Discorder CITR-FM (Radio station : Vancouver, B.C.) 1988-10-01

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°oq°°:£-- jf
SB     - 9h
^^^^^m mm
j HOME ft STi unfortonatly the P.OBOT
CLOcK   rTgLU   OFF  KlY   pBAV/lNG
TABLE   AND    8RoK£--otto
readers who write
and it's happening
stickdog, dayglos, nurse with wound and
every person's guide to citr
oversoul seven
And You Better Believe It
A Political, Industrial, Funk Kind Of Thing
Looking For That Sound
The Swamp Boogie Queen Talks About
Otis Redding, Her Parents And Competing
In A Situation Dominated By Men
How To Become Hot Stuff On College
A Look At Local Motion In The Clubs
A Story
The Report On The Kinsey Report
A Survivor In The Strictest Sense
OCTOBER 1988 * ISSUE #69
EDITOR Kevin Smith
WRITERS Laura ZerebeskI, Lloyd Ullana, James
Boldt, Andrea Lupini, David M., Janis McKenzie,
Guy Bennett, Lachlan Murray, Pat Carroll
ARTISTS Michael Fraser, Miles Harrison, Scott
Fearnley, William Thompson, Paul Leahy
COVER Dax Howell
LAYOUT BY Viola Funk, Nicola Philp, Fernando
Medrano, Holly Hendrigan, Renata Oballa, Lisa
Marr, Scott Fearnley, Pat Carroll, Marty George
PROGRAM GUIDE BY Kathryn Hayashi
WORDPROCESSrNG Barb Wilson, Viola Funk,
Karen Wong, Miss Finch
TYPESETTING AMS Desktop Publishing
MANAGER Matt Richards
PUBLISHER Harry Hertscheg
Discorder is That Magazine from CiTR 101.9 Fm.
It's published monthly by the Student Radio Society
of the University of British Columbia. It's printed
in Surrey, Canada. Discorder Magazine prints what
it wants to, but pledges to (try and) put the CiTR On
The Dial program guide and Spin List record chart in
every issue. It also vows to circulate 17,500 copies by
the first of each month. Twelve-month subscriptions
are $12(US) in the States, $20(CDN) elsewhere.
Make money orders or certified cheques payable to
Discorder Magazine. All written, drawn or photographed contributions are welcome. But don't expect to get anything back. To pick up CiTR or to
improve your reception, just put a little effort into it.
Perhaps you need a better antenna? If you're a
subscriber to Rogers, Shaw or Delta Cable, turn us on
at 101.9 cable fm. Office hours for CiTR, Discorder
and the CiTR Mobile Sound Rental are Monday-
Friday, 10am-4pm. Please call then. The number is
228-3017. For the News/Sports Room, call 224-
4320. But if you want to talk to the D J, call 228-2487
c/o CITR
8138 SUB Blvd.
Vancouver, B.C
Dear Airhead,
When I was a lad growing up in the backwoods
of B.C., my only impressions of U.B.C. were gained
through Discorder, which I picked up on my occasional visits to Vancouver. Because your magazine is
assembled by cool, alternative types with eclectic
musical tastes, I assumed that many U.B.C. students
would be like that. I looked forward to coming to the
University, living in residence and associating with
all the great folks here.
Well, I'm here, but where the hell are they? The
only type of person living on campus is the same kind
of dork that I thought I left back in my home town. I
should have known better. I'm sick of these dumb
jocks with names like Todd or Jason who think that
alternative music is, like, the Doors, and who live
only for each Friday night when they can get drunk on
Kokanee and poke their measly members into the
tight holes of their bleached-blond Playboy centrefold, surrogate girlfriends.
Oh God, if I have to spend the next four years
with these jerks, it's going to be a long, hellish time.
At least I'll have CITR and Discorder to help ease the
The Rank
Dear Airhead,
Rockin' Patrick's one paragraph review suggests Patti Smith's Dream of Life is meant as pablum
for yuppies' BMW CD decks. Not having heard of the
album I just want to suggest that BMWs are quite
possibly a good mark and CDs possibly the best prerecorded music can offer. The fact that dipsticks glom
onto these toys doesn't necessarily mean BMWs or
CDs (or Patti Smith's records since Horses or all
yuppies for that matter) are awful. Only that BMWs
and CDs may become more affordable via mass
marketing, apres les dips ("innovators" rather than
"laggards" in ConsumeSpeak), or as second hand
Either that or Rockin' Patrick might consider
forsaking both cars and sound. Now there'a a radical
approch, moreso than his suggestion that Patti Smith
should've gone the way of Ian Curtis (ie, suicide).
Brian Pratt
(no car presently, no CD as of yet)
Dear Airhead,
The letter from "Dressed in Black" in the September issue was shit. Dont't you guys have an editor? It was so cutesy - "No. No. No. A slap on the hand
to all who have such views." I wanted to puke! I never
knew Ann Landers dressed in black, nor that she
listened to Roots Roundup.
Also in this issue, Ian predicts that Jim Morrison
and John Lennon will be found collaborating on
something. UTTER BULLSHIT! This is impossible,
not only is John Lennon dead, but Jim Morrison is
living with Elvis Presly, Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee
at Syd Barrett's mountain retreat. Otherwise the issue
was great.
A Male First Year student
P.S. Do male first year students really exist?
It's True
Yes, it's true. CiTR has finally been awarded a
license for increased power. By Christmas time, after
the purchase and imstallation of the necessary equipment, god's favourite radio station will be broadasting
with the amazing force of 1800 watts. In the meantine,
saga of SHINDIG continues. The contestants: Oct. 3
- Kalihari Ferarri, Sarcastic Mannequins, and
Silent Gathering; Oct. 10 - The Pranksters, Free-
water Knockout, and Benzyne Jag; Oct. 17 - Evil
Al and the Soul Crushers, Puke Theater, and
Video Barbeque; Oct. 24 - Idiot Savant, Picasso
Set, and Love Among the Ruins. Concert presentations for October - Richard Thompson on the 5th &
6th at the Town Pump; Jonathan Richman at the
Van East on the 12th; Toure Kunda at the Commodore on the 20th; Sons of Freedom at the Pump on the
20th-22nd with the Honeymoon Killers opening on
the 20th; and finally, the Butthole Surfers on the
27th in the SUB Ballroom (yes.all ages welcome).
Tune in to CiTR on October 14 at 1:20pm to find
out who wins a radio show broadcast from their home.
That will be just one of the many highlights of CiTR
Week which runs Oct. 11-14. Other activities include: live broadcasts and lunchtime performances;
and Blast Off, a gig in the SUB Ballroom on the 14th
at 7:30pm featuring the Scramblers, Tartan Haggis,
Frank Frink Five, the Evaporators and the Smugglers. Tix $6 advance, $7 at the door.
Clothing • New and Used
1204 Commercial Drive
special guests :
FRIDAY OCT •14 7 30 pm
Tickets s6 advance ,  7 at the door, available at CITR, AMS Box office, Track Records, Zulu & Highlife Hippie Daifs Are
Here Again
Oh, no! Can it be? Has the trend of
much popularized Yuppie aquisi-
tionalism finally returned to naive
idealism? Does there seem to be a
resurgence of youthful unity? Do you smell a
whiff of something unutterably groovy in the
air? Yes, Virginia, the sixties are back.
You needn't search high and low to spot
them: the Pseudo-hippies. They are the ones
sprouting store-bought tie-dyed t~shirts, Lennon sunglasses (or regular glasses, and even
plain-glass glasses... anything to be cool...),
peace signs, long hair, friendship bracelets (an
eighties version oflove beads), and a generally
tattered and tacky, devil-may-care appearance.
J§r They are the ones buying up all the secondhand
copies of Sgt. Pepper and reading Ginsberg.
They are the ones seen hanging out in gloomy
coffee shopsbn Granville Island debating existentialism with communists (or is it communism
with existentialists?). At any rate, they're here.
You may even be one of them.
Good Lord, wasn't one sixties enough? We
all know what happened to the hippies—except
the leftover few seen shuffling around at the
Dylan concert stuck in some imaginary Love-in.
The survivors went on to become the politically
inspired Yippies and then the materialistic so-
called Yuppies. The sixties expired and gave
way to a decade fraught with confusion and
disco. Short-lived, it died a violent death and
now no one has any interest in making polyester
fashionable again. The stock market picked up
where the Bee Gees left off and suddenly the
sixties were a very foggy memory in the minds
of most thirtysomething-year-olds. Yup, yup,
yuppie, that's all, folks.
Not quite. Now that twenty years has gone
by, there seems to be a misty romanticism about
the sixties. Was it not a time of peace and love?
Of freedom and discovery? Of united opinions
and absolute non-conformity? Not to mention a
time of the greatest music in the world? Blame
it on "The Big Chill", the various new and
realistic Vietnam war flicks, TV's recentsleeper
"thirtysomething", and the documentary "It Was
Twenty Years Ago Today" which commemorated "Sgt. Pepper" and The Summer of Love.
Yes, there's definitely nostalgia.
At least, nostalgia felt by the Pseu-
dohippies. Born in the mid-to-late
sixties, too late for love beads and
too early for the Sex Pistols, this is
one generation with an identity crisis. Perhaps
this is why they steal from every other generation. After all, who wants to be remembered as
the Esprit/Benetton set?
All of a sudden, army jackets (only the
tattered ones with genuine bloodstains) are in.
Anything made in an impoverished South or
Central American country (no matter how gaudy
and tacky—like those silly string bracelets) is
in. The Beatles, Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane,
Steppenwolf, Cream, The Doors, Joplin, Dylan,
Baez, and The Mamas & The Papas are all in.
Harley-Davidsons are in. Causes are in. Peace,
Love, No Nukes; in, in, in. Smile buttons are in.
Patched denim is in. Leather vests are in. Beads
are in. Making your own lunch is okay but
growing it is even better. It's best if you smoke
it rather than eat it. What's groovy is in. Get hip
or be a drip.
What started out as a nice, simple underground revolutionary resurgence of admirable
Haight-Ashburian ideals has suddenly become
one of the tackiest things known to man (next to
polyester): A FAD.
Who needs it?
There must be a decent solution. What has
not been "in" yet that truly deserves some recognition? Just about every worthwhile identity is
unoriginal—and we all know how hard it is to be
an "individual"—with the exception of one.
Look around campus and see the Punkers, the
Pseudohippies, the Rebel Rockers, the Bat
People, the Skaters, the Artsies, the Jocks, the
Clean-Cut Collegiates and numerous others, all
interchangeable. Potato people, with only one
outstanding long-ignored minority that earns a
certain amount of praise for never having been
overly fashionable: The Nerd.
You know who they are—also known as
Geeks, Wimps, Weaklings, Brains, Straights,
Eggheads, Jerks, Toads, etc.—the scapegoats
and outcasts. You can find them near the front of
the class. There they are, unobtrusive with their
slide-rules, too-thick glasses, untidy hair (naturally untidy, not backcombed for the untidy
effect), and clothes that are simply too nondescript to be fashionable. Who notices them? Or
rather, does anyone notice them?
You should. You should respect these
people. They are the only ones who are not the
least bit concerned with following trends. They
may be physically unappealing, overweight, with
bad skin, full of imperfections and insecurity but
at least they are far more human than today's
slickly packaged hipsters. They don't read the
right material, Usten to the right music, or behave quite the right way. They don't follow the
accepted Norm. They obviously have better
things to do—like getting a high G.P.A. Like \\
or not, chances are they will be tomorrow's
lawyers, engineers, doctors and respected pil*
lars of society.They'll be theidealistic contributors, and they'll make it—they're used to pressure.
The pressures of living today are unbelievable. Media influence confuses
us with mixed messages. No sooner
has one found an acceptable identity
when all of a sudden it is obsolete and you are
looking at a thousand carbon copies of yourself.
Human nature seems to have a need to fit into a
niche, and the niche changes all the time. Still, if
you look back, you can see these so-called
"Nerds" all along the timeline—ignored, never
fashionable, yet classic and enduring. That
means, mind you, they are the real outcasts, not
like the ones who purport to be outcasts: like the
Punkers, the Pseudohippies, the Rebel Rockers,
or any of the other et cetera. Think only of the
ones you picked on in elementary school. It's in
to be hip, it's hip to be in, but why not try being
out for a change? Lord knows it's the only thing
that hasn't been in yet.
So throw out your peace signs and other
useless causes, unless you genuinely believe in
them. Cast out your Lennon glasses, unless you
really need them. Junk the tattered jeans, unless
it's the only pair you own. Lose the whole lot of
those Pseudohippie props and get back to basics.
Ignore the radio and fashion magazines, roll up
those nondescript sleeves, get to work and be
real, for the times they are a-changin'.
Laura Zerebeski BROUGHT TO YOU BY
with Christine Collister
CiTR FM 101.9 presents
Ticketmaster/VTC, Zulu, Black Swan,
Highlife & Track Records.
Charge by Phone 280-4444 BEATNIGS
by Lloyd Uliana
Soup Stock From the Bones of
the Elephant Man
Fridays 12:30-5:00am
Jello Biafra's side-project with
members of Shockabilly, Bank of Sodom,
and the recent releases on his San Francisco based Alternative Tentacles Record by Stickdog, Alice Donut, and the
Beatnigs gives credence to the claim
Biafra made following his December 13
No More Censorship spoken word extravaganza in Seattle. The Jello one stated
that he and the label would be seriously
considering involvement in more adventurous, yet still socially critical styles of
music. Of the current crop of Alternative Tentacles performers just mentioned,
San Fran's Beatnigs embody these qualities to the greatest extent. Cross the stage
Photo:Mandel N|
presence of SNFU with the scrap-metal
pounding parties of Test Dept. or Rhythm
and Noise, add the anti-white supremacist stance of no one I can think of outside
of folk festival circles, and you can understand why they're such a hit in Vancouver and all along the West coast.
Last month the Beatnigs were in
town opening up for Billy Bragg. It was
their second pair of shows locally this
summer. The band took some time out to
talk to Discorder.
reference to Television on their self-titled album - "...television, drug of the nation / Breeding ignorance / Feeding radiation / TV! Is this
the reason why less than ten percent of our
nation reads books daily / Why most people
think Central America means Kansas / Communism means Unamerican/ and apartheid is anew
headache remedy..."
MIKE FRANTI: Well, I'm not down on television. I'm down on programming that has taken
place. I view television as a very powerful
medium. I'm down on it when it's used in a way
that is very manipulative and that does not
question anything and just perpetuates the status
quo, which I personally believe is very ill at this
ANDRE FLORES: It's been used as a tool to perpetuate a lot of negative stereotypical shit about
HENRY FLOOD: And is continuing to as we
speak right now.
ANDRE: Continues...continues...as long as it's
all aboutmoney...it's all about oppressing people
in different kinds of ways: artistically, poetically, all kinds of ways, it's there. And that is
what we don't like. We'll sit up and watch TV all
day. There's things we Uke to watch.
RONO TSE: (laughs) Robocop...Terminator.
ANDRE: We try to be selective and objective
about what we're watching. But what we're
singing about is the mindless bullshit that has
been going on with television as a medium ever
since it has been on the planet. People get the
wrong idea, we don't hate TV, just what goes on
it...programming that's based on consumer- ship
rather than on...
MIKE: Rather than being based on the reality of
what's going on in the world.
ANDRE: It's what sells...what's gonna sell my
product...blondes, fast cars and sex. That's the
HENRY: Then if you're lucky, you can get ahalf
hour program late at night to see something alternative.
ANDRE: Or just another point of view. We like
to see that. We like to see the left side, the right
side, all the sides talking, so you can really
understand, have the full experience, because
it's a beautiful medium that could be used to do
HENRY: It could bring a lot of people together.
ANDRE: Exactly, that's all we're talking about.
ANDRE: It says 'aaagh, nigs'. I'm the one who
developed that sound 'cause I play sampler and
it comes from a hysteria when white people see
people of colour. It's like 'oh, fuck, what am I
dealing with?' It's that kind of funny reactionary
thing, but first you gotta know what a 'nig' is.
MIKE: In the Aural Instruction Manual which
comes with the record, there's an explanation of what the word 'nig' means to us. A lot of people
have different impressions about the name ot the
band - the Beatnigs. Some people think that
we're a nazi slash band talking about black
people. And some people think we're just trying
to be cute or funny with a play on words. But
what it is, is a positive acronym derived from the
word 'nigger', which describes who we are and
what we believe in. And the reason that we chose
to shorten the word nigger rather than try and
make up a new word, is to never forget the fact
that in the society we live in, there are a lot of
people who are considered niggers. Women are
niggers in our society, gays are niggers in our
society, Asians are niggers, people from the
Middle East are niggers, black people are all
HENRY: And poor white people.
MIKE: And poor white people as well. And
anybody who questions the status quo, regardless of race, regardless of religion. We use the
word as a symbol of strength... a symbol of
unity. We don't want to forget we are considered
by the majority of people to be niggers. We use
that 'nig' to remember... as a constant reminder.
RONO: 'Cause they won't let us forget.
MIKE: It's a symbol of strength that we can
persevere...that we can make a difference in this
world and that the difference starts with each of
us. It starts with me. Malcolm X, who is someone that we have a great deal of respect for and
admiration, we've written a song about him as
well. He chose the X as a replacement for his
slave name - Little. 'Cause he said "I'm an
African... I'm not a slave. I'm rejecting this
word 'Little' and using the 'X' until things have
really changed and when they have changed,
then I will take my American name and I must be
very proud of that in this country." And that's
kind of the way we use that word 'nig'.
ANDRE: Straight up, my experience is from
being a young black man in America who is a
product of black parents who went through
some very, very, very difficult problems in their
lifetime, to the point that they thought it was a
very good idea to not bring me up in a community that was predominantly one racial group or
one religious group. They wanted me to live in
a community that was fairly integrated and I
ended up going to all-white schools. All my
friends were white. Some critical aspects of the
black experience I missed...some interesting,
some not so interesting. But, being black, there
was just so much that I've experienced purely
because of the simple fact that, I was raised in a
white community. As I grew and was able to
make decisions and see things for myself, I
began to make changes and began to open my
eyes and learn, seeing that there's other people
out there...there's more things to absorb and
there's one main important thing that I needed to
resolve with myself and that was my black self.
For a very long time, I was confused about my
black self because my parents were confused
about their black self. It's all part of the history.
It's all part of all our history, here. The
Beatnigs...being with the Beatnigs, that is the
most positive thing that has happened in my life.
The family has done as much as they could do up
to a point. I'm grown now, I'm on my own. I've
got another family. The Beatnigs are that family.
RONO: Andre used to be very arrogant. He had
a lot of attitude problems.
ANDRE: Right! Based upon my insecurities,
which I got from my parents. My parents were
very insecure about being black. That is such a
weird trip, if you can put yourself in that
position...if you can just try to be there. That is
a very serious trip to go through. For anybody.
To be insecure about your own race and where
you come from and what your are all about -
spiritually, every thing...every thing that is me,
that I was told is me, I found was not me! It's not
me and that tripped me out. That made me want
to just turn away from everybody. I was insecure
and still am a very insecure person. And what I
do a lot of times to confront that is I throw up this
arrogant shield. You don' t talk to me, I don't talk
to you. But there's one thing that I'd like to say
is that recognizing that fact, we all have to get in
touch with our inner self and try to break down
these barriers. That insecurity is a barrier. As I
work on it, I want to share it with other people so
they can work on their shit, too. *
TO      THE      FUTURE"
852 Gramillc Sum Van. omnci Hnti-li ( ..lumlmi ( .uu.la \ <>/ I M 1604) 688-2828
A system that teaches you to get control of your time, cope
with the information overload and get more mileage out of
your studies.
Call Today
OCTOBER 1988   9 6* frfJilEltWf &W.'
Thurs., Oct. 27
SUB Ballroom • Door at 8pm
UBC Students $14.50, Non-UBC $15.50
Tix at Zulu/Odyssey/AMS Box Office/Black Swan /^^^^^   L%&2>  7^^^^^
You used to be able to see and hear
the most incredible collection of
people during a day in Jerusalem:
Russian and Greek priests; Malaysian friars; Ethiopian Coptic monks;
tall and pale orthodox Jews; Arab merchants;
the always colourful Bedouins who drive to
town everyday in their little Peugeots; African
Muslim pilgrims rubbing shoulders with armed
soldiers; red haired punks from Amsterdam
shuffling alongside black cloaked Assyrian nuns;
and, of course, the dusty, barefooted children
who cling to visitors like burrs — everyone
crushed together in the narrow streets, but living
strangely disconnected lives.
Now the streets are empty and unsettlinely
quiet; only our shadows and the plodding ol
feet on the wet stones break the stillness,
since the P.L.O. declared a strike and shut down
the markets and shops, by threats of violence in
some cases, a feeling of desertion began to fill
this normally vibrant city. Even the Bedouins,
who usually answer to no one but themselves,
are staying away. And no end seems in sight for
the political deadlock between the Israeli occupiers and the Palestinian extremists. The stillness just goes on.
Finally we find our street; an unhealthy
looking unpaved path in the Muslim quarter. A
sindpjtpening, bordered by the tr^tttional blue
doors, is lit and we enter. Abdullmi^aking his
cockroach pizzas on the tiled floor as he stands
in a shallow pit in the middle of the room. We
call them cockroach pizzas because the place is
infested with huge, mutant cockroaches and
once in awhile we get crunchy things on our
pizzas which we hope^nd pray are olives or
meat, but of whose origin we are never quite
I am tired. I spent a large part of the day in
the Hebrew new city searching for a good
record store and information on concerts,
musical artists and bands. I had a romantic belief that I would discover a new sound, a
third world musical genesis going on, free from
the collapsing cultural dogma of North America—something new and exciting. When I first
heard the Brian Eno and David Byrne album
"My Life in the Bush of Ghosts" I thought,
"Alright, you've discovered something here;
third world ethnic roots combined with a synthesis of experimental western musical technology." Just as also I thought it was I who discovered army sweaters, Patrick McGoohan, and all
those groovy African bands such as Fela, Franco,
and King Sunny Ade. Now I find out roots music
is in. Scottish bands are "Celtic" bands, country
musicians are becoming "grass roots", punk is
"urban folk", Bulgarian shepherdesses are
making it into every dance mix, and Paul Simon
is hanging out with a bunch of Zulus.
It's our turn to order. A group of Palestinian men sit along the east wall smoking and
listening to a crackling news report from Radio
Amman on a little transistor radio. A group of
boisterous Arab youths come in. Co^^Land
assertive as street kids are anywhere » the
world, they pepper us with questions about
Canada and want to buy our jackets. One says he
is learning French and wants to move to Paris, a
fierce determination glowing in his piling
eyes. EverfHly though, trjgy lose interesl
and are content to crunch cockroaches beneal
their feet ^
I knew musical innovations are happening
in this part of the world. On the pop side,
although Dissidenten and their boppin' band of
Moroccans are called a "Euro-ethno beat" band,
much of the creative input is North African. But
I find that most of the young people here in
Jerusalem worship the stagnant mainstream
culture we are trying to break away from back
home. Most of them are content to go to clubs
and boogie away to North America's most
monumental cultural export of the last decade—
disco. And I mean DISCO—white suit and gold
chain stuff. What makes it worse is that until the
uprisings everyone played it on these cheap little
radios cranked up to eight so that everything
came out as a sort of distorted bleating. Now,
with the streets vacant, you can only hear it in the
discos where everyone dresses like the Jackson
Brothers and dances the night away in front of
themirrored walls which encircle the dancefloors
in all the clubs. "Jazz" is also big here—neo-
beatniks freeform stuff which you can catch in
the trendy Hebrew cafes (bring your beret). Old
Neil Young songs are also popular with the
students, as is anything from the sixties. Purely
traditional stuff exists too—recitals, plays,
concerts—which are fun but somewhat few and
far between. B3T October Entertainment
Under a Blood Red Sky
T-Bird Stadium
Football Game
Pit Pub
Wailin Demons
Parade on Campus
Pit Pub?
Monday Bands?
Hydro Electric Streetcar
Crazy Fingers
Pit Pub?
Rolling Stones/Who/Peter
Gabriel KBFF Benefit
Pit Pub
Butthole Surfers
Barney Bentall/After All/
Mya Max
Idle Eyes/After All
Soul Apostles
Pit Pub
Jazzmanian Devils
VOTE OCT. 31- NOV. 4
BUIIDSMG A 3UIIDI/V<7 Some people are trying, though. Ali works
at our hotel and, through meeting people from
all over the world, has managed to put together
a rather eclectic collection of tapes ranging from
Billy Bragg and the Alarm to Debussy and
traditional Arab love songs. He is also teaching
himself German and French and is getting involved with a local theatre company. All in all,
he is a rather interesting guy, even if all he does
in his spare time is play Arabic backgammon.
I notice several Jewish soldiers have entered, dressed in their elaborate raingear
and with potent-looking assault rifles slung
from their shoulders. I expect a tense situation, but none occurs. One soldier walks up to
a Palestinian and asks for a smoke in Arabic. The
man obliges unhesitantly. Then one of the women
in our group talks to the soldiers who, although
tired and wet, perk up, as soldiers tend to do
around any remotely receptive female. Soon
many people are talking and I'm thinking how
strange it is that when dawn brings another hard-
edged day to this place, these Palestinians may
meet these soldiers on some street in battle and
be wounded or even killed or, even worse, learn
to kill. Yet tonight everyone is just hanging
around waiting for a cockroach pizza.
As I glance into the dark, wet, empty street,
a realisation begins to creep into my mind. This
place - these narrow passageways of stairs and
stones; the archaic, twisting markets with all
their colours, smells and sounds; the crumbling
churches and mosques; the yeshiva and madrasa
schools; the tombs and shrines; the chaotic jumble
of houses, cafes and courtyards - this place is
about life and living, faith and hope, and has
been throughout its turbulent 5000 year history.
It should be full of haggling grandmothers,
screeching children, clinking silverware, shouting vendors, music, sizzling falafel and kebab
stands, scolding fathers, snorting mules, loud
foreigners, maybe even disco on little transistor
radios. But today, the old city, and much of the
new one, is silent, hollow, and deserted. Except
for the lonely cry from a minaret and the occasional ring of distant church bells, only the wind
has a chance to speak. I guess I discovered that
new sound I had never heard before, the sound
of silence - the music of fear and the song of war.
The silence found Ali a week later. One day
he was walking with a friend* when the police
stopped them and roughed them up quite severely. Ali's ghetto blaster, his only source of
music, was smashed in the incident. Now he sits
quietly in the hotel, attempting to hide his hurt
with a weak smile. Without his tape deck, the
tapes of music which were one of his few connections to an enticing, peaceful outside world
became useless.
As the soldiers leave and we prepare to
venture out into the blackness of Hag ay Street,
I realise my senses will never be able to forget
Jerusalem: for my eyes, the stark beauty of this
place; for my intestines, Abdullah's cockroach
pizzas; and for my ears, the sound of silence.
James Boldt
1M3 'J.1U:
1111 Commercial Drive  Ph: 251-1161
4376 W. 10th Ave. Ph: 222-2332
Tw Uxxrtkms. Slfc Low Concourse
OCTOBER 1988 13 Katie Webster:
The Swamp Boogie Queen
At first glance, ifs her rings
that catch your eye. They're
displayed conspicuously on
those talented fingers, and
when you admire them, Katie Webster moves her hand bashfully, so that
the diamonds sparkle in the light. Before she performs, she explains, she
gives them to her manager. She used
to wear them when she played, but as
the music got hot and her hands got
wet, they'd slip off her fingers and
slide into the cracks between the keys.
Once, she giggles, it took a roadie four
hours, a magnet, and some chewing
gum to dislodge her most expensive
diamond from between the ivories.
She looks impossibly young, no
where near the forty-nine years her
bio sheet lists as her age. The left eye
droops; the right twinkles brightly as
she talks about her first meeting with
Otis Redding, then fills with tears a
minute later when she recalls the plane
crash that took his life. Much lighter
than the days when one reviewer
described her as "Two Hundred
Pounds of Joy", she is as joyfully assured as ever, speaking with the conviction of someone who believes in
what she does. Still, the big black hair
bow, the giggle, and the bashful expression make her seem like a teenager, getting ready for her first gig.
The truth, however, is that Katie
Webster has been singing and play-
ing boogie woogie, swamp pop, gospel, and r & b for thirty-five years, for
audiences from Texas to Frankfurt.
After retiring from the public eye following the death of Redding (with
whom she toured for three years), she
came back, establishing herself as a
regular at jazz and blues festivals
across Europe. Last month saw her
return to Vancouver with a new album featuring Robert Cray, Bonnie
Raitt, and Kim Wilson. And as she
proved in the performance she gave
following our conversation, she can
still stir the soul and raise the roof
beams with the music she makes.
The titie of the new album is, what
else, Katie Webster: The Swamp
Boogie Queen.
And the Queen speaks:
After Otis passed away I kinda got
into a slump, because I was so crazy
about Otis Redding, and he was
such a great man to work with. It
was a down thing for me when he passed away...
I started working with him when I was working in Louisiana in a club called the Bamboo
Club, and I had a house band working there,
consisting of fifteen pieces. We'd been workin'
there about five years, so the club owner asked
me, he said, "Katie, I'd like to give you guys a
break this Christmas, hire somebody to work in
your places, and you guys can just sit and enjoy
yourselves." I said, "Great, why don't you try
and get Otis Redding?" And so, he laughed at
me, he said "Ha, Ha, yah, I wish." I said, "You
don't know, you have to ask," you know? So he
called up Phil Walden and Otis's people, and
they negotiated and made a deal for Otis to come
and play at his place Christmas Eve.
So, as his band began to play, big bands at
that time would play about thirty minutes instrumental, and nobody would sing. And then they'd
call out the first vocalist. And then they'd call
out the co- star, then they'd call out the star. So,
it was like, the star didn't get out on the stage 'til
about eleven o'clock, you know.
And so, at the club I was working at, it was
a predominantly white club, they were accustomed to my band playing about three instru-
mentals. Then, somebody would start to singing. So, as the ban was playing, there was some
guys that was there that loved me very much. It
was about fifty people that was there; they were
my ardent fans, they were there every night that
I played, Monday through Saturday. So they
said, "If you guys are not gonna sing, why don't1
you let Katie Webster sing?"
And the band start lookin' at each other very
funny, very weird. They didn't know me. [The
crowd] said "We want Katie to sing." But the
band just kept playin', so these people, like
started beatin' on the tables in the club. "We
want Katie! We want Katie!" So the whole three
thousand people in the club start beatin* on the
table, "We want Katie." So you can imagine
what that did. So one of the guys in the band says, "Well,
who in the hell is Katie Webster?" And so one of
these drunks staggers up and says "Only the best
damn singer in the world! Best piano player in
the world!" They kept callin' 'til finally my
manager didn't want these people tearin' up his
club. So he went into Otis' dressing room, and
he said, "Otis, is it okay if the lady who has the
house band in this club, is it okay if she sings a
number with your band, these people are goin'
crazy out here."
Otis says fine with him, but when I got up on
the stage the band did not really want to play
behind me. So they said, "What're you gonna
sing?" I told them what I was going to sing, and
I told them the key. So, they started the songs off
in the wrong key, they thought I wouldn't know.
And I said, "Listen. If you guys don't want to
play behind me, put your damn instruments
down 'cause I can play for myself."
So finally they got it together, and I did these
songs with them, and while I was on the stage,
and I saw this person running through the audience with just their underwear, red silk jockey
shorts and a red silk undershirt, and he was
runnin' out of the room wavin' his hands. I got
really terrified, cause I thought he was saying,
"Get that woman off the stage!" But he was
sayin', "Don't let that woman get off the stage
until I talk to her. I have to talk to her tonight.
She's got to go to work with me." And they was
covering him up and taking him back into the
dressing room, and he was still wavin' his arms
in the air.
So finally, after I finished my set with
the band - and they complimented me
and everything -1 went into the dressing room. Otis grabbed me and he
said, "Woman, I have never heard a woman or a
man play a piano and an organ with such force
and with such a strong voice." He said, "Woman,
you've have got to have been singing gospel
music." I said, "All my life." He said," I have to
ask you one question. Would you be interested
in workin'with my band?" My heart went boom,
boom, boom, and I tried to be nonchalant. I said,
"Oh, sure." He said, "Well, can you leave
tonight?" And I said, "No, but I can leave very
early in the morning!"
He pulled this big bus up to my house the next
morning, and my kids, and all the neighbours,
and everybody was outside, and here I am, this
was my first chance at the big time.
Out on the road with Otis was one of the
greatest things, because, he said, these people
were working with him and for him, but they
didn't put enough energy onstage before he
would come out. So this meant he didn't have to
work too hard. He wanted somebody to really
put some power behind him. I weighed about
two hundred and twenty pounds at that time. So
I told him, "Well, I tell you what -1 don't care
who I'm before, or who I'm after - I'm just
gonna do what Katie Webster know to do best,
and that's to work hard. So you better fasten
your seatbelt. If I'm your co-star you're gonna
have to work hard when I leave the stage."
And we had such a grand time. I worked with
Otis from nineteen sixty-five through to sixty-
seven... until he got killed in the plane crash. My
reasons for not being on the plane was two
things; I missed a beauty shop appointment, and
I was pregnant, getting ready to have my third
child, and the doctor was trying to get me not to
go. And I was going to sneak on and go, and
something happened. My beautician didn't arrive on time, and I was too late to catch the
flight... And so I was gonna catch a flight the
next morning, and that was when we got the
news on the t.v. what had happened.
My father was a sanctified minister, and my mother was a missionary; my mother played the
classics and gospel and sang,
and my father played five instruments, and he
sang. And so, we have this piano at home, and it
had a key. I went out and had me a key made,
because they didn't want me to play nothin' but
gospel in the mornin', gospel in the evenin', and
gospel at supper time. So I went out and had mft
a key made, so I could get at this piano when they
were gone. And I started playin' the Little Richard songs, and Fats Domino songs, and Sam
Cooke songs...
And I said, "Listen. If you
guys don't want to play behind me, put your damn instruments down 'cause I can
play for myself."
I started learnin' these songs, and finally,
my brother got a group together in Houston
called "Three Wigs and a Wiggle.'' They had
three guys, they was the Wigs, and I was the
Wiggle. And that was my first experience play in'
and singin' in the nightclubs. I would always say
I was goin' to my girlfriend Susan's whenever I
was going out to work with some band.
So we had a beautiful family. I had six
brothers and four sisters, and everybody played
some kinda instrument. And one time we were
all playin' and singin' in my father's and my
brother-in-law's church. And my father used to
take me on the road with him, to play for the
services and stuff. By the time I was ten, I was
singin' and playin' for the junior choir at church
and every thin'. And then I just got a yen to start
to playin' somethin' else other than gospel.
Because I was listenin' to many Louisiana artists like Clifton Chenier, Clarence Garlow. And
I was listenin' to the music of Professor Longhair and Fats Domino. This music just fascinated me. There was somethin' different about
it that I jus'wanted to be a part of. But I knew that
as long as I stayed at home with my parents I
couldn't do that. So I went to Uve with an aunt of
mine. She was a little more liberal.
I still couldn't do too much, but at least I
could sing in the clubs. I could work in the clubs,
I could wear the short dresses, I could cut my
hair, and I could wear polish on my nails and
things, and I could go to movies or to sockhops
and stuff.
Before [my parents] passed away, I promised them that I would not leave my gospel roots.
I would continue to do gospel music, but I just
wanted to stretch out a bit. So they finally got a
chance to see me, only in one performance, in
Houston, Texas. I think I did somethin* like
Sentimental Reasons, a real sweet ballad that
was not derogatory or anything, and they said,
"Oh, well Katie, that was beautiful."
I think that was the go ahead to me that, you
know it's okay, but don't forget where you came
from. Because when they passed away things
just started happenin' for me. In a way I guess
this was my blessing from God that I had missed
when I was with Otis. He saved me, 'cause I
could've been gone, me and my baby.
Iwas quite well known in Europe for my
piano playin' but everybody was surprised when the first album came out with
me singin'. In the beginnin' I said to the
people in Bonn this is my first time comin' to
you,and I hope it won't be my last. After the
show, a seventy-five year old woman came into
my dressing room and she said, "I have every
album and every forty five you ever recorded.
I've been waiting twenty five years to hear you
and see you, and you don' t look a day older than
the old photos. Are you sure you're Katie
I said, "Yes I am." She said, "Well, would
you autograph my albums?" So I autographed
her albums and her forty fives and then she said,
"Now I can die, cause I have seen and heard the
And I just cried and cried. That gave me the
strength. I said, "What do I have to be confused
about? This lady said that her life could end...I
just kept that in my mind, and now, the tour
that's coming up inNovember willmake twenty-
five times that I've toured Europe since nineteen
eighty two, and she's been to everyone of the
concerts that's been in Frankfurt or Bonn.
I have no regrets. The only thing was the
fact that we lost Otis so soon. We had such grand
plans, and there will never ever be another Otis
Redding, not even in his sons...But he comes to
me sometimes in my dreams, and he talks with
me and tells me things. Once I wanted to jus'
give up, 'cause it was so hard for me. I was
competing in a situation where they were only
interested in men. I was the only woman who
was doin' this work, and it seems to me that I'm
still the only woman who's doin this work now
as a solo act, and still playin' boogie woogie and
blues, while everybody else is doin' the pop-
rock and such.
I never did change my style. For thirty-five
years, I've supported five kids, three of them to
college, I have a beautiful home in Missouri
City, Texas...I've been doin' fine, jus' fine.
Music has been good to me, and God has been
good to me because he's kept me, and given me
the strength to continue playin' beautiful music
to beautiful people.
Andrea Lupini
The Radio Show
Fridays 5:30-6:00pm
OCTOBER 1988 15 fyt
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strategies for success in the
cut-throat world of College
Hi, I'm David M. My musical group No
Fun is one of the most highly-regarded musical
groups on Southwest British Columbian College Radio today. We've also received national
acclaim for our incredible cassette albums and
wild 'n' wacky Uve performances. We've even
been dubbed "The Beatles of Surrey" and God
knows that's the truth.
But I know what you're thinking. You're
thinking, "Aw, shit! I wanted to be the toast of
College Radio! My group (Your Group's Name
Here) is probably just as worthy of being highly-
regarded on College Radio as those bozos! In
fact, I bet they really suck!"
Well, fuck you. We don't. And you're
going to feel even worse after I generously offer
you and your group (Your Group's Name Here)
some extremely valuable tips on how to make it
big in College Radio. Like No Fun already has.
But first, let's take a quick look at how the
mainstream music business works (as we College Radio mainstays often do, no matter how
much we hate to admit it).
The music business is a pyramid scheme in
which the suckers, I mean artists, enter at the
bottom of the pyramid by spending money on
musical instruments, studio time, videos to
promote themselves, home recording equipment,
stage outfits, hair extensions, records to learn
licks from, rock magazines and books, liquor
and drugs, and so on, ad infinitum. The huge
amount of money thus generated works its way
up the pyramid in stages, from say, you, up to
say, 54-40, and from 54-40 up to The Church,
and from The Church up to R.E.M., and from
R.E.M. up to U2 and from U2 up to...well,
ultimately all music business money ends up in
the deep pockets of five or six anonymous ugly
old cigar-smoking guys in boxer shorts sitting
around all day in their penthouse offices getting
transfusions of infant blood to keep from crumbling into dust.
I don't think that any of this will come as
any big shock to those involved with College
Radio, though. I mean, that kind of bullshit is
why we all opted out of that nowhere scene,
right? Sure it is.
GREAT NAME (a great name for this
section, as we shall see)
Now, you're going to need a great name for
your band (or for you, if you are a solo artist). To
be great, a name should be memorably ironic,
because Irony fuels College Radio (along with
Beer and Sexual Frustration, but let's face it, you
can't get people drunk and fuck them with your
name no matter how great it is).
Your name should also be funny, or more
precisely, goofy. I could go on and on listing
examples: They Might Be Giants, The Dead
Milkmen, Butthole Surfers, Deja Voodoo, Head
oi David (yikes!), 64Funnycars, andmyscream-
ingly-funny personal favourite, Tracy Chapman.
I repeat, your name must be great. I think that if
local heavy-metal spoofsters Ogre were renamed
Ed Zeppelin, they'd rule College Radio.
But having a great name for your group is
only the beginning. You must also have lots of
great names for your songs, and, someday, your
albums will need great names. For example, I
wrote a song called "Great Name" which will be
the opening track on No Fun's next album project, "Great Name". Pretty memorably ironic,
And the beauty of it all is that if your name
is great, your album's name is great, and your
songs' names are great, you won't have to bother
writing or playing actual music!
"Music"? Are you kidding? Beethoven is
"music". Look, you're reading this article, so
you're probably the genius of your band, right?
Just hire some "musicians" and let them worry
about the "music".
Yeah, I know, "musicians" are all worthless, boring, stupid, dime-a-dozen, smelly jazz-
fusion snobs who'll hate your guts because they
have no vision, but they can give your group that
ultra-thin veneer of professionalism College
Radio demands. Be careful, though. Hardly
practise it at all. It'll preserve that loose Garage
Band sound College Radio loves.
And in time, when your "musicians" start
demanding that your group "change musical
direction" (usually towards jazz-fusion), simply
fire them. Kill them if you can get away with it—
College Radio goes mental if dead guys used to
be in your band.
Let's take Elvis Presley for example. The
guy was an inhumanly-gifted piece of white
trash (with a great name, by the way). The
utterly evil music business played off his weaknesses to milk his gift, squashing what was left
of him on their way to the bank. The multiple
ambiguities of Elvis' life and death have an
intellectual fascination for those of us who aren' t
inhumanly-gifted pieces of white trash.
This explains why a key to success in
College Radio is how creatively an artist can
ridicule Elvis. When Mojo Nixon howls "Elvis
Is Everywhere", or Chris Houston does his
"Church of the Fallen Elvis" routine, or The
Cramps title an album "A Date With Elvis", or
Vancouver's own A Merry Cow sing "Who Is
This Elvis Guy Anyway?", they're making a
Statement, and the Statement is "Hey, the music
business can't co-opt and kill us like they did
that poor ignorant cracker son-of-a-bitch Elvis
Well, that just goes to show how worthless
book-learnin' is. Little do they realise that the
music business had nothing to do with the death
of Elvis. Why, I'm not even dead! B3T
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That's right! I, Elvis Presley, faked my
own death in 1977, and I've been living as David
M. of No Fun ever since. Didn't you notice that
No Fun appeared right at the same time I disappeared? Well, congratulations to any No Fun or
Elvis Presley fans clever enough to guess the
truth by stringing the clues together: my onstage charisma, my long jet-black hair and sideburns, my devastating sex appeal, my fluctuating weight, my incredible singing voice, my
inaudible acoustic guitar, Priscilla having my
'73 Torino seized for back alimony—why, hell,
I even use my normal speaking voice at least
once on every No Fun tape!
Anyhow, all you College kids just go ahead
and keep poking fun at the ol' Kang. I can take
it, you little no-talent pricks. And while you're
at it, poke fun at everything else, too. The pay is
sure as fuck the same—lousy!
Hey, Charlie! Where the hell's my plate of
cheeseburgers? God damn it, do I have to do
ever'thang mahself?
...probably to confound the media by crisscrossing America yet again, romancing more of
his middle-aged female fans. Here are a few
additional College Radio success tips, in case he
never comes back.
—Rip off Led Zeppelin whenever and
wherever possible, but do disguise it a little.
College Radio likes a Camper Van Beethoven,
but nobody likes a Kingdom Come.
—There's an important lesson to be learned
from the urban noise/dance music of Tackhead.
If you don't have a James Brown-style system of
fines for your "musicians", they'll think they
can get away with anything.
—Here's an idea that seems so obvious it's
hard to believe that no one in College Radio has
tried it yet. Develop a reputation for being morbid
and obsessed with dying, fake your own death
and lay low for a year or so, then "return from the
grave". Although this scheme requires patience
- a quality always in short supply in the fast-
paced, gimmick-laden world of College Radio -
it would therefore have the element of surprise
going for it. And it's only been done before by
Elvis Presley, James Dean, and Jim Morrison,
so you'd be in terrific company!
—Finally, remember that most people
involved with College Radio are students, so
treat them like a teacher would. Be strict with
them right off the bat, or they'll never respect
you. Punish them severely when they misbehave. And if they don't do enough for you, fail
That's all for now. Work hard and follow
my advice, and maybe I'll be seeing you at the
top of the College charts (hopefully just below
No Fun). Good luck!
David M.
If'5 easy +o See.   in this series of pho-loS  exclusive ^o -fAe Jnfuirer\rWu 1U
diS^uiSt   of* David M* iS   a   combination   of E/t//'s'S and fn'Scilla'S   hair S-lyieS
From king of Rock and Roll
to kina of Colleqe Radio
ElviS  I tils   all. Produced by Perryseope es, punk rock really is
behind us and, according to just about everybody, we are living in a
kind of musical doldrums. Well, maybe we
are all waiting for the
Next Big Thing, but the
truth is that even without the Savoy, even with-
out the old Arts Club myriad-band blowouts,
even with hall gigs being few and far between
lately, Vancouver is crawling with those young,
original bands that often (for lack of anything
better) get called "alternative", and there are
places where you can see them play. Here is my
personal,  totally  non-comprehensive list of
The Commodore (870 Granville) is a kind
of sentimental favourite of mine. Hell, my parents used to go there back in the days when you
had to (surreptitiously) B YOB. Nowadays drinks
are a little pricey but there aren't any pushy
waitresses whacking you on the head for tips
like at some places I could mention. And even
after all the renovations, the room still has the springy dance floor that's so satisfying to jump
up and down on. Lots of times I've been frustrated watching a favourite band at the Commodore - when it's really packed and hot and you're
stuck at the back somewhere it's not so great -
but then there's always the option of listening
from below on Granville mall while taking a
break for some fresh air. The Commodore used
to be the place to see bands too big for clubs and
too small (or cool?) for the Coliseum - these
days a lot of those shows are at 86 Street, but
lately the Commodore's been booking lots of
local bands.
86 Street (at the Expo site). Basically, I try
not to go there unless I have no choice (like when
the Hoodoo Gurus played - I'd have been crazy
to miss that). While at the Commodore you can
imagine you're in some mansion's ballroom or
oversized antique saloon, 86 Street's motif is
more future-glitz. There's some kind of flying
saucer-like device on the ceiling that I've fortunately never seen in action, drinks are really
expensive, and the waitresses never seem to like
me much. On top of that, you always have to
park a very long way away (unless you want to
pay lots o' money) and hike around the horrific
BC Place Stadium. The best thing about 86
Street, and this is kind of important, is that they
have lots of very good bands from out of town,
and circulate free tickets (as do a lot of the clubs
right now) for the local bands they have in. (Just
remember that the bands usually get something
for each ticket that's turned in, so make sure the
doorman actually takes them.)
Club Soda (1055 Homer) prints up free
tickets (or variations thereof) for out-of-town as
well as local bands. This really isn't a bad place
- you can see the stage from pretty well anywhere in the club, and that means looking at
bands like the Scramblers, Roots Roundup, the
Nervous Fellas, and Junior Gone Wild. They
also have so-called "metal" nights, where you
can sometimes catch bands with local hardcore
roots. My only complaints are related to the
club's usual "rock'n'roll" (read beer commercial) characteristics: sometimes the soundmen
don't seem to know quite how other types of
bands want to sound, the decor is heavily reliant
on airbrushed illustrations of bits of musical
instruments, and I've seen some of this city's
most adolescent/misogynistic felt pen drawings
(with written comments) backstage. Still, some
very worthwhile shows, especially on Sunday
The Town Pump (66 Water Street) is
bigger than Club Soda and smaller than 86
Street, just the right size for acts like the Young
Fresh Fellows and Fastbacks, Rank and File,
even Donovan, and the local bands with big
draws. One advantage of this venue is its layout
- between the two upstairs areas, the area by the
pinball machines, the little hall behind the soundboard (that leads to the washrooms but still lets
you see the stage) and the livingroom-type setting by the windows near the bar, you can either
hide from or look out for any fellow fans as you
like. It's also possible to completely ignore
bands you hate - for bands you like, on the other
hand, it's pretty well mandatory to crush up
against the stage. (There's nothing worse for a
group playing at the Pump than to have the
whole audience sitting down - since the seats are
off to the sides it means there's no one to play to
but the sound/lights people a few feet across
from the stage.) Drinks aren't as cheap as, say,
on campus, but this is not 86 Street. Also, the
staff generally seems to be having a good time
too. Basically, what I like about the Town Pump
is that, while on a pretty large scale, it's also
fairly laid back. Also, this year the Shindig finals
and semi-finals will be at the Pump.
The Railway Club (579 Dunsmuir), especially since the demise of the Savoy, is the small
club in Vancouver. Not only can you have a nice
lunch with a pint here if you're downtown in the
day, but it's generally worth heading down just
about any evening you're looking for something
to do. In fact there is a pretty substantial crowd
of regulars, who mostly hang out in the back
where you can hardly hear the band at all - if
you've actually come to see someone play it's a
good idea to show up early to grab a seat up
front. Sometimes it gets quite crowded but -
something about the atmosphere, I guess - everybody always seems to be in a good mood and
(wow) I' ve even had chairs offered to me. There's
also the train on the ceiling to watch when things
are slow but that's usually only very early in the
evenings. The other cool thing about the Rail (if
you're this sort of person) is being able to say,
years later, things like, "Oh yeah, I saw Los
Lobos at the Railway Club," to the person next
to you for the U2 show at BC Place. Since there
isn't any stage to speak of (not elevated, anyway), seeing a band here has a lot of the aspects
of a party in someone's basement, except the
sound is way better. Intimate. And the staff is the
grooviest. No wonder Shindig's at the Railway
this year.
I first heard of the Waterfront (686 Powell) when the album of that name came out,
featuring people like the Debutantes, but I'm
embarrassed to say that I've only been there
once, just last March. If you've heard anything
about this place, it's probably true - the staff can
be scary, there's only one kind of draft and the
sound is iffy. This all sounds pretty negative but
the truth is that since the Arts Club's old weekend extravaganzas came to an end, the Waterfront is possibly the only place for younger
bands, especially noisier ones, to actually play.
Watch for free tickets for these shows too.
The Archimedes Club (157 Alexander) is
a bit of a mystery to me, since I've never actually
been inside it. It sounds like a good idea - a very
small club where bands more or less book themselves gigs, rent PAs, and then collect at the
door, where beer is cheap, etc etc. But then there
are obvious disadvantages for the bands too
(especially the potential for losing money,
something musicians don't usually have to worry
about when they're playing clubs). The one time
I actually tried to go to the Archimedes Club, my
sister and I pressed our noses against the window and rang the doorbell but to no avail. We
could see some (older) people inside with beer,
but I guess nothing was happening. The moral,
of course, is not to go to this particular club
unless you're sure of what's going on.
The Arts Club (1181 Seymour) was, at
one time, the place everyone went on Friday and
Saturday nights almost without thinking, at least
when there wasn't some big high-profile gig
happening. The cover charge was really low, the
always popular Garnet was at the door, and the
atmosphere was as informal as a club could get.
No waiters/waitresses, no stage, not even much
of a sound system in the beginning. A supporting post was always blocking your view of your
favourite musician, but on the other hand there
wasn't much chance of having to stand in a drink
lineup with those beer-commercial types. The
Arts Club was the most accurate simulation of
the Mum-and-Dad-are-away-so-let's-have-a-
band-in-the-basement party, and from time to
time still is. Rumour has it that bands will be
continuing to play here some Sundays, so keep
your ears open.
Unfortunately I don't know much about
the Straylight Cafe (2629 Arbutus), which is
located awfully close to a workout place, except
that4 Wheel Drive andNo Funhavebothplayed
there recently, and that it's very small.
The Luv-A-Fair (1275 Seymour) and
Graceland (1250 Richards, in the alley), both
dance clubs, also have live bands from time to
time. I've seen artists like John Cale, the Subhumans (for a reunion) and the Mr. T. Experience,
besides a couple of garage-psychadelic bands
and lots more that I can't remember, at the Luv-
A-Fair, butmostpeople still go there for dancing
("classic" nights or otherwise). Graceland, being
kind of a big, loud, ominous space, has lent itself
well to bands like the Butthole Surfers and Redd
Kross, but also puts on various poetry/dance/
experimental (and so on) shows.
Surprisingly enough, the Landmark Jazz
Bar (1400 Robson), always a nice leisurely
place to drop in for a drink but never, I used to
think, all that adventurous, recently had Bob's
Your Uncle playing there. So maybe it's worth
a look too?
As for all-ages venues, there isn't an awful
lot. The New York Theatre (639 Commercial)
puts on quite a few of the bigger shows, and has
a great deal of atmosphere (it's haunted, you
know); the Paramount has been doing the same
with local bands on a pretty regular basis, but is
way out in New Westminster (652 Columbia,
just don't miss the last Sky train home); and then
there's the occasional hall gig.
In a different class altogether are La Quena
(1111 Commercial, a cooperatively run cafe),
where you can catch stuff like folk music or
poetry and also eat good, cheap food, and the
Classical Joint (231 Carroll), which, in spite of
the name, is not really the place to see a string
quartet, but has all sorts of musicians perform
Well, that's it. Things will always change;
clubs will close and clubs will open. However,
there are a lot of original Vancouver bands, and
there actually are places to see them play. No
Janis McKenzie
OCTOBER 1988 21 lth<e K&uaX V\AsCcX\<G/fa
On his twenty-sixth birthday
Freddy inherited a ball-bearing
company from his father. Ballbearings are not everybody's idea
of a good time. Sometimes he
wished that it was rare gems, or a law firm, or a
motion picture production house. Occasionally
he wished that circumstance had forced him to
invent his own method of survival. Still, it was
something. President of a profit making company at the age of twenty-six.
It is said that when one parent dies the other
will die soon after. In Freddy's experience this
was true. Within a week of his father's funeral,
fluid began to collect in his mother's lungs. She
died in Freddy's arms ten months later, mumbling the word "cigarette" moments before she
expired. It was a mysterious last comment given that nobody in the family smoked.
Parentless at the age of twenty-six.. That
wasn't such a bad thing. Once you got over the
sense of aloneness, there was a certain pleasure
in it. It raised the possibility of fresh dialogue,
new characters and new directions.
Freddy had one sister. She lived up north,
married to an oil executive. She came down for
both funerals, but she didn't linger. That was
okay by Freddy. There was something decidedly unsisterly about her. She was business-like.
Too business-like. Whatever closeness they
shared as children had dissipated in the circus of
their adulthood. At his mother's funeral, Freddy's
sister chewed on a large wad of bubble-gum.
Even to Freddy, who was by no means a slave to
the mannerisms of middle-class society, it
seemed jarringly inappropriate. When he hugged
her in front of the casket it was like hugging the
trunk of a tree.
Freddy and his sister sat down with a lawyer and read the will. It was deliciously simple.
The house, and all its contents, went to Freddy's
sister. The ball-bearing company, and all its
assets, went to Freddy. A few stocks and bonds,
valued under ten thousand dollars, went to
Freddy's alcoholic uncle.
Freddy's sister hired an agent to sell the
house. She flew back up north to her husband
and her two kids. The last thing she said to
Freddy was, "I feel there's a part of me missing
when I'm not around my kids."
Freddy went back to his ball-bearing
company. He entertained thoughts of restructuring the company. It was that particular phrase
that he played with in his mind. Restructuring
the company. There was a bold ring about it.
And it seemed the kind of thing a young person
might want to do with his father's company. But
what the hell did Freddy know about restructuring a company? You had to have specific ideas
to pull off something like that. All Freddy knew
was that he felt like restructuring his father's
One day a catalogue arrived on
Freddy's desk. It was an imposing object, about eight inches
thick, thicker than the phone
book. On the cover there was a
magnified glossy photograph of a single ballbearing lying on a piece of black felt. A series of
colored index tabs climbed the edge of the
catalogue like steps. The catalogue was devoted
entirely to ball-bearings, O-rings and seals.
Freddy had never seen a catalogue like it. To
give him credit, he recognised it immediately as
a potentially dangerous object.
As Freddy flipped through the pages of the
catalogue he tried to think of the most exotic,
obscure item in his inventory. It was a harder
exercise than you might expect. Like trying to
remember the least sexy woman you had ever
french-kissed. Who could recall such a thing? It
took him several minutes to dream up something
suitably unlikely. When he'd got it, he felt proud
of his choice. You had to know the business, you
had to really know ball-bearings to come up with
something like this. He chose the rear crankcase
seal on a propane-powered 12 Volt generator.
Propane powered. They don't make those anymore. Hadn't sold one of those for ten years.
Using the system of colored index tabs he
found where the item should have been. Within
ninety seconds he had the chewed nail of his
index finger poised under the order number of
the item. He called the toll free number and
ordered one. It arrived on his desk 48 hours later
with a bill for less than his wholesale price. He
knew then that he was finished.
The company went down in six months.
Ironically, he sold his inventory to the catalogue
company which destroyed him. He dismissed
his employees in spasms, two or three at a time.
The secretary was the last to go. It was fitting.
She'd been there from the start. An old woman.
Possibly the oldest secretary in the world. He
took her out for a seafood buffet lunch.
He said, "What are you going to do now?"
She told him that she owned a piece of
mining company which she would sell, before
retiring in Arizona where her twin sister resided.
He pulled from his breastpocket a wrapped
gift the size of a paperback book.
She said, "Oh no, you shouldn't have."
Freddy said, "You've worked with my
family for thirty years, and my father would
have wanted this."
She took the package and set it in front of
her, aligning the edge of it with the end of the
table. She was picking at it, trying to remove the
tape without ripping the paper. She folded the
wrapping paper into squares, folded it until it
was down to the size of a matchbox.
'Think of it as from my father, as well as
from me," said Freddy.
"My God!" said Freddy's secretary.
"They're real," said Freddy.
She took the pearls from the box and lifted
them upward, working the clasp behind her
neck. She was wearing a short sleeved dress and
Freddy couldn't help but notice that her armpits
were unshaven. There were a few tufts of grey
hair under each arm. He was a little taken aback,
but he could see the logic in it. Why should an
elderly woman bother to shave her armpits? She
was fingering the pearls, and blushing, clearly
delighted with them. He was happy about that. It
made him Uke her more. Suddenly he didn't
mind that she had more money than he did, that
she had a plan for her life.
"That's no skin off my nose," thought
Freddy, and the phrase became lodged in his
mind so that after a trip to the bank, and the bar,
and a steamroom, he was still saying to himself,
"That's no skin off my nose," and his brow was
knotted heavily as if he were in the process of
turning a mental comer.
That night as Freddy lay in bed, he
took stock of his situation. His father had been dead less than a year
and he had already lost the company. A company that his father
had run profitably for over thirty years. The
company was gone. There was no doubt about
that. But one importantquestionremained: whose
fault was it? He lay thinking about that for a long
time, and the more he thought about it, the less
clear it was. It would take an imaginative man,
possibly a brilliant man, to withstand the competition from the catalogue company. He didn't
think of his father as being particularly imaginative or brilliant—or funny, or generous, when
you came to think of it. What was he really? A
simple man who founded and nurtured a ballbearing company. And what did that make
Freddy? The son of a simple man who founded
and nurtured a ball-bearing company.
Freddy began to see the thing in analogous
terms. It was as if his father had handed him the
reins of a horse and said, "Here, ride this, it's a
dependable horse. I've been riding it every day
for thirty years," and a few moments later the
horse keels over and dies.
This struck Freddy as rather amusing. He
giggled softly into his pillow. A dependable
horse. A one-cowboy horse. There was humour
there alright. You just had to get the right angle.
There was humour in any tragedy if you could
just find the right angle.
The next morning he was awoken by the
ringing of the telephone. It was his sister. The
one married to the oil executive.
"What have you done with Dad's company?" said Freddy's sister, her voice tinged
with hysteria.
"I lost it," said Freddy.
"You sold it," said Freddy's sister.
"I didn't exactly sell it," said Freddy.
"You did what then?" said Freddy's sister.
"I lost it," said Freddy. He was about to tell
her that the catalogue company had completely
penetrated his territory in less than six months.
That they were dealing with a marketplace of
perhaps a billion people, and he was working on
a few hundred thousand. It was impossible to
compete. His father couldn't have competed.
Freddy drew in his breath to begin the
explanation, but when he released it, no words
came with it. There was no use trying to explain
anything to his sister. She didn't listen. That was
part of her trouble. She had never been able to
listen. When you talked to her, when you tried to
explain something to her, you just made yourself bigger and clumsier, easier to hit. And she
would let you talk, watching you, arranging her
"Hello?" said Freddy's sister.
Freddy covered the mouthpiece with the
palm of his hand.
"Are you there?" said Freddy's sister.
Freddy listened to the crackle of line. He
could hear his sister fumbling on the other end.
He heard his brother-in-law asking, "Did you
get through to him?"
"The little fucker hung up on me," said
Freddy's sister, slamming the receiver into its
"The little fucker hung up on me," said
Freddy, confidentially, to his refrigerator.
This is how Freddy was pushed out from
the shadow of his father into the free world. And
that was his only regret. The push. It is never
nice to be pushed, even in the right direction.
Guy Bennett
OCTOBER 1988 23 YOVJ     PLUS     1 FRIEND
With this Coupon
Good Thru Oct.
Valid Wed & Thurs Only
751 Thurtow Street RM. 688-7013
£^\ An Irresistible Urge
to Dance/
The Paramount
Specialising in rare, old A out-of-print science fiction, fantasy,
horror A detective fiction. Fine books bought and sold.
434 West Pender Street
Vancouver. B.C.
Canada V6B ITS
The Late Nite
Soda Barf
The Paramount 652 Columbia St. New West - 526-8675
Dance Music Fridays & Saturdays
8 P.M. To 5 A.M.-17 & Older Only!
Oct.  1st.  'Fran Seattle" SWALLOW
Oct.   9th.     BIG ELECTRIC CAT
' Ocotober 5
• Oshima's The Ceremony
p October 12	
Godard Double Bill
• Masculin Feminin
• La Chinoise
October 19 	
•Robert Bresson's Le Journal
d'un Cure de Campagne
■ October 26 	
• Carne's Le Jour Se Leve
Wednesday Nights at 7:00 and 9:30
$2.50 single admission
$3.50 for double bills
($2.00 annual membership required)
Student Union Building
Theatre U.B.C.
24 Hour Info 228-3697 Family Affair
The Kinsey Report: It's A Family Affair
(Town Pump, Saturday, September 3)
Lead guitarist Donald Kinsey, seated beside his father, is in complete agreement. "From
the time of elementary school all the way up to
high school, it was rehearsal after school on
weekdays. We'd gig Friday night, Saturday night,
and then I would wake up Sunday morning and
do a gospel broadcast. Live radio. Then I would
leave the broadcast and go to my grandfather's
church and play. I was playing behind different
gospel groups in Gary." Soft-spoken and easygoing, Donald Kinsey the man seems a fair example of the life philosophy he endorses - a
healthy mix of the spiritual and the secular.
"My mama told me about a
little dog
couldn't see so well
he went cross the railroad
train cut off his tail
he raised his head
to peep over the rail
he lost his whole durn head
tryin' to find a piece of tail"
("Drowning on Dry Land"
If you want to talk roots, talk to Lester "Big
Daddy" Kinsey. Although he and the three
sons who make up the greater part of the
Kinsey Report call Gary, Indiana home,
Kinsey Sr. makes no bones about where it
all came from. "I was born in a little old place
called Pleasant Grove, Mississippi in Panola
County," he rumbles, leaning forward in the
dressing room of the Town Pump. "It was more
or less the county seat. High school was there,
maybe two or three grocery stores, little small
post office, filling station, and that's it. My dad's
a Pentecostal minister and everything that I
know about music I learned in his church." The
message is clear: at the foundation of this blues-
rock aggregation, and, by implication, at the
foundation of hundreds more like it all over the
continent, lays America's most neglected music
- Gospel.
Photo:Mandel Ngan
Onstage, however, Donald Kinsey's
approach is a litde different. The
Kinsey Report hits loud and hard.
The first half of the set belongs to
the younger generation, and they seem more influenced by white heavy metal and the loping
beat of reggae than by church fervor. This is to
be expected. In the mid-70's, Donald actually
led a mgtal band called White Lightnin', cut a
record for Island, and through those channels
eventually linked up with Peter Tosh and Bob
Marley; musical experiences which helped shape
the present Kinsey sound. Front-man Donald,
whose vocals are a blend of both blues and rock
stylings, trades searing, high-register guitar lines
with long-time friend Ron Prince, while older
brother Ralph is a power drummer par excellence. Kenneth Kinsey, the youngest brother,
completes the picture with clean bass playing
which stitches die four extremely tight as a unit.
The music is certainly a step or two removed
from the blues, and for purists this may be a
disappointment. In the music business, though,
the name of the game is survival, and if the
musical amalgam favored by this band works,
then why not? The packed house at the Town
Pump is quick enough to roar its approval.
Before things threaten to become altogether too modern, however, the
harmonicaplayer, Lester "Mad Dog"
Davenport, and then Big Daddy
himself arrive onstage. The two older men seem
to provide an anchor which benefits the rest of
the band, their presence bringing into sharp
focus the long and rich history of black music in
America. The sound changes a little, falling
somewhere between the electric blues Lester
Kinsey has been playing all his life and the
hybrid of earlier in the evening. But towards the
end of the night, when Big Daddy growls out the
opening bars to "Mannish Boy", there can be no
mistaking his intent. These are the true blues of
the flat, black Delta Land - the Mississippi Delta
which may be thousands of miles distant geographically, but which for a few minutes seems
right there in the palm of his hand. This is
understandable enough given the memories of
someone such as Lester Kinsey.
"It just so happened where I was born and
raised wasn't too very far from where Muddy
Waters, McKinley Morganfield, came from. I
OCTOBER 1988 25 met Mud at an early age and when I first heard
him, well then, that's when I got turned on to the
blues bug, you know. I loved that slide. I never
heard anyone play guitar with a bottle neck, you
know, and that just did something to me. My dad
called it devil music, but he liked it." Before Big
Daddy makes his final exit of the night, he props
himself against a stool, electric guitar over one
knee, and teases the audience with a litde of that
slide - only a little - in the same fashion old man
Muddy used to do in his waning years.
All of this is not meant to disparage
what Donald Kinsey and the
younger generation of black blues-
men are achieving. Any form of
music, any art, will die if it is kept under glass,
resistant to change. And by assimilating aspects
of metal into his sound, Donald Kinsey is only
reclaiming from white musicians what they in
turn borrowed from people like Muddy Waters,
Howling Wolf and hundreds of other lesser
known Delta and Chicago bluesmen such as
Lester Kinsey. If Donald admired Cream, Led
Zeppelin, or Mountain, he was indirectly admiring people like Eric Clapton's mentor Freddie
King and Zeppelin's originally uncredited
sources Willie Dixon, Howling Wolf, and Albert King. (No news to Donald, since he was a
member of Albert King's band for some time.)
The history of the development of indigenous
American music involves coundess permuta
tions, circles within circles, yet it could have
been a history without hard feelings if, for one,
the proper royalties had been forthcoming
(Dixon' s case, a mere drop in the bucket as these
things go, was fought successfully in court) and
if, for another, the white-controlled record industry and popular media had ever given, or ever
were to give, black music its due. Instead, they
try constantly to water it down into the pablum
known as 'crossover', a small advance, one
supposes, from the days when 'race records'
were sold from under the counter as if they were
some kind of obscene pornography.
On a less ferocious note - since speaking
with the congenial Kinseys is anything but ferocious - lies the connection, sometimes tenuous,
between Afro-American and Afro-Carribbean
music. Simply put, the bridge between blues and
reggae which someone like Donald Kinsey has
managed to forge. His works express it best.
s far as the feel, there wasn't
that much difference from
my input. You go down there
. and you see where them guys
root it out from, you know, the lifestyle and just
everything they have to go through and you
listen to what they're singing about and the feeling is there." Jamaicans Peter Tosh and Bob
Marley certainly must have been convinced by
American Donald Kinsey's sincerity. He appeared on albums and tours with both reggae
superstars during their curtailed lives, and by
way of tribute a powerhouse reggae version of
"Johnny B. Goode" still features prominently in
the live Kinsey show.
"Mannish Boy", "Johnny B. Goode", and
"Drowning on Dry Land", the song Donald
Kinsey sung most convincingly to close the first
set at the Pump, are all anthems of a music with
more than its share of hardship and tragedy. As
the title of the latest Kinsey Report album suggests, life at the "Edge of the City" can be rough
at the best of times.
Muddy Waters is gone, as are Tosh and
Marley, and only a short time ago, the man who
Donald played with on two recent Alligator
releases, Roy Buchanan. Drugs and alcohol can
swamp artists who really only want to play
music for people rather than contend with the
hard-nosed business ethic of the industry. If
mixing rock and reggae with their blues can
keep the Kinseys afloat then by all means they
are moving in the right direction. And the nice
thing about roots, if they are deep roots like
those of Donald Kinsey and company, is that
they can always be rediscovered. It was Lester
"Big Daddy" Kinsey who said, "We plan on
doing a family gospel album before it's all
over." My bet is that they will, and that they'll
have a hell of good time doing it.
Lachlan Murray
The Blues and Soul Show
Sundays 3:00-6:00pm
SUNDAY 7-12 pm
fdjfel&  e^id cmt&r in& Mortal;
rec cappuccino
— a/K,  a^y  cte&fcrtr!
All Natural Shakes /*\
made with fresh fruit.
Tafs now has.an
upstairs gallery
available free for your
private parties.
This months art by
Kevin Ade
829 Granville Street,
Telephone: (604) 684-8900
A Survivor
"As long as these people exist, our struggle
will never be over. We always have to fight. I
don't know why I should go into schools, telling
the stories every day when I'm reminded of all
the suffering that I have gone through. This is so
terrible, but still we have to do it. Nobody else
will. However, the anti-facist movement is
continuing to grow exponentially. We started
very small, but we are growing and growing. I 'm
very optimistic, especially for the youth...there
are many people who don't want to know, that's
something else, but there are very many young
German people who would like to know what
happened during this time in their
history...because they aren't taught anything.
The parents didn't tell the children. The grandparents didn't tell anything. It's the third generation already, sometimes the fourth. If you don't
tell them, they will never know."
Forty years have passed since the United
Nations' General Assembly adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. With
charges of basic freedom infractions in Afgan-
istan, Israel, Chile, Iran, and even the very
streets on which you're reading this, the question must be posed: are we any closer to fully
realizing the standards set forth for all people
of all nations by the 1948 declaration? If the
answer is yes, there would be no need for musician-spokespersons like Esther Bejarano to
warn us of the perils of fascism and similar
anti-freedom, anti-human ideologies.
II was living in Israel for fifteen
I years. It was the climate I couldn't
-J^-stand, but it was also the political
climate and so I went back to Germany. There
are many people who ask me how I can live in
Germany. I tell them that it would be impossible
if I did not know that there were also German
people fighting against the Nazis. I got in touch
with these people and it is only because of this
that I am able to live there. When I came to
Germany and saw the cops...the police...I was
embarrassed. It was terrible for me. When I
entered West Germany and saw the people
walking on the streets, I would always look at
the older people and I said, T can't trust these
people. Maybe one of them killed my parents or
they killed my sister and all my relatives.' It took
me a long time until I felt secure. With my songs
and affiliation with the International Auschwitz
Committee, I am able to fight against these
Nazis who are in Germany. I feel good. I feel
good again. But it's only because I have friends
who are helping me...also, young people...many
young people."
Bejarano is a survivor in the strictest sense
of the term - i.e. she "survived" the genocidal
efforts of the SS death machine - but she is also
a survivor because she has broken away from
many years of reticence following World War II
and her experiences in the Auschwitz Girls'
Orchestra (Bejarano's musical talents saved her
from the gas chambers). She has overcome her
earlier reticence about discussing the past and
has become a very active lecturer, organizer,
and performer in Holland, Switzerland, and her
native West Germany.
"It took me a long, long time until I could
talk about the concentration camp and what
happened to me. I couldn't talk about it until
1978 when I was confronted with neo-Nazis. I
had a little boutique and they had an information
table for their junk and I was so angry. I told
Then came the police, and they
were telling me that I should go
away! They were standing
before the Nazis, hiding
them...defending them.
them that they should go away...that we don't
need them anymore and that we don't want any
Nazis in Germany and so on. Then came the
police, and they were telling me that I should go
away! They were standing before the Nazis,
hiding them...def ending them. This was something I could not understand. It was at this time
thatl decided to go to the schools. I have to teach
the children. I have to tell them about my
life...about other people who suffered at this
Up against arevitalized fascist, largely
anti-Semitic, front that seems to have
taken shape in some form or other in
every comer of the globe, Bejarano
is counting heavily on the youth of Germany to
continue combatting this attitude of destruction
when she and those of her generation are no
longer physically able to do so.
Offered as symbols of hope are the
other members of Bejarano's
Siebenschon quartet - cellist Cornelia Gottberg, and acoustic guitarists Holger Marsen and Martin Jacobsen. All
three being active members of the International
Auschwitz Committee - "an organization of
former survivors and resistance fighters" that
has opened up in recent years to include all antifascists. "We have many young people in our
organization and I hope that these people, when
we are not alive anymore, will continue what we
began. This is our big hope."
Along with the 40th anniversary of the UN
Declaration of Human Rights, 1988 also marks
fifty years since the Kristallnacht: the SS-
launched pogrom against the Jews of Germany,
leading to their total expropriation and the
complete removal of their freedom. On November 9, Bejarano and Siebenschon, other members of the Auschwitz Committee, former prisoners, and the citizens of Hamburg will gather to
commemorate the event.
Lloyd Uliana
Soup Stock From the Bones of the
Elephant Man
Fridays 12:30-5:00am
Readers requiring further information on
the IAC are invited to write:
Martin Jacobsen
Siebenschon #22
2000 HAMBURG 54
Check import bins for Bejarano's Birds
Are Dreaming in the Trees LP. &VffldiG
§    t   mp      % J u-  f   jj
101.9 fM
Every Monday in October, Folks.'
Except Hallowe'en. STICKDOG
(Alternative Tentacles)
Stickdog do not make pleasant music. In fact,
listening to this Iowa band's second album, Human,
can be a depressing experience. Their sound is a
unique, grinding blend of discordant guitar, odd time
signatures, borderline psychotic vocals, and a sporadic wall of percussion, all played over a slightly
quicker than plodding tempo. Dark, dirgy, and incredibly intense, Stickdog's Human is a loud, aggressive record that carries with it a guaranteed impact.
Keith Parry
Environmental Scatology
Mondays 12:30-4:00am
Colin James
(Virgin Records)
I saw Colin James live for the only time about
two and a half years ago in Victoria. His show
consisted entirely of inspired interpretations of semi-
obscurities and blues standards. James* awesome
talent and advanced mastery of the guitar and blues
form were evident. Unfortunately, James' talent does
not yet extend into songwriting. His self-titled major
label debut contains several of James' original songs,
and, to be blunt, they stink; insipidly obnoxious pop-
boogie fluff. There are a couple of passable covers on
the record, but that's all they are, covers. Covers that
are really stale compared to James' live versions.
Overall, this is a money-motivated commercial package with a pretty face on the cover. Disposable.
Keith Parry
As the title implies, from the intro riff of the
lead-off track to the "Test Pattern" closing tone, this
album is very explosive. The Lime Spiders' last
album, The Cave Comes Alive, delved into psychedelia but here they get down to what they do best; the
strengths are obvious in the no holds barred way they
rock out.
By no means is this groundbreaking stuff but the Lime
Spiders know what they like and have no reluctance
embracing iL With drummer Richard Lawson's excellent meter, guitarist Gerard Corben's power chor-
ding, and Mick Blood's raspy vocals the group has
pulled off one of this year's truly fine R 'n' R LP's.
Greg Garlick
Better Hohm's and Garlick's
Thursdays 10:00am-l:00pm
Here To-day, Guano Tomorrow
"Music to throw up by" is how a friend used to
describe Bauhaus, but personally I've always thought
the term applied better to the Dayglo's. With this
album, however, the focus seems to have switched
from projectile barfing to a tiring and ineffectual
retching. Not that this is a parameter of credibility or
anything, but I can't quite see legions of skatepunks
bashing their heads to this as they might have done to
earlier Dayglos.
Side one especially disappoints. The grand
scatalogical promise of Fuck My Shit Stinks is lost
in a wallow of moribund heavy metal posturing. Fuck
Satan to Death begins with a beautiful premise - a
bom again Christian's viewpoint - but falls victim to
yet more masturbatory guitar solos. Heck, are these
the same guys who gave us that supreme indictment
of this guitar hero shit in Black Sabbath? (Well, not
really. The only survivors of those glorious days are
the Cretin and Jesus Bonehead. It shows.) And
when they chant "Hide the, hide the hamsters" it
sounds more Uke HYKA, HYKADEHWUIHA to
An insane, totally Crispin Glover chorus "Like
Where's the bowl DUUUUUDE??!" somewhat
redeems Shred Central, a litany of the joys of raising
hell via skateboard. Okay, so maybe I was wrong
about those skate punks. Here on side two we're not
subject to the dearth of lyrics of side one. On Drugged
and Driving, the Cretin delivers deadpan vocals
exploring a popular topic, and the title track, Here
To-day, Guano Tomorrow, details some of the
more convoluted excesses of TV evangelists. I was
even rendered pensive by the statement "The world is
full of humanitarians killing each other for a piece of
the human pie." Cannibalism anyone? Still, the lp
fails to approach the heights of past Daygloian eloquence with, perhaps, the exception of the "barbed-
wire catheter" wielded in the closing track Kill Johnny
So yeah, let's sing about subjecting hamsters to
a myriad of atrocities; it's sure to freak the hell out of
all those 7 year old girls who venture into their local
record shop and alight upon this album. The rest of us
will just long for the lost art of projectile barfing,
Dayglo style,
Viola Funk
Neophyte Discorder Writer
Go Bang!
(Island Records)
There were three ominous indications that the
new Shriekback album would be something different. First of all, the album tide Go Bang! raised a
flicker of a worry in my addled head. This tide is a bit
of fluff in comparison to Oil and Gold and Big Night
Music. Secondly, there was the cover artwork. Instead of something intellectually stimulating like the
eels slithering over feathers image of Oil and Gold we
have a simply gorgeous picture of Barry Andrews
and co. in various mid-air poses with expressions of
EXTREME joy upon their radiant faces. "Could this
be a dance album perhaps?" I mused. The third telling
sign was the way the record store cashier gave me a
wry smile when I mentioned how much I was looking
forward to listening to my new album. Litde did I
suspect what was to come.
Under the cellophane was barely a remnant of
the Shriekback I once knew. Instead of the cerebral
slippery rhythms that had gripped my consciousness
when I first heard songs like The Oniy Thing That
Shines and Nemesis, I was assaulted with a blaring
horn section on the opening track, Intoxication.
Danceable, yes, but also downright obnoxious. As I
slogged through the rest of the album, I found little of
the old Shriekback to make my life happy again.
However, I did enjoy listening to Big Fun even
though it sounds less like Shriekback than any other
track. (I suppose that means no Shriekback is preferable to bad Shriekback.) Dust and a Shadow comes
across as a blatant ripoff of This Big Hush. But why
ripoff your own song? And as for the first single, Get
Down Tonight, sure it's better than the K.C. and the
Sunshine Band original but so what? And yes, it is
probably done in jest, but to satisfy whom? The world
was not exacdy begging for a remake. In short, I am
a troubled man. Please Barry Andrews, please give
me a call and help me understand. WHY?
Michael Leduc
Neophyte Discorder Writer
Faith's Favourites
Alas the Madonna Does Not Function
(United Dairies UK)
Soliloquy for Lilith
(Idle Hole UK)
In many ways Nurse With Wound and Current 93 represent two sides of the same coin. While
the sides themselves change from time to time, the
coin itself remains priceless. In the past, NWW has
been variously rude, hilarious, irreverent and often
irritating while Current 93 concentrated on being
morbid, depressing and occasionally terrifying. How
either group has managed to do this and still be
stunningly original and often beautiful is, of course,
due to the genius of their creators (NWW - Stephen
Stapleton; The Current - David Tibet). So too the
reason for their prodigious output of late. The two
newest offerings also illustrate well the advantages to
be had from sharing one's artistry. Stapleton and
Tibet have worked together for years and it shows.
Faith's Favourites is a collection of material from
previous projects. The Nurse With Wound side
(Swamp Rat) is a reworking of material from the
days of Automating (some of it by Current 93). The
Current 93 side (Ballad of the Pale Queen) was
originally released on the collector's double lp Christ
and the Pale Queens Mighty in Sorrow.
Soliloquy for Lilith is a triple lp boxed set
originally billed as including Diana Rogerson, but
her presence is not evident. It requires a fair bit of
listening to appreciate, but the rewards are there for
anyone prepared to find them. Initial impressions
should not be trusted as there is a great deal happening
here that isn't immediately audible. It's a marked
departure from recent Wounds. So little happens in
these six Songs for Liltu that the temporary stoppage
of a semi buried tone becomes a major event. The
pressing is quite powerful - so is the mood created -
subtly different from side to side. Most worthwhile.
With Alas the Madonna Does Not Function
we hear Tibet and Stapleton at their finest. Both sides
of this mini lp are absolutely gripping. If you've
always been afraid to buy a record by NWW, this
release is a good opportunity to swallow hard and take
the plunge. In the midst of all the electric mud around
these days, this disc is like a splash of cold water. Not
so the price - a bargain at twice (well, almost) the cost
and another reason to BUY THIS RECORD. After
many years of enjoying these two people, it's nice to
again be really thrilled by what they are doing.
Larry Thiessen
Playloud/Thls Is Not A Test
Irish Heartbeat
Boring. Van Morrison's new album is simply
boring. It annoys the hell out of me.
Irish Heartbeat is trite. The Irish theme is
rubbed in quite severely in a cliched, unoriginal
manner. Phrases such as "wee lass", names of Irish
towns, Irish music, etc are everywhere. These could
have been light, original touches if they weren't so
frequent. Star of the County Down and Marie's
Wedding are the only two traditional Irish songs
which do not sound phony or irritating. The toe-
tapping, barn-dance music and fluffy lyrics are unabashedly fun. Most of the other tunes, such as
Raglan Road and Ta Mo Chleamhna Deanta, are
typical come-hither-thou-f air-maiden pleas. The singing is hollow and passionless, as if the group is
uncomfortable with the lyrics. However, Irish Heartbeat, the tide song, is endearing sop. It's melancholy
and preacherlike in tone, "Stay awhile with your own
ones...For the world is so cold, don't care nothin' for
your soul." But warmth and strength are heard, and
June Boyce does a fine job on backup vocals - listen
With this album, Van Morrison and the Chieftains may be joining the hordes of faded/fading stars
cashing in on this "everything-old-is-new-again"
period. Most of the offerings from those folks are
lame and overproduced - like this one. This band can
do far better.
Discorder Writer
° %       WED 26 OCT
1131 HOWE ST
(Discount on some imports)
■ »^»>»»»»»>»»^» 9***<***f>*» **** ** **9*
**» ....First there was laughter
he talked with his hands
he showed me lands far
and animals unknown
he created my castles with
purple moons and dragons
he made love with warm
tones and cool colours
he said... Chase that dream...
i\oa LONSDALE QUAY MARKET „ r> r\ r>
yOO 123 - CARRIE CATES COURT      l±LLl*
JUJU OPEN 11:00 —6:Q0    PHONE 688 '2650
robert   shea   plays   the   music   made   by   these:
how  can  you   survive  on  a  dancefloor
that  rejects  tranquility??!??
100 s OF
With This Ad
1000 s of
Tapes To go
1176 Davie St. tdOUUOb
101.9 fM
"I tuned in once and didn't like what I heard," you
say. You're just lazy. If you browse through some of
the Program Samples described below, you'll find radio shows on CiTR that you like. Have you ever heard
anyone say, when talking about a TV station, "I
watched channel 12 once, something weird was on, so
I never bothered with that channel ever again."? If
you did, you'd think the person was slow. Now turn
on your radio. Tune to 101.9 FM/Cable FM. Put a
little effort into it. Stick it in your ear.
Tues-Fri/Oct 11-14 10:00-3:00pm
Witness living, breathing radio monsters broadcast
from somewhere on the SUB Concourse. Check out
this program guide for the scary details.
SOUP DE JOUR ll:00-l:00pm    •
Hallowe'en month is commemorated by horror, chills,
and the supernatural. Sorcerer El Khavan hosts along
with assistant cooks Andrew Jack and Lupus Yonder-
boy to stir the cauldron of evil broth. Listen in!
ALIEN WATCHDOG l:00-3:00pm
Hey Space Cadets, October is a big 5 Monday month.
Listen for an update on the Extra-terrestial Invasion
of Sept. 21, if we're still here. Tunes from here from
now and then, and of course your requests.
Get down with Dale! The focus here is on new
recordings from local bands. Other non-vinyl music
released to CiTR from around the continent will be
heard. Finally, explorations of the latest alternative
record releases and prompt fulfillment of requests
will round out the program.
THE JAZZ SHOW 9:00-12:30am
Oct 3: "The Terry Gibbs Dream Band". Noted poll-
winning vibraphonist Terry Gibbs led a big band in
the late fifties. He held onto the tapes for twenty-eight
years and just recently allowed Contemporary Records to release them. We're glad he did as this is one
of the best big bands in history.
Oct 10: "Let Freedom Ring" by alto saxophonist
Jackie McLean marked a distinct departure in Jackie' s
musical search. The music of Ornette Coleman and
John Coltrane led McLean to some new discoveries.
The results are on this record.
Oct 17: Alto saxophonist Frank Morgan returned to i
the jazz life a few years ago after spending over thirty
years in jail for narcotics offenses. He is one of the
true links to the early days of bebop (modem jazz).
Here he is with the McCoy Tyner trio.
Oct 24: Miles Davis was at his expressive best in a
pair of recordings done in concert at New York's
Lincoln Center in 1964, with George Coleman (tenor
sax), Herbie Hancock (piano), Ron Carter (bass), and
Tony Williams (drums). Miles Davis has rarely
sounded so disciplined and yet so free.
Oct 31: Little has to be said about the talents of Ella
Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Backed by the Oscar
Peterson Trio, they breathe new life into these tried
and true standards.
Lately I've been thinking about pressed pigs and
copper cowbells.
Oct 3: Snakefinger's "Greener Pastures"
Oct 10: Add color to your Thanksgiving, experience
64 odd minutes of Lou Reed's "Metal Machine
Oct 17: Alternative Tentacles label— Nomeansno,
Beatnigs, Stickdog, Tragic Mulatto, Jello Biafra, etc.
Oct 24: The Gun Club
Oct 31: Free candy radio with sperm toothpaste.
Wow! A youth oriented show! HAHAHA! CiTR's
first children's show. Messy, cool, things 'n stuff...
um, for sizes 4x to big!
CONCEPT 2  New Age Restaurant
Healthy Food, Relaxed Stimulating Ambience
Great Variety of Tea, Coffee, and Wine
724, Nelson St. (near Granville)        222-4444 FRIDAYS
IN CONTEXT 3:00-4:00pm
Hosted by Kirby Hill.
Oct 4: An interview with Larry Lillo, Artistic Director forthe Vancouver Playhouse's "Lie of the Mind";
news on Dance.
Oct 11: The design Aesthetic. A profile of the Design
Vancouver conference, held Oct 21-30.
Oct 18: Vancouver Opera; an interview with David
Walsh, director of Verdi's "Don Giovanni", the debut
performance for the 88/89 season.
Oct 25: Music, dance; a preview of events for November.
TRIBES & SHADOWS 4:00 5:00pm
Hosted by Kirby Scott Hill.
Oct 4: West Germany is a cultural leader in many
avenues of the Arts. Throughout October we will be
profiling artists, musicians (Avante-jazz and New
Music) and other cultural types whose work is representative of Contemporary West Germany.
Oct 11: Al last! Tippy-A-Gogo
Oct 18: More West German Art; and exploration of
the landscape.
Oct 25: Joseph Danza, Vancouver-based shakuhachi
player/new music composer.
AURAL TENTACLES midnite til the moon
plummets to the earth
This Tuesday, someone will step in dog shit, someone else will smell it, others will see it, feel it, taste it,
smoke it while others will just listen to it. Please do
not attempt any of the above. Instead, tune in.
WARNING: This show may contain offensive language and/or behaviour. Occasional scenes contain
a radio sex goddess. Parental guidance advised.
OCT. 5 AND 12: 4:30-5:00pm
Film Festival Frenzy. Join Film Prof. Joanne
Yagamuchi in conversation with visiting directors
here for the festival.
UBC's only call-in radio show. CJOR got so scared
when they heard of this show, they changed their
entire format. Call 228-CITR/228-3017.
Oct 6: Christian University students—Who do they
think they are?
Oct 13: Psychics & skeptics—Are these people for
Oct 20: Subliminal messages—Are they effective?
Oct   27;   Multi-purpose   referendum—Necessary
expenditure or waste of our money?
EXPO '66 1:20-2:30pm
Live from the World's New Music Fair:
Oct 7: New Age Pavillion
Oct 14: The CiTR Pavillion *Program Samplers
and the "Pick Up CiTR & Win" contest winners
Oct 21: The Japanese Pavillion
Oct 28: The Naughty Pavillion
PRESENTS... 2:30-3:00pm
-I love you-
Oct 14: Join Narduwar and Cleopatra Von Fluf-
flestein this evening for a fun 5 band explosion in the
SUB Ballroom.
THE RADIO SHOW 5:30 6:00pm
The Vancouver Film Festival features fascinatingly
in this month's line up, as do the thoughtful and
thrilling thespians of the city's theatre scene.
ELEPHANT MAN 12:30-5:00am
Yes folks, it's us. We've changed times and managed
to trim 45% of the excess fat from this butt steak of a
show. Rob headed off the study in Guelph, so Lloyd's
at the controls now with four and a half hours of the
latest in independent music from around the world.
Live and taped interviews, as well as indie label
features each week.
Did you know ...they've removed the word "GULLIBLE" from the OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY?
"The modem musical style has never been able to
conquer a large audience. Only small circles of
specialists and intellectuals find it interesting. From
a revolutionary point of view this modem style can be
described as one which is progressive within capitalism. It does not simulate connections between people
which no longer exist in bourgeois society; it does not
awaken cosy feelings; it does not deliver harmonius
connections; and it demands an ever-increasing level
of education from the listener, that is, it posits ever-
larger material conditions if he is to understand it.
Thus it is truly capitalist; and thereby it is very timely
indeed, for it mirrors the conclusion of capitalist
conditions without glossing over them, though also
without criticising them." —Harms Eisler, 1935..
Pretense; no apologies.
SMOKE SIGNALS 6:30-9:00pm
Oct 9: "Werling in Exile": interviews, reviews, poetry and music on the experience of life and work in
exile. Columbus Day commemoration.
Oct 23: UN Disarmament Week. Nuclear submarines, warships in B.C. harbours and Canadian complicity in the global nuclear traffic.
PLAYLOUD 9:00-midnight
Too much emphasis is placed upon having fun. More
time must be spent in the contemplation of not enjoying anything.  Mankind deserves less while seeking
more. Aural surgery performed by Larry Thiessen. NEWS HIGHLIGHTS
A "Cut the Crap" style wake-up report.    All the
trimmings, as well as a FEATURE REPORT and
UBC Digest.
Live from London, England, the BBC World Service.
Local news, sports and weather served promptly
after. Crumpets are extra.
Our in-depth half hour report, with a FEATURE
REPORT focusing on UBC and the Lower Mainland.
FEATURE REPORTS 8:00am & 5:00pm
Oct 3: Recycling: Is it a "waste" of time?
Oct 17: Why UBC's Agriculture program is losing
Oct 24: UBC's gas gun: another first in Canada
On Tuesdays, find out what the rest of Canada is
doing. Our reports come to us from other campus
stations across the country.
Oct 5: The proposed PCB incinerator in Ashcroft/
Cache Creek: the dangers of this method in dealing
with toxic waste.
Oct 12: Chemicals used in fish-farming: the risk to
Oct 19: A new keychain breathalizer: is it what it's
cracked up to be?
Oct 26: A preview to the Computer and Communications Show
Oct 6: Mars: it's closer than ever, and UBC's watching
Oct 13: A follow-up report on fuel costs: UBC
research that is saving fishermen millions
Oct 20: The Royal Hudson
Oct 27: What time is it, and where is it what time? A
report on Daylight Savings Time and other human
On Fridays, it's the STORY OF THE WEEK. Tune
in. Sometimes we even amaze ourselves.
Oct 1: Saskatchewan at UBC, 7:30pm
Oct 15: UBC at Alberta, noon
Oct 22: Manitoba at UBC, 7:30pm
Oct 29: Calgary at UBC, 1:00pm
Nov 5: Western Final (if UBC plays)
Oct 28: Regina at UBC, 7:30pm
Nov 11: Manitoba at UBC, 7:30pm
WOMEN - Nov 9: UBC at SFU, 7:00pm
MEN -   Nov 18-19: Victoria at UBC, 7:30pm
The CiTR Mobile Sound Rental
SUB RM 233-UBC»228 3017*Mon-Fri 10-4
'■:'w'jYjYi':/;//V <y >>X\::
OCTOBER 1988 35 CiTR 101.9 fM
Recording Artists
in concert
three nights only
never retract,
with special guests
from New York City
never retreat
DJ Mick Shea
never apologize,
October 22
with guests
TOWN PUMP, 66 WATER ST. 683-6695
Tickets available at Zulu Records, Odyssey Imports, Track Records
and the Town Pump OVERSOUL Z
The interview for this article was done in a
West End coffee bar. Present were Len Morgan
(bass, clotheshorse) and Darrell Shibley (drums
and horse lover); absent was Adam Gejdos
(vocals, guitar and beyond horse laryngitis). We
talked, drank coffee, and then Len and I went for
some liquid depressants of the central nervous
When asked how the band started, Darrell
and Len immediately told two completely different stories.
"I remember being the guy who phoned the
other two and saying 'let's do it,'" recalls Darrell. Meanwhile, Len claims that Adam's girlfriend started the band. "Carol phoned me and
demanded to know why I didn't want to play
with Adam. I said I did, but when I talked to him
he seemed kind of busy, so anyway we started
the band." As Len finishes this sentence, Darrell
turns to him and says, "I didn't know that!
Hmm.. .1 guess the answer is WE DON T KNOW
will claim we appeared to him in a dream."
Despite this rather uncertain start, the group
soon found its feet and began writing songs.
These songs, according to both Darrell and Len,
were the work of three people rather than a
group. "It was like, I'm the drummer, so I drum
and Adam's the singer so he writes the lyrics."
However this is all said in relation to their latest
"Originally we were just going to make a
demo, so we took some tapes we had made to
Studio 525 to have them mixed. But Mike
(Landolt), the engineer there said, "This is
unmixable. Why don't we make a record and do
it properly?' So we did." The results of those
sessions became Fool Revelation. Getting the
record, pressed, packaged and released fell to
Edge Records, run by one Scott Gubbels. Their
memories of this union are fairly clear.
"Adam and Scott met at ICA (a school for
sound engineers and music business types)",
recalls Len. "Then they bumped into each other
just after we had recorded the record...so Adam
said, 'I'm still trying to get my record released'
and Scott said, 'I'm still trying to start my record
company.'" The connection waiting to be made
was obvious enough that Adam's girlfriend didn't
have to push them together, "but she was probably there."
Photo:Mandel Ngan
Edge Records has on its roster (aside from
Oversoul 7) Numb, a local industrial dance
band, and Club of Rome, "a commercial pop
band." The latter of which just happens to have
Scott's younger brother in it...one can imagine
the conversations during dinner: "Well dear,
you put out records by other people, isn't it time
you did something for the family?" "Yes, Mom."
"He's spending a lot of time and money
(earned as a chef at White Spot) making sure it's
'right' on his end," states Len. This included a
quick jaunt to New York for the New Music
Seminar (the holy grail for 'alternative' bands
hoping to make the right business connections).
"I didn't even know he'd gone, he just up and
went," says Len with bemused amazement.
Following the release of the first record
were two Canadian tours, one with 54-40 and
then one on their own. "It was interesting," says
Darrell. "We'd have people coming out to see us
after hearing about us, or seeing us the first time
we passed through." "Actually they're fans, not
people," corrects Len. "They bought T-shirts,
they're fans."
"We want to get our name up there," says
Darrell of their goals. "We don't just want to be
a basement band." "We've got a good crew of
people around us, and we'd like to take them
with us," adds Len. The crew includes Scott (see
above); Blair "our video director/roadie/comedian"; Lane, their manager; Lyndsey "we got
her to do our album cover, now she's doing our
posters"; and Mike, their soundman/engineer.
"It feels really good when people offer
their services...it makes me feel that they have
faith or belief in us," says Len, slightly embarrassed by this admission. "Or it could be that
they just want to meet girls," adds Darrell.
The new album, self-titled because everyone in the band vetoed everyone else's suggestions ("It's fuckin' communism," jokes Len.)
"The next one will be Os 7II," says Darrell. Like
Led Zep II? "No, no...just like Chicago," interjects Len. "Yeah, Chicago. I hate Peter Cetera.
You can print that," states Darrell, then adding,
"Len likes George Michael." "I do," he agrees.
"And I like Chic, also."
Most of you will be relieved to know none
of this is apparent by listening to the album.
Over its ten song length one can hear what Len
and Darrell mean when they say things like,
"We've tried to be true to the songs...if it's arock
song we play it like a rock song" and the same
with "slow pop songs." They also talk about
"streamlined" songs in which "things have to be
there for a reason." A process they were aided in
by co-producer Keith Porteous (Gangland
Management, ie 54^40 and Sons of Freedom). p^»
OCTOBER 1988 37 The big change on this record, from the last one,
is that the songs are a product of the whole band,
with everyone writing.
"It's a concept album," explains Len. "I
didn't realize it until half way through the recording, but it is." "That's only one opinion,"
injects Darrell. "Yeah, it is," agrees Len, and
then continues, "the first concept is that our
listeners are intelligent enough to figure things
out for themselves. And the second is...figure it
For most people, the impression the new
Oversoul Seven release will make is one of a
catchy pop/rock guitar album with the influence
of the "School of Athens (Ga.)" present. Thus,
the tracks run from the fairly straight ahead
guitar pop of Crack, to the rather crunchy rock
tune One and One is Three, to the album's
finish with the strangely charming, Follow the
Leader, which contains a wonderfully cheesy
organ riff. "The Band chose Bring Me Around
as the most suitable for a video," notes Scott.
"I'm not sure what a radio station would play."
The public will be able to decide what to play
when the record arrives in mid-October.
"I dunno, I haven't seen it. Terry David
Mulligan has, and he played it on Much Music
West," says the embarrassed writer to his editor.
Live, the band remains three distinct personalities. Most of the attention seems to be
centered on Len as he skitters, circles, bounces,
trips and plays his way around the stage. Behind
him Darrell pounds away on his drum kit while
singing the occasional backing vocal. In front of
and beside this flurry of sound and motion,
Adam stands, sings and plays guitar - almost
completely oblivious to how often Len comes
close to accidentally clobbering him with his
bass. "We like to keep it intense live. We want
it to be more than just another gig...we want to
drain the audience and we want to be drained."
Presumably, all the parties involved will want to
lay back and have a cigarette afterwards.
When asked if they have any final words,
Len and Darrell offered several. "None of us
wears a watch." How do you know if you're on
time for practice? "We know, we can feel it.. .umh,
or we're late." However, Darrell settles on
something he once read on a condom dispenser,
"it said 'if she's a moaner this will make her a
screamer, if she's a screamer this will get you
arrested,' so come see us play - we'll make you
scream, or get you arrested." A comment which
leads Len to note, "Some people won't get it
even if they do come see us."
Pat Carroll
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