Images I Personally Find More Offensive Than “The Assassination Of Dimebag Darrell”

View “The Assassination of Dimebag Darrell” here.

Unsolicited Johnny Thunders Review

Johnny Thunders
Bootlegging The Bootleggers
Jungle Records
1990

“I looked at this book one day, right? And it was like, fuckin’, uh, 65 Bootlegs Of Johnny Thunders. So I said, ‘Fuck it, all these dudes makin’ all this money!’ So what I did, myself, I had the idea that I would take a song from here, a song from there, off these bootleg records, and fuckin’ bootleg the bootleggers! HA! You assholes thought you put one over on me? I’m making more dough than you thought you could ever make!”

So sayeth Johnny Thunders at the end of Bootlegging The Bootleggers, the most energetic and solid collection of Thunders live tracks these hairy, wax-plagued ears have ever heard. You just can’t argue with this cross section of New York’s favorite deceased rail-thin underground guitar bozo: there’s peppy pop punk (“M.I.A.”), shuffling blues (“In Cold Blood”), maudlin Dylan covers (“Joey, Joey”), maudlin originals (“Sad Vacation”), and the requisite Dolls song Johnny can never seem to sing and play at the same time (here, it’s “Personality Crisis”). Per the latter, you have to wonder if JT ever practiced those tunes, or if he just thought, Fuck it. I was IN the fuckin’ New York Dolls. I’ll be able to play that shit no problem.

Bootlegging naturally includes a run-through of the Thunders standard “Pipeline.” Johnny’s versions of this old surf chestnut were always several megawatts better than the original and his expected concert highlight; while “Pipeline” is no disappointment here, the real standout tracks are JT’s acoustic renditions of the Stones classic “As Tears Go By” and his own heartfelt ballad “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory” (which Scorsese famously dropped into that Nic Cage ambulance movie, if anyone else remembers 1999 like I do). Yes, when really he put his mind to it, the scrawny little dope addict born John Anthony Genzale, Jr. on July 15, 1952, in Jackson Heights, Queens, could slice right through your heart like it was a hot calzone.

Yet Johnny couldn’t stop at merely assembling a dozen stellar live performance for his fans (all of which were recorded between 1985 and 1989 in such varied places as Tokyo and New Jersey). Oh no – Johnny had to personally introduce each number in that quivering and sinewy speaking voice of his, often employing ridiculous jokes to get by (over-the-top Louie Armstrong impression? Check! “Wild Kingdom” references? Check! Hacky foreign accents? Double, triple, and quadruple check!). In some alternate universe, a version of Casey Kasem’s “Top 40 Countdown” is currently being hosted by Johnny’s sniffling ghost, offending listeners with his jagged Brooklynese and inability to sound anywhere near sober.

I take shots at the general messy, unkempt, and strung out nature of the late J. Thunders, but honestly, he wouldn’t be better any other way. Rock needs its grimy, heroin-addicted sewer rat legends. Besides, the guy had a quite a penchant for pounding out addictive, beer-soaked, sneer-inducing, flip-’em-the-bird “rawkinfuhkin’rawl” music. That’s commendable in any hemisphere.

FINAL SCORE: Four terrible Louie Armstrong impressions (out of four).

The Chuck Biscuits Death Hoaxer: Chuck Biscuits?

Here’s some food for thought: did Chuck Biscuits himself perpetrate the entire Great Chuck Biscuits Death Hoax of 2009, chuckling under his breath as he hosed me for six months and then laughing heartily as the world mourned his passing two weeks ago?

I have no idea, but that very notion was suggested to me by someone close to Chuck the Monday after the whole mess erupted. This particular person, someone who has known Chuck since long before he was in Danzig, told me that biscuitschuck@hotmail.com is in fact the drummer’s personal e-mail address, that the text of the messages I was sent match Chuck’s writing style, and that it was absolutely him in the picture I posted back in May. Their theory as to why Chuck would do something like this? They figured it was just his super crazy way of reinserting himself into the pop culture landscape.

While this was interesting and somewhat relieving to hear, I took it with a grain of salt. This person could be hoaxing me as well, I thought. So I decided to sit on this strange theory for a little while and see what developed.

It’s been over a week, and guess what? Nothing has happened. No hoaxers have come forward, no one has pointed me in the direction of other possible suspects, Chuck himself has not released any kind of statement – heck, Chuck hasn’t even e-mailed me to complain about my “lousy journalism”/ask where I was getting my info from/figure out who was impersonating him and his wife. If I were in his position, I’d really want to figure out who was using my identity and why they were sending pictures of me around and why they were pretending I was dying of throat cancer. If biscuitschuck@hotmail.com is Chuck’s address, if that picture is him and he didn’t do this, well, that’s pretty worrying RE: personal security.

It also strikes me as rather curious that the person who confirmed Chuck’s non-death to the world was, in the end, his estranged brother Bob and not himself or his wife, Lauren. The fact that I knew Lauren’s name, the fact that she was the person I was supposedly receiving updates on Chuck’s health (and the news of his eventual “death”) from, is what spurned Bob to drive several hours from his home in Canada to Seattle to investigate his brother’s alleged passing. Below is a copy of the e-mail Bob sent me regarding these facts:

Lauren, whose name I was protecting when this story broke because I knew it was the one true and legitimate piece of personal Chuck Biscuits info I had, only mailed me once about all this, from a different address than the one I had previously received messages from. All she asked was why I thought Chuck was dead. I explained my side of things to her and never heard back from her. Below, a copy of that correspondence:

Sure, other noted sources eventually piped up concerning Chuck’s undoubted alivedness, like his former band mates Joe Keithley (publicly) and Eerie Von (via e-mail to me), but doesn’t it seem kind of odd that Chuck’s wife would contact me and, rather than confirm that her husband is alive, ask me why I think he’s dead? This is the guy’s wife – surely she knows if he’s alive or dead. Unless, perhaps, she was in on the hoax?

Now, look – I’m not saying there’s a specific way for people to handle their own death hoax. I’m also not saying Chuck Biscuits and/or his wife definitely did this shit; the only source I have on that is off the record, my personal rock n’ roll Deep Throat, if you will. However, I am saying there’s a lot of stuff here that doesn’t quite add up, and I don’t think it’s completely outrageous to suggest Chuck Biscuits may have somehow been involved in this odd publicity stunt.

For the sake of posterity, below I’ve posted screen caps of three of the original e-mails I received from “Chuck”/”Lauren” before “he” faked his death and then reemerged (apologies for the blurriness and poor cropping; I failed Photoshop 101):

The “inquiries” mentioned in the second e-mail refer to a series of interview questions I had sent “Chuck.” Did Chuck Biscuits fake his death to avoid completing this interview? Let’s remember – this man collects cereal and retained the surname “Biscuits” when he joined Danzig.

Stay tuned for any further developments, folks. Thanks to everyone who has supported me during this utterly bizarre incident. To those who still think this is just another example of some uneducated blogger not getting his facts straight or some wanna-be Internet celebrity fabricating a story for blog hits, I really don’t know what to say. Jon Gosselin is way higher than Chuck Biscuits on Google Trends, and if you can figure out the current address/place of employment/cell phone provider/shoe size of another rogue 1980s rock drummer (say Joey Image or Arthur Googy), I will personally buy you dinner at Arby’s.

Unsolicited Californication Soundtrack Review

Various Artists
Season 3: Music From The Showtime Series Californication
Lakeshore Records
2009

So, they’re putting out soundtracks for individual seasons of TV shows now? Is this how the record industry is going to save itself? Is the music from “Californication” really that popular? Are David Duchovny fans clamoring for that much physical product dedicated to/extended from their hero?

I’m sorry, give me a second here. I think I’m developing a migraine.

Just in case you forgot “Californication” is the show where real life sex addict Duchovny mindlessly rubs his grubby naked body and stubbly visage against an endless array of nubile young starlets, this collection opens with Rob Zombie’s suggestive cunnilingual anthem “Pussy Liquor.” If that slinky, sleazy bass line doesn’t uncomfortably enhance the lusty, Manson-esque stare Fox Mulder is giving you in every promotional ad for this program, you’ve probably lost all your hormones. Seek medical attention immediately.

There are actually a few great entries on the awkwardly titled Season 3: Music From The Showtime Series Californication. Pop chanteuse Danielle Duval grinds the silly Grease classic “You’re The One That I Want” down to a sexy crawl, making the protagonist sound truly afflicted by love/desire. Deceased hate rocker GG Allin makes the most surprising posthumous cameo of his career with the Criminal Quartet on the accordion-driven sing-a-long “Carmelita.” The rock remix of Spider Problem’s “Cha Cha (Be My New BF)” will most likely induce head bobbing and, in serious cases, Stevie Nicks-style swaying. And hey, how about that kiddie piano cover of “I Want You To Want Me” by Damhnait Doyle? That song is good no matter how stupidly you play it!

Tempering the good here is a solid slice of pointless crap, such as Widespread Panic’s useless rendition of “Werewolves Of London,” the two-short-to-be-effective Monks track “Boys Are Boys And Girls Are Choice,” and a variety of unnecessarily serious “introspective” pieces by the likes of John Neal and Blind Pilot. We get it – “Californication” is strictly for adults, adults who can identify with a smarmy unshaven West Coast writer who seduces girls nearly half his age with nothing more than a deadpan mumble and a résumé that boasts Zoolander and Red Shoe Diaries. The soft acoustic arpeggios that keep popping up on this CD are a firm (albeit soothing) reminder of that.

But I kid Duchovny. I’m glad he’s found a successful post-”X Files” vehicle. However, I must wonder aloud how much more successful “Californication” would be had they dropped Gillian Anderson into the role of Hank Moody. Surely we’d have a new “Sopranos” on our hands if each week it were the supple and red-headed Anderson bedding women barely out of their teens while cracking wise about literature with a Lucky Strike dangling from her lips. World class entertainment like that seems like a no-brainer; alas, perhaps Gillian was unavailable to shoot the pilot.

There are, in fact, soundtracks covering music from the first two seasons of “Californication” floating around out there. If alt-adult contemporary is your bag, hunt those suckers down and let your ears feel the complete sexual energy of premium cable’s favorite actor with a terminal head cold.

FINAL SCORE: Two and a half Duchovny five o’clock shadows (out of four).

Oscar The Grouch: Hockey-Lovin’ Maple Syrup Jockey

It is a frightening time in America. Beloved institutions like Aerosmith and Myspace are crumbling. On the TV landscape, FOX has completely handed over its Sunday night line-up to Seth MacFarlane, who used the opportunity last night to make his six thousandth Marlee Matlin joke (which involved the real Marlee Matlin, a clear display of MacFarlane’s growing power and influence). Elsewhere, children are having to grapple with the reality of the iPhone’s less-than-advertised battery life, Bunco continues unabated, and that community college upstate refuses to mail me the fifty dollars I earned taking that construction survey, even though I made it quite clear I live too far away for an in-person visit.

In such a hostile era, it helps to remember and cling to seemingly invincible pieces of childhood nostalgia. I’m talking about unshakable entities such as the Ring Pop, Warwick Davis, and, of course, “Sesame Street.” “Sesame Street” is celebrating its fortieth anniversary this week, which is quite a milestone for any puppet-based form of entertainment. For four decades now, OCD-stricken vampires and clinically depressed woolly mammoths have helped young people with the most basic of learning skills, gently shaping our culture into one that laughs warmly whenever a giant ball of blue fur and googly eyes is spotted destroying a plate of baked goods while grunting in broken English. “Sesame Street” is also important for employing an actor named Northern Calloway, surely the greatest name any actor has ever boasted on screen or off.

What’s most important about “Sesame Street,” I feel, is that it is a uniquely American invention, one whose many characters and personalities could only have sprung from our purple mountain’s majesty, our various fruited plains, our endless array of strip malls and shopping centers. To stare into the eyes of those aliens who go, “Yip, yip, yip, yip!” all the time is to stare into two hundred some-odd years of red, white, and blue; no way could a Romanian or Estonian production company have birthed such endearing entities as Telly the Insecure Purple Monster (he’s just like my grandma!) or caped spazz-out king Super Grover. Indeed, “Sesame Street” and its every facet is uniquely, inarguably, unequivocally American.

Except for Oscar the Grouch, who is apparently Canadian.

Yes, friends, in late October the news broke from the green lips of the Grouch himself. He was appearing on our northern neighbors’ QTV as a part of “Canadian Waste Reduction Week.” Less than two minutes into the chat, Oscar revealed that his father was born in New Brunswick and his mother hailed from Nova Scotia.

“I try to keep [my Canadian roots] a secret,” the Muppet later said, going on to claim that “a lot of people in the world probably like Canadians better than America,” and that he’s wary of having people like him.

“Never admit you’re Canadian,” Oscar warned his fellow toque-wearing hose-heads.

Oscar the Grouch’s true heritage comes as a shocking blow to scores of Americans who held his pessimistic outlook and nasty habits as the ultimate symbol of our country’s pride. New Yorkers must be particularly upset; it was long believed that Oscar hailed from one of the slummier parts of the Bronx. Unfortunately, at press time most Big Apple residents were still too inebriated from celebrating the Yankees’ World Series win to offer any thoughts beyond, “Jeter rules! Fuck those queers in Philly!”

I, for one, am heartbroken at the news our trash can-dwelling friend is nothing more than a log-splittin’, hockey-lovin’ maple syrup jockey from the country that gave us one of (if not the) least profitable Olympic Games of the past thirty-five years. How are we supposed to go on this week celebrating “Sesame Street” when they’ve been keeping secrets like this from us? What’s next – Elmo’s Danish? Big Bird’s a Russkie? Who knows which Muppets are outsourced and which are true Americans anymore? It’s almost enough to make you wish Joe McCarthy was still alive (interrogating Muppets is probably the only thing they’d let him do if he was).

The real question, though, is how do we explain this to the children? It’s a delicate topic. I suggest sitting them down in front of a roaring fire with a big mug of Ovaltine and easing your way in with talk of Gary Carter and Kelly Gruber. After you have revealed the truth about Oscar and if their reaction isn’t too strong, perhaps you can broach the subject of other Canucks on the down low, such as Dan Aykroyd, Jim Carrey, and Loverboy.

Stay strong, America. We can get through this tangled web of Grouch lies.

Meanwhile, Weezer Continues To Pile On The Stupid

Their latest transgression – inviting soft jazz king Kenny G to “rock out” with them during an appearance on “AOL Sessions”:

I have to give the Weezers credit for not breaking character the minute Ken tore into that first flurry of waiting room pablum. A lesser man (me) surely would have doubled over in hysterics/pain/hysterical pain.

By the way, what the hell does Rivers say right after Kenny G’s first sax break? “I won’t ache the goomba?” Sheesh. Everything’s gotta be a thing with this guy.

Oh, and guys, Alien Ant Farm called – they want their track suits back. YA BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRN-DAH!

E-Mail The Chuck Biscuits Death Hoaxer

Two independent sources have suggested to me off record who the mastermind of the Great Chuck Biscuits Death Hoax of 2009 just might be; since I’m not in a theorizin’ mood this morning (and most of you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway), I’ll just give you the still entirely valid and working e-mail addresses of the “Chuck” that was contacting me and encourage you to drop him/her a line:

biscuitschuck@hotmail.com and res1odpp@verizon.net

Maybe write something along the lines of, “Hey, what you did was really messed up. You upset a lot of people. What gives, hoaxer?” and see if they reply. Who knows? You might be the person they finally decide to fess up to!

In other news, Glenn Danzig is still crazy short.

Chuck Biscuits Is Alive

And it seems it was all just a cruel, cruel hoax: legendary hard rock drummer Chuck Biscuits, whom this blog eulogized Tuesday after receiving a death notice that allegedly came from his wife, is apparently still among the living.

“I just wanted to let you know that Chuck [Biscuits] is alive and as well as can be expected,” said Bob Montgomery, Chuck’s brother, in an e-mail sent to the author earlier today. “I drove to his home in Seattle [from Canada] to confirm that fact.”

Suspicions rose almost immediately after heavy metal website Blabbermouth.net picked up the news of Chuck’s death from this blog yesterday and made it viral, as Bob and at least one of Chuck’s former band mates had heard nothing of the former Danzig drummer’s passing. After a brief e-mail exchange with JG2Land, Bob Montgomery decided to physically visit his brother to find out the truth once and for all.

“The only reason I put any stock in the Internet rumours was because [James Greene, Jr.] used Chucks wife’s name [in private e-mails],” Bob wrote after his visit to Chuck’s house. “Otherwise, I would have filed it under the African ruler looking for money to enlarge his penis file. I am really curious as to who’s been sending [him] this info.”

In May of 2009, JG2Land received an e-mail that ostensibly came from Chuck Biscuits, who appeared to be using an e-mail address that bore his wife’s real name. The message, which was a response to an article JG2 had authored for Crawdaddy.com entitled “An Open Letter To Chuck Biscuits,” found “Chuck” announcing that he was “awake and rotting twice to the gut in the land of flanneled, tree-huggin’ bunny-fuckers.” The drummer also offered himself up for an interview.

Subsequent communication with this apparently false Chuck Biscuits revealed that he was afflicted with throat cancer and could no longer speak. In July, a message signed with the initials of Chuck’s wife was sent that announced the founding D.O.A. member was in the hospital, his condition deemed “inoperable and terminal according to his care givers” and that “alternative therapies” were being explored. Communication dried up until October 26, when an e-mail was sent announcing that Chuck had passed two days earlier:

“In response to the inquires, thank you for all the support. Chuck did not survive his battle with throat cancer. He passed surrounded by his family on 10/24/09.”

It is currently unknown who exactly is responsible for perpetrating this hoax, nor what their motivations were.

In response to the avalanche of criticism, comments, and questions JG2Land is now currently receiving thanks to this debacle, I wish to state the following: it stings bitterly to know that my communication with Chuck Biscuits, a talent I have long admired, and his wife was all a scam. After all the highs and lows I felt on this six month journey, to have it end like this is just sickening.

I never had any reason to distrust the people in question. No serious flags were raised. Who would pretend to be a dying hard rock drummer for a half a year? There was no monetary gain, and I have no journalistic stature. There seemed to be no angle for this, other than to hurt and embarrass me (mission accomplished). Thus, I took these people at their word.

When I received the e-mail about Chuck’s passing, it hit me in the gut. I was reeling. I decided to write a succinct but heartfelt blog announcing the news Tuesday and that would be the end of it. The news would get around and the world could mourn the loss of the best hard rock drummer of the 1980s. That this could all be some insane prank was the furthest thing from my mind.

I can understand why some people would want to try to ruin my reputation or make me look like a complete asshole lacking journalistic integrity, but I cannot fathom why anyone would want to trick thousands of Chuck’s fans into a false state of grief. That is the real crime here. Reading some of those early comments about fans’ memories of Chuck is especially heart-breaking now. Were these people laughing at those memories? Because I was fighting back tears.

Shame on the party responsible for this. You hurt too many good and innocent people, including Chuck’s close friends/family.

Although I flunked out of the journalism program at the University of Central Florida, I know the rules and I follow them. I fact-check to the best of my ability. I never falsify quotes unless I’m writing an obvious parody or joke. I do thorough research and I try to protect my sources because I don’t entirely believe in this burgeoning “show us everything you got” style of Gen Y reporting. If I had any reason to believe the “Chuck Biscuits” I was talking to was full of shit, I would have put him through the wringer.

That said, I think it’s rather telling that Bob Montgomery couldn’t comment on the state of his own brother without driving several hours to see him in the flesh. The real Chuck Biscuits fell off grid a decade ago, and he’s clearly worked a bit to have things stay that way. I’m not knocking that at all. I’m just saying…I couldn’t verify anything about the real Chuck Biscuits a year ago when I began research for a retrospective piece about his career (which eventually morphed into the much shorter and tongue-in-cheek “Open Letter” piece). One person mailed me back. It took a fake death story to get anyone to confirm that he lived in Seattle.

I’m sorry I unknowingly spread this horrible lie. I apologize to the world, Chuck’s family, Chuck’s friends, and especially Chuck.

P.S. – Concerning Chuck’s contributions to Tougher Than Leather – again, researched to best of my ability, and if you’re familiar with the album and Chuck’s playing style, there’s no reason to seriously question it. Of course it could be a lie, but it could also be 100% true.

Gore Vidal Just Dropped So Many Amazing Quotes My Head Exploded

In this interview with The Atlantic. To wit:

“[Obama] should say to the country, ‘The Republicans will not allow these things to come to a vote without a filibuster. We can’t get anything through. So, good luck. Take two aspirin – and you’ll all die of the next epidemic.’”

“It’s nothing.” (commenting on Ted Kennedy’s legacy)

“When [Bill Clinton] claimed, ‘I didn’t have sexual relations with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky,’ he was totally accurate. He was talking Southern. In the South, sex is when you put it in and pump away and there’s a danger of a baby. That’s ’sexual relations.’ Anything else is what we called in school ‘messing around.’ And all Southern boys messed around.”

“[John F. Kennedy] was a good friend—witty, sharp, and very smart. I would rather be with him than practically anybody now alive. But what did he do for us in a thousand days? He invades Cuba, fucks up, and brings the world close to a nuclear collision over the so-called missiles down there in Cuba. Deplorable.”

“Well, [Errol Flynn] was clean-limbed. You couldn’t find a single hair on those legs of his.”

“You don’t think I wanted to write “Ben-Hur,” do you? I was stuck.” (on needing money)

“I don’t believe in the Great Man theory of history. Great men come along very seldom – and when they do, it’s pretty bloody. But, as Chancellor Bismarck once observed, God looks after alcoholics, little children, and the United States of America.”

Of course, this interview will probably go down in history for Gore’s comments regarding the Roman Polanksi case – specifically, literally claiming he doesn’t give a fuck and calling the victim a “young hooker.” Yeesh. You can get away with saying that kind of shit when you’re ninety-gajillion years old.

You Know Who’s Crazy?

Elizabeth Taylor. ET saw her pal MJ’s posthumous concert film This Is It and tweeted the following:

“It is the single most brilliant piece of filmmaking I have ever seen. It cements forever Michael’s genius in every aspect of creativity.”

I understand if you really dug the movie, Liz, but the single most brilliant piece of filmmaking you’ve ever seen? More so than Gone With The Wind or Blade Runner or Porky’s or Rugrats In Paris or even Buttcrack: The Movie? That’s straight-up balderdash, woman, and you know it. Unless you’re living in some kind of alternate dimension where the only movies in existence are This Is It, The Craft, and Big Money Hustlas. In that case, sure! I bet two hours of Michael Jackson spinning around the Staples Center is the height of cinema.

P.S. – Didn’t this lady win a ton of Oscars or something? Now she’s tweeting about Michael Jackson. Oh, the humanity.