. Thanks again for all your great work. I still like you alright, even if Wil Wheaton says you were an absolute nightmare on the set of Stand By Me.

George Carlin: 1937-2008

George Carlin, the hippie comedian best known for saying a bunch of swear words, died yesterday at the painful age of 71. Motherfucking heart failure was the cock-sucking shitty fucking piss cunt culprit.

Tits.

The only time I ever remember being entertained by George Carlin was when he had that dippy show on FOX in the early nineties (you know, the one where he talked to the dog). Otherwise, I could take or leave his stoner-friendly brand of intellectual comedy.

LeMar M. had George in the Death Pool, which gives him 29 points and the lead. Recapping those scores:

LeMar M: 29
Nathan C: 16
Everybody Else: 0

In related news, Van Johnson continues to live despite mounting evidence he should have died years ago.

Just kidding, Van. You know we love you!

Unsolicited Review Of The Nine Leaked Guns n’ Roses Songs

Forget Chinese Democracy the album; it’s time they turned this overblown joke into a movie. I can see it now: Academy Award nominee Tim Roth stars as Axl Rose in Just Another Sunday: The True Story of Chinese Democracy. Our film opens in 1994, the year the original Guns n’ Roses began work on their sixth studio album. Tensions are running high, and soon Axl’s band mates desert him. Alone in the studio, Rose tries to put together a rock masterpiece – not to mention the pieces of his life. Years pass, and while the outside world drastically changes, the greatest personal advancement the reclusive rocker makes is getting cornrows. Roth leads an all-star cast including Vin Diesel as Slash, Ed Norton as Moby, and Paul Giamatti as the marketing whiz at Dr. Pepper who figured out how to cash in on this madness.

This film will never happen, sadly, because no ninety minutes could ever quite capture the twisted insanity of living through the past fourteen years of GNR lies concerning Chinese Democracy. I feel that shortly after all the key players die, someone will write an amazing book chronicling the entire ridiculous saga of this infamously late album. I foresee passages where a wild-eyed and paranoid Sebastian Bach is tearing through the streets of Long Island at three in the morning in an IROC Z, desperately searching for Mike Piazza’s mailbox before Axl calls him again. Meanwhile, the Chinese Democracy expense reports force David Geffen to hire a nurse to check his blood pressure every hour. Blacking out has become a daily routine for the high-powered exec, and he’s considering legal action against Axl for stress-induced medical problems. Shit, I might have to write this book.

There have been all sorts of demo leaks over the years, but this week nine very polished recordings surfaced that experts/insiders/rock pundits claim are from the final version of Chinese Democracy. There’s no way to confirm the legitimacy of these nasty cuts, but to these ears, they sound like the real deal. Still, I’ll be fair to W.A.R. I’ll give these not necessarily real tracks a not necessarily real review. Here now, the thoughts I jotted down the first couple of times I listened to the group of songs I now dub Possible Sixth Album Studio Cuts From A Band Whose Name Rhymes With Puns n’ Hoses:

“Better” – Starts out like some half-baked Linkin Park yazz. Oh shit, there’s our boy Axl, sounding a little older, not necessarily any wiser, but still that screeching parrot we began championing in 1987. I can see this song getting spins on modern rock radio. Not exactly the powerful opener Axl needs to sell the fact GNR is back in full effect, but it gets the job done.

“Chinese Democracy” – A classic Axl scream launches another so-so electro-tinged hard rocker. The solo is pretty hot. Overall, though, this one isn’t lighting a fire under my ass.

“IRS” – The lyrics are kind of dopey (Axl threatening to call various branches of the government), but the melody is kind of catchy and it almost sounds like Slash playing the solo. We’re warming up.

“Madagascar” – The requisite monster ballad. Axl kind of sounds like Joe Cocker on this one. By that I mean I’m not exactly sure what the hell he’s saying. I caught at least one line: “Forgive them that tear down my soul.” Deep, man. Holy shit, there are MLK sound clips in this one! Oh, and a call back to “Civil War!” Snap! Someone get the laptop away from Axl.

“Riyadh & The Bedouins” – Why is every song starting with some dumb electronic noodling? Oh wow, this is the real rocker, the almost-Appetite boogie-woogie bitch-slap everyone and their mama’s gonna be waiting for. Is it wrong that I want to compare this to Velvet Revolver? The sound is pretty close. Take that for what you will. If this was the only song on the album, it might be a best seller.

“This I Love” – Something’s weird with Axl’s voice. He keeps hitting this weird spot in almost every song where he’s almost out of tune. It’s strange. Could be a vocoder/auto tune, but he sounds like he’s barely using it. Anyway, this song is mediocre slop somewhere between Coldplay and every not famous song Skid Row ever wrote. Again, though, the solo is ace. I wish I knew who was playing all these great solos – Buckethead or Bumblefoot. God, what stupid names. Dude, the outro is like a minute long. Who does Axl think he is, the Damned?

“If The World (Would End Today)” – This is fucking porn music. This is literally after midnight Showtime no penetration perfect hair and makeup porn music. Awful. It’s making me think of hunky nineties dudes going at it with girls who look like the wife on “King of Queens.” Hope this gets you laid, Axl.

“The Blues” – Ah, a piano. How refreshing. First line: Axl sounds like a scared hobbit. Second line: chainsaw voice. Third line: back to hobbit voice. Fourth line: you guessed it – chainsaw. Not as seamless as you used to be, bro. Melody-wise, this song is searching for a payoff it never finds.

“There Was A Time” – You know, maybe Axl is using a vocoder on all these songs. That or he’s been hanging out with goats too much. He really sells it at the end, but so what? The song has all the catchiness of a whale fart. I’m just not feeling it. Not feeling it, dawg!

Axl, Axl, Axl. I’m getting tired of typing that motherfucker’s name, but there’s no avoiding it. The focus is completely on him. Chinese Democracy isn’t about the return of the band we used to know as Guns n’ Roses. It’s about the vindication of this crazy, braided ginger who drove all his friends out of the greatest sleaze rock band of the eighties, replaced them with ringers, and wasted a decade and thirteen million dollars making one record. Can he pull it off? Will it be worth the wait?

See, that’s the fucked up thing. Currently, the GNR lineup includes former members of the Replacements, Nine Inch Nails, and Primus, three of the most important/interesting/influential bands of the past thirty years. There’s a member of the fucking Replacements in Guns n’ Roses now, but no one cares! Axl’s the pilot of this wayward ship. He handpicked these guys. It would be one thing if they all met in a club and decided to form a band. Nope, Rose went all George Steinbrenner, scooping up free agents to replace the lost talent. Their failure is really his.

So you can’t really listen to these songs and not think entirely about the screechy little Indiana bitch. They really should have dropped the famous moniker and adopted something more appropriate, like the Rockin’ Axl Rose Review or Axl’s Night Train or the Goddamn Freckle Fucks. I can see that last one tattooed on a biker’s arm for sure.

Anyway, the songs. Overall, not too bad. The brand new Guns n’ Roses better be sitting on a few real phenoms, though. If the nine tunes I just downloaded really are the bulk of Chinese Democracy, Axl and his Get Fresh Crew are gonna need a couple of honest to God homeruns to clinch this rock n’ roll pennant.

When I say “homerun,” I’m talking about something like 1999’s “Oh My God,” the very first offering from the Slash-less, Duff-less, Gilby Clarke-less, and Matt Sorum-less GNR (recorded for the End of Days soundtrack). There was still some magic left in the ol’ kilt when they recorded that lean, mean rocker. Everything here sounds bloated and stupid next to it. Bloated and stupid is okay (“Estranged”) so long as you have something really ball-smashing to balance it out (“You Could Be Mine”).

In the end, I think the most we can hope for from Chinese Democracy is that it comes out this year so we can get our free Dr. Pepper. Don’t worry, Slash. I’ll pour some of mine out for you.

Haiku About My Friend Tom

His mom worked for MAD
not really; he made that up
Tom liked to fool me.

Flying Monkeys, File Cabinets, & Watergate-Era Politicians: That’s Vermont!

First, the bad news from my excursion to the second least populous state in our union: I failed to locate/spot/trap the Lake Champlain monster. The several pieces of bread I tossed into the water from the rocky coast of Burlington only attracted a few hungry ducks. My patented Champ mating call also failed to produce the alleged prehistoric beast (there’s $19.95 I’ll never see again). I hereby denounce this cut-rate Nessie, his followers, and the entire field of Cryptozoology.

Aside from that crushing disappointment, Vermont was pretty rockin’. Here now, a recap in pictures:

Burlington may be Vermont’s biggest city, but it has a decidedly small town feel. It also has a few creepy flying monkey statues that appear to be giving professional football signals. I think the critter above is calling for a Button Hook. Click the photo and tell me if I’m right.

Beautiful (and monsterless) Lake Champlain. The water was surprisingly clear (almost as clear as the fact there’s no monster in it).

You know, I don’t care where you’re from – the lush hills of Vermont, the concrete jungle of New York City, even the cracked desert of Utah or Arizona – there’s one activity/pastime that unites us all: ignoring the homeless. Actually, I can’t say for sure whether or not the guy in this picture is homeless or just some earthy hippie. I had that problem with many of the folk I encountered in Vermont. A good rule of thumb, I think, is if the person is wearing fifty dollar sandals, they’re probably not a bum.

Behold, the world’s tallest file cabinet! This is the real crown jewel of Burlington, a tribute to the ingenuity and daring of mankind. It’s also a notorious hangout for yellow jackets, so be careful or you’ll get stung.

Here’s a close-up view of the file cabinet. Real artsy, huh? And to think, I never got higher than a B in high school photography class.

A trip to Vermont just wouldn’t be complete without a stop at the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream factory in Waterbury. Three bones gets you a behind-the-scenes look at the empire built on cow by-product, hosted by an impossibly bored teenage tour guide. Put up with your host’s lack of enthusiasm and your fellow attendees’ stupid questions (“How often do they clean the machines?”) and you will be rewarded with a couple of free scoops. Don’t forget to check out the Flavor Graveyard, where you can pay your respects to such long gone taste sensations as “Economic Crunch” and “Ethan Almond.”

Less tasty but equally interesting: the Vermont Teddy Bear factory. For a buck less than Ben & Jerry, you can burn thirty minutes of your life watching people assemble toys that aren’t all that cute or interesting. Don’t forget to check out the wall of radio personalities who hock VT TBs all across the country. I nearly sharted when I spotted G. Gordon Liddy’s mug among the fray.

I wouldn’t buy a bear from that guy. I wouldn’t buy anything from that guy, except maybe a used mustache comb.

Here’s the lobby of Hawthorn Suites, where I stayed. It was a nice compromise between traditional bed and breakfast and Holiday Inn. A lazy cat was hanging around the front desk area at all times, but there was a flat screen TV in my room. I can live with such juxtaposition.

Other junk I didn’t get photos of: the Scruffer, one of Burlington’s finest steak/seafood eateries; various moose crossing signs; rows and rows of canned Moxie in the local supermarket; the air, which was cleaner than any other air I’ve ever breathed in my life.

Final score for Vermont? Four out of four tie-dye shirts. I’d go back in a heartbeat (even if their so-called “sea creature” is a bigger load of horse shit than that Country Bears movie).

People More Powerful Than Tina Fey

According to Forbes:

Rachel Ray
Carrie Underwood
Drew Carey
Jonas Brothers
Howie Mandel
Wolfgang Puck
Zac Efron
Jennifer Love Hewitt
Vanessa Williams

I question all of these.

Things I Plan To Do In Vermont This Weekend

- find the Lake Champlain Monster
- eat more Ben & Jerry’s than ever before
- live out all my “Newhart” fantasies
- check out the world’s tallest file cabinet
- tell every local I meet that I’m from Brooklyn
- get crazy with the Cheez Whiz