Jeremy Squires never disappoints. One of the better voices creeping out from the backroads of North Carolina, Squires is back with his new record, Poem. And once again, it’s a slow-burn stunner that reminds listeners of backyard bonfires, and tall tales told over tall boys of PBR in quiet confidence.
Poem is moody and takes what’s considered “Americana” by its ear and dares us to explore what works within the confines of genre. Much like how Lucero dove on Among the Ghosts and Jason Isbell did with The Nashville Sound. What works about Poem is that it feels like Squires set aside what he couldn’t do, but instead, focused on what was possible by testing what he was capable in the studio.
Poem is dreamy with haunting guitars that aim more towards My Bloody Valentine or Radiohead than what Squires country-inspired contemporaries are focused on and it’s imprinted all over the record. "Stargazer" and "A Calm Around" aren’t bangers but float through the collection of tunes in a haze, which is perfect considering the vibe of the record overall.
It’s also refreshing to hear songs that that feel earnest instead of trying to catch a wave or appeal to an audience that might not exist. On Poem, Squires has found much more of himself than on his previous releases, which were also solid, but this time around, this batch isn’t as self-serving, this is a man comfortable in his own skin, but also satisfied with what he does. For a lot of us, we’re always chasing that dragon that might never land, and we could all be so lucky to finally our moment as Squires has.
The back half of the record is decidedly more country but holds its presence nonetheless. If anything, the second half sounds a little more Tom Petty country than it does hard Nashville.
One thing to definitely take note of is the record’s cover. Whoever did it rules. It’s got this metal well of skulls thing going on. Super cool. Thank you for not wistfully staring out at the sunset or body of water, Jeremy.
Poem doesn’t go overboard, and no track overturns the applecart, but instead, the songs are dreary, rainy day bummers, which will forever have their places as long as people get sad and need someone else to feel their pain.
If you’re going to be around lovely Austin, Texas around May 31st- June 2, one of the coolest festivals (among the many we have) will be taking a bite out of the Capital City.
Local horror + music + girls covered in blood magazine Gore Noir is throwing their first annual Nosferatu Festival, which celebrates the 90th anniversary of the U.S. release of the most influential silent horror films of all time — Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror.
If you’re a weird horror nerd like me, this gives my soul a boner. Of all of the iconic figures in horror, Nosferatu remains one of the creepiest still. Whatever the combination of the black and white, the way Max Shrek pulled off Count Orlak, whatever – it’s still 100% viable almost a century later.
The festival will have a whole load of shit to do: screenings, music, burlesque, games, costume contests, vendors, and photo ops.
“Nosferatu is a film that unites the community; whether you’re a punk, or a goth or just a fan of horror films,” says, Mitch Rafter of Gore Noir Magazine. “The film brings people together.” Mitch is also the creator and producer of the Nosferatu Gore Noir Edition.
(Spoiler: I’ve seen it, and it’s sick. If you don’t believe me, go look at the Nightmare on Elm Street special edition. I wrote the spread for that issue.)
Here’s what information was leaked from the crypt:
The kick-off will be at Kick Butt Coffee on Friday night followed by 2 full days at 4th Tap Brewing Co-op. Somehow, they managed to dig up three different versions of Nosferatu, including one with live score by the Invincible Czars, and another that will be the “Gore Noir Edition” with an all-new soundtrack by Austin composer/musician Steven Canham.
And the other fun stuff includes sideshow performers, burlesque (wouldn’t be a fest without that, now would it?), live tunes by the skate punk band Nosfera II, and of course, Nosferatu screening all night. There’s also a coffin race, a costume contest and a whole bunch of other nerdy things that go bump in the night.
If you see me there, say hey and I’ll buy you a beer.
Looking for some new music? My inbox has been overflowing, so let’s do the roundup. Last week, I ventured to Chicago to see a show I always dreamt about but never thought I’d get to see: The Misfits. I saw Jerry Only, Glenn Danzig and good ole’ guitar puncher himself, Doyle. I’m going to write this up into a long form piece, so stay tuned for that.
But, for now:
Cave In’s newest and (probably last) record, Final Transmission will hit the streets on June 7th. It’s a mixture of the Until Your Heart Stops hardcore, but a lot of the out there Jupiter stuff, as well. Gone-way-too-soon bassist Caleb Scofield appears on all of the tracks. From what interviews and press releases tell me, the band were all torn up when finishing the record, and rightfully so. Losing a band member and a best friend is never easy. But, at least we’ve got 20+ year’s worth of records and one last time to hear Caleb’s weird ass basslines.
Sara Trunzo’s got a new record dropping soon, Dirigo Attitude, it’s meat and potatoes bluegrass/country stuff. I like it, it’s very “clean” sounding, reminds me of mountains or long grass near a creek. Can’t go wrong with that.
Jericho Woods have a new one out that’s a little poppy for my tastes, but if you lean toward the more “Nashville” driven stuff, this will totally bang for you. It’s not cheesy whatsoever, but it does have to those massive harmonized hooks that people love to holler along with. It reminded me Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s “Fishin’ in The Dark” – so if you love that late 1980’s – early 1990’s country, you’re going to love this.
Speaking of Stephen Brodsky of Cave In, New Idea Society is back for their first record in a few years. Think shoegaze played by a bunch of hardcore dudes. It’s frantic, heavy and quenches a thirst when waiting for new stuff from We Lost The Sea.
All of the bands are out on tour and instead of just being lazy and firing up the good ole’ Spotify, get your fat ass to a show.
If you’ve got an itch for stuff that sounds like Depeche Mode, The Cure, or other awesome synthy bands, Drab Majesty has a new record dropping this summer. This stuff is unbelievably pleasing. If you’ve ever spent a night drunk out of your mind dancing with goths at 3am, this will speak to you on a different level.
It’s Full of Hell’s newest and boy is it not for beginners into metal.
If you were psyched on whack ass Vampire Weekend dropping a new record, get hip to the new Culture Abuse, it’s a more realized, non-shitty version of what those preppy nerds are doing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6zm0qp8TQU&feature=youtu.be
Plus, Culture Abuse is going on tour, like all summer. You’ll get to enjoy music that’s not next to some asshole in salmon-colored shorts.
What’s good? I’m about to head up to Chicago to see The Misfits, and I’m peeing my pants with excitement. I’ve waited 28 years for this show, and you best believe that I’m going to howl my ass off when I hear some “Skulls” or “Hybrid Moments.” I wonder if Doyle will be there to bitch about having to meet people when he doesn’t get to play Rockstar for a night.
In other non-Danzig news:
Helms Alee is about to go on tour with Earth and are also dropping a new record, which is described by this wild shit, “Named for a bioluminescent marine algae that glows when excited, the Puget Sound trio’s forthcoming album Noctiluca bears a radiancy all its own.”
Watch the music video for “Spider Jar” here:
A few weeks ago, I talked about Vale, the black metal band from Oakland that sound pissed as fuck. They’re going on tour. If you feel like coming to Austin, come hang out. I’ll be at the show.
VALE - ON TOUR
June 21 Colorado Springs, CO @ Triple Nickel
June 22 Denver, CO @ Hi Dive
June 24 Minneapolis, MN @ Hexagon
June 25 Milwaukee, WI @ Walkers Point Music Hall
June 26 Chicago, IL @ Subterranean
June 27 Detroit, MI @ TBA
June 28 Toronto, ON @ Hard Luck
June 29 Ottawa, ON @ TBA
June 30 Montreal, QC @ Brasserie Beaubien
July 1 Quebec City, QC @ L’Anti
July 2 Manchester, NM @ Ohmen DIY
July 3 Portland, ME @ Gino’s
July 6 Brooklyn, NY @ Kingsland
July 7 Philadelphia, PA @ Kung Fu Necktie
July 8 Boston, MA @ O'Brien's
July 9 Baltimore, MD @ Sidebar
July 10 Richmond, VA @ Wonderland
July 11 Chapel Hill, SC @ Local 506
July 12 Atlanta, GA @ 529
July 13 Jacksonville, FL @ Nighthawks
July 14 Miami, FL @ Las Rosas
July 15 Orlando, FL @ Uncle Lou’s
July 16 New Orleans, LA @ Santos Bar
July 17 Austin, TX @ Lost Well
July 18 Dallas, TX @ Regal Room
July 19 Albuquerque, NM @ Sister Bar
July 20 Phoenix, AZ @ Yucca Tap Room
July 21 Los Angeles, CA @ Lexington
Sharkmuffin, has a new record, Gamma Gardening and it’s a fun cocktail of glam, punk, shoegaze, and indie rock. If you’re looking for some old school Riot Grrrl stuff to get powerful to, check these ladies out. I love them, this is fun rock and roll in at a time when people are being way too serious.
Don’t forget to check out Karly Driftwood’s banger, Too Mean To Die – I wrote about it and it’s still awesome.
Billy Ray Cyrus is on some Soundcloud rapper’s song, fuck that noise.
Willie’s annual 4th of July show has been announced. If you’re anywhere near Austin, this is a yearly thing and has been going on for 50 years. Check out who’s playing along with our living legend:
Like a gasoline-flavored Sour Patch Kid, Karly Driftwood is your new favorite country singing antihero, you just don’t know it yet. On her debut record, Too Mean To Die, Driftwood is everything you don’t want her to be: a reckless savage with long red hair and a pretty face that will cut you with a broken bottle and leave your sorry ass to die in the gutter. But, while you're bleeding to death, she might leave you a smoke for one last moment of joy - she's sweet like that.
Too Mean to Die is laced with elements of horror, allusions to hard drug use, long nights out, and sin – all of the things Driftwoods male counterparts are allowed to build careers off of. Without sacrificing integrity for a cheap thrill, Too Mean To Die is relentless in that Driftwood took plenty of lumps, slumming it in the Nashville dives to get the tone, the feel, and the vibe right for the record; it’s got equal parts Kacey Musgraves, Stevie Nicks, Lana Del Rey, and Elvira all wrapped up in a tight blunt with weed powerful enough to kick the ever-loving fuck out of you.
The songs aren’t dreary, in fact, they’re bright and sunny, the subtle nuance lives in the DNA of how razor sharp the lyrics are. Driftwood, aptly named after Rob Zombie’s murderous Devil’s Reject’s clan doesn’t hold back on her faults, failures and never wanting to be a Stepford Wife.
The only thing is while Nashville would just love to gobble a talent like this up and grind in the wheels of their studded denim flesh machine, Driftwood isn’t interested. She's got Danzig in her soul and despite those luscious harmonies ringing loud, there's blood and violence in them hymns.
“Baked You a Cake” is almost gleeful with its promises of gore and violence all wrapped up with a cherry red kiss. “Settle for Being Used” is an honest look at Driftwood’s personal life which again, thanks to the devastating lyrics that harken back to the era of early 2000’s emo with bands like Death Cab for Cutie baring the soul to the point of tearing the paper-thin heart. You end up almost feeling sorry for Driftwood, despite the obvious prize of what the listener gets in return.
The vibe of the record drifts between old school honky tonk and traditionalist country but never loses the rhythmic chops, it’s all killer, no filler without any tired country clichés. There are these moments, though, I don’t know if it’s the old guy in me, or that Driftwood’s dad is a rock and roller, that you can hear the influence of 1990’s alternative in the hooks, the phrasing. It took us a while for the cultural hammer to swing in this direction, but the flavor has the spice that feels like there are some Letters to Cleo, Liz Phair, and even Sixpence None the Richer in that twisted psyche.
“Stripped My Way to Nashville” is a perfect example, while it has some country overtones, but it’s a straight up rock and roll tune that radio in the 1990s would have gobbled up instantly. For all of the societal love for Cardi B making it through the clubs, Driftwood deserves the same treatment.
It’ll be interesting to see how the music translates live considering if people, women especially, get their hands on the music, there are plenty of anthemic moments that ladies with a few long nights can share as something that’s undeniably theirs.
In the past, we’ve been good at calling winners. We called Sturgill, Tyler Childers, and Colter Wall. We’re calling it next for Karly Driftwood. She’s going to be everyone’s favorite Halloween witch, and we say bring on the razor blade candy bars.
Gotta respect a dude willing to live for his art. An American Forrest has a new record dropping, O’ Bronder Yonder Donder? And while I have no idea what the fuck that title means, this project is super cool.
Check out this bio:
“An American Forrest is the name of Forrest Van Tuyl's western music project. Van Tuyl was recently a featured performer at the 2019 National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko, Nevada (alongside folks like Ian Tyson and Colter Wall, nbd).
When Forrest isn't touring in support of his music, he works as a cowboy in a pack outfit hauling explorers, researchers, and their equipment into the two-million-acre expanse of the Wallowa-Whitman Wilderness. He spends many months of the year on horseback, and training horses.
As a result, his lyrics are full of contemplative, complex verses that trot and canter as honky tonks, and western hymnals. His new album O'Bronder, Donder Yonder? was recorded at Mike Coykendall's Blue Room Studio in Portland, Oregon. We hope you'll give it a listen. I'm attaching links to his latest videos, filmed in and about the wilderness near his home in Enterprise, Oregon.”
TWO MILLION ACRES. Dawg, I need fried chicken sandwiches in life and Desus and Mero highlights, I can’t be riding in the rain up in God’s Country. But, my man Forrest is all about that life. Check out one of the three new videos they’ve dropped and go buy a copy of the record May 10th, so when this mountain man emerges from the wilderness, he can buy a pair of Vans.
Also, shout out to all of the cattle roaming through one of the videos.
by Robert Dean I get a lot of new music sent to my inbox every week. Some of it is good, and some of it leaves me scratching my head, wondering if I’m out of touch, or everyone really does have a new face tattoo? But then when I get music with guitars, I do a happy clap ala Snoopy when Schroder starts banging away on the keys. Rock and roll in all of its mutations are very much alive, and Ona is a perfect example of a band doing something exciting and taking me out of my comfort zone and turning me onto new vibes I’d generally never tread toward.
Nothing drives me more insane is when some dickweed says, “there’s no good music anymore.” And to that guy, I say: go fuck yourself. There’s a ton of great music bursting from every fetid corner of the Internet and record store, you joyless bastard.
Stumbling onto Ona’s new video for their track "Summer Candy", I was perplexed, yet curious. Somehow, these boys have managed to take 1980’s camera trickery, an office space, a few leisure suits and create something oddly compelling. As the moments unfurled, I just couldn’t look away. The gravitational force of "Summer Candy" is too great, it’s like if Toto, George Harrison, and Tom Petty all got drunk and made a decidedly strange video with a catchy tune. Maybe more aptly, they’re a southern Echo and The Bunnymen, but whatever it is, Summer Candy is a damn fine throwback jam. A guy is in a sparkly cape and a keyboard guy who’s got an A+ mustache and lets the groove take him to the next dimension. The multi-phone clap is a nice touch, too.
I may not understand it, but I like it. Give Ona a listen and fall into the next dimension:
YO. Is it me or is everyone crazy busy right now? It’s probably that we’re all bursting at the seams with that warm weather optimism, thinking about living in shorts for a few months, drinking in the garage, summer shows, tubing, the smell of the grill. All the best things about life happen in the warm weather.
Anyhow, in the spirit of spring officially here, let’s get y’all up to speed on some of the rad shit happening around and in the world of music, shall we? Let’s Roundup.
Ok, so first off, The Dirt dropped last week. People who love the Crüe are happy while everyone else with two eyeballs says it sucks. [Editor’s note: (insert eyeroll emoji)] I was going to review it, but my best friend likes to remind me that I hate the band and everything 1980’s cock rock. So, I have nothing to add to this except, while I like rock and roll stories, seeing Tommy Lee in a thong doesn’t interest me in the least. Shit is so wack.
ANYHOW,
Jerry Lee Lewis suffered a stroke and has effectively canceled his New Orleans Jazzfest appearance. Big up’s to The Killer and hopefully, he’ll have a speedy recovery.
If you’re into Chelsea Wolfe’s brooding, check out Louise Lemón’s new record, “A Broken Heart, is An Open Heart.” It’s got all of the doomy witch vibes one needs. It’s a little spooky and moody, but ultimately, solidly evil. Listen to it here.
Another female-fronted kick to the neck, Low Dose is dropping a raging new album that feels like a mix of the Big Business + Melvins era, but approachably singy, sprinkled with a touch of the riot grrrl sound. Featuring ex-members of Fight Amp, Lose Dose is an easy winner if you’re looking for something that’s heavy but 100% relatable if you’ve ever had to deal with adult emotional problems.
Brooks and Dunn are nominated for the Country Music Hall of Fame, and honestly, if you haven’t had a lonely night to “Neon Moon,” you’re not doing it right.
Vale is a new death metal + black metal band that’s doing some seriously grim shit. If you need something KVLT as FUCK, this will whet your appetite. Check out Vale here.
Three new records you need in your life are dropping within the next week or so:
Yawpers - Human Question
Mekons - Deserted
Vandoliers - Forever(out now)
Don’t sleep on any of these, I’ve covered all three and they’re all bangers.
Sharkmuffin’s new jammer “Fate” is straight up sick. If you’ve got a love for My Bloody Valentine, get on this ASAP. I wish I’d of caught their SXSW sets because apparently, they kicked the shit out of everyone and I had no idea.
Dick Dale, the King of Surf Rock died. Mad respect to the man who wrote “Misirlou” aka the best tune to ever open a movie.
ALBERICH UNVEILS “CHILSONG CHAMBER” - I don’t really know what to make of this, other than it reminds me of living with my friend Mike in my early 20’s. He was on all of this stuff. Took me to see KMFDM, Venetian Snares, all kinds of good stuff. I was hanging with dudes in black boots and shorts and saw folks headbang to synthesizers. So, get on this if that’s your speed.
And finally, Full of Hell is back. If you’re looking to get your teeth kicked in. Look no further. They’re easily one of the best new pissed off, heavy bands in the game. Watch their new one here.
When Austin Lucas made his way through Austin for his annual South by Southwest show, he was not fucking around. Playing to a capacity crowd at Austin’s legendary Continental Club, Lucas ripped through favorites spanning the totality of his records, but playing fan favorites like, “Alone in Memphis,” “Run Around,” “Go West,” and new banger “My Mother and The Devil.”
Lucas and his band smoked through the set, turning new festival-going faces into interested parties. More than once, I overheard people asking who he was, and at one point, as Lucas stood at the edge of the stage, singing to the crowd without a mic, slowly strumming his guitar, some drunk bro’s were talking too loudly, but a woman told them to can it.
There’s an interesting line between Austin Lucas and what he’s perceived to be. While most people think of him as a country singer, there’s a lot of The Clash going on in that mix. Lucas’ punk roots are shining through more than ever, which I felt was self-evident as took in the show: when the songs go off, they really go hard, and I’d have loved to see him crank that telecaster and fuzz pedal way up so when the dynamic parts hit, they dropped like atomic bombs. If there’s one thing you can say about Lucas’ it’s that he knows how to craft a punchy, yet powerful hook that again, screams punk rock rather than Waylon or Willie.
I hope in the sea of drunk festival goers, he landed a few new fans. That performance was too good to be just a “highlight,” instead it was easily one of the better shows I’d taken in all SXSW. With a tight backing band that could rip the hinges off a work truck, no reason should keep you from hitting and Austin Lucas show. He deserves to play sold out bangers every stop of the tour. His work ethic deserves payback.
Andrew Adkins has some new tunes out. If you’re in the mood for some funky, mountainous stuff with a lot of attitude, heart and soul, this dude will quench the thirst.
If there’s anything you can say about the band Cult Leader, it’s that they’re absolutely unrelenting. Without a doubt, Cult Leader is one of the best bands on the rise – the sadistic mixture is there: they’re the perfect mix of hardcore, death metal and black with a few timely gut punches of shoegaze. The songs go from pummeling Destruct-o-Matic violence to brooding marathons that span many sound types. What Cult Leader pulls off is special.
I’d been waiting to see Cult Leader, I’ve been high on them for a while now and their most recent record, A Patient Man is worth the critical praise many have given it. (I counted in my year’s best for 2018.) So, finally getting the opportunity to see them was something I was excited about and they did not disappoint. Barreling through probably one of the toughest songs I’ve heard in many moons, “I am Healed” the band worked its dark magic giving a tepid audience everything they had.
In general, Austin shows up for bands when they come to town, we appreciate good music, and the turn out was clearly positive, considering it was a sellout. Given that Cult Leader was main support for Daughters, the crowd wasn’t as invested as I’d liked. I understand it’s a move to get the band in front of a lot of newer faces who probably wouldn’t know them or their type of music, but the reaction wasn’t anywhere what the headliner got. Ideally, I’d love to see Cult Leader do a co-headliner with Nails or Gatecreeper, or hell, opening for Cannibal Corpse, but by all means, get that exposure from some new fans.
I don’t mean to say there weren’t people there just to see them, but the majority of that room was there for Daughters and Jesus Christ on a bike wouldn’t have gotten them as fired up as seeing a band they’ve missed for over a decade, so no harm, no foul. But, have no doubt that Cult Leader gave everything they had.
For forty-five minutes, we were given a lesson in what it means to see a tight band crush. No talking, no funny business, just murder. That’s precisely what you want out of a band called “Cult Leader” nothing but well-practiced savagery and boy did they give us the goods; what’s so impressive about the band is how talented they are, there’s no weak link, some dude hiding being everyone else. Every member of Cult Leader is adept at their instruments; there weren’t any points where it didn’t sound as crisp as it did on record, but every piece fit like a glove.
If you’re curious about a new metal band, something new to sink your teeth into, Cult Leader delivers. If you’re into stuff like Code Orange or Vein, you need to give Cult Leader their due. Their records are fantastic, and the live show is incredible. After a strong performance, there’s no doubt they’re one of the best bands in the genre and it’s only a matter of time before more and more people catch up.
When you’re an artist that people are willing to support, it’s a blessing. There are millions of musicians in the world, and a minimal number of them make an impact that spans generations, let alone a few fleeting moments. When people are lined up to snap a photo with you, to get a moment to shake your hand and tell you what your music means to them, you should only be so lucky. While all things are finite, few things are everlasting and in the case of Doyle Wolfgang Von Frankenstein, otherwise known as Doyle who plays in the Misfits, he’s missed that memo.
Over the weekend The Liquid Conversations podcast dropped a new episode featuring Doyle and it was one cringe after another, showcasing just how out of touch the Herculean monster is with today’s music culture.
When asked about how people consume music in today’s market, it was clear that Doyle isn’t getting a significant slice of the Misfits pie because of his view of how music is consumed with streaming services taking up the lion's share of how someone wants to hear a track or album, “The thing that sucks the most about it is that everybody steals music,” he continued, “You spend thousands and thousands of dollars to make a record and all of these scumbags are just stealing it.”
I don’t know if Doyle understands much beyond punching at his guitar and doing crunches, because these days people want everything in one place, along with having music everywhere 24/7 is just now a part of the culture in comparison to downloading from a sketchy service like Limewire back in the early ’00s. Still, Doyle can’t exactly place his finger on how all of it works, saying, “You make nothing, it’s $9 a month [for a subscription], and you can listen to a song 10,000 times if you want.”
Again, I’m not sure if he’s making any pennies off of when “Skulls” gets a few spins considering Danzig wrote it.
Further not understanding how streaming platforms or really, the Internet as a whole work, adding, "They should really fucking police that shit. Shut the Internet down for a fucking day and fix it."
My guy, this is not a good look. I get that artists are scammed when it comes to making money via streaming services and there should be some kind of collective bargaining agreement. According to Blabbermouth’s numbers, “Songs streamed on the company's ad-supported tier last year earned $0.00014123 in mechanicals per play. This means that an artist would earn $100 in mechanical royalties after 703,581 streams. This number actually decreased from $0.00022288 in December 2016. For the premium tier, Spotify paid $0.00066481 per stream. An artist would, therefore, earn just $100 after 150,419 streams.”
That ratio isn’t fair and is a poor reflection of an artist’s worth and value. Doyle also went on to defend Metallica after going after Napster back in the day, "Lars Ulrich was right when he sued fucking Napster," he said. "And everybody thought he was a dick. He didn't do it for him. He's got the fucking money. He did it for fucking jerkoffs like me."
We’ve established the music streaming world isn’t the fairest, so because of this model, artists have had to find new ways to make money. Some offer VIP experiences, signed and exclusive merch, specialized content available only through their webstores, etc. This is just the new reality. The only platform making money right now is vinyl, which only true music lovers buy.
One thing Doyle doesn’t like is meeting his fans. It’s also clear that Doyle isn’t getting a significant payday from these multi-million dollar-earning Misfits gigs. If he’s crying about spending time with the very people who have given him a life so many musicians dream about, “And then they want more, and then you’re a dick because you’re doing a meet-and-greet for 50 fucking bucks to make up for it, which you don’t want to do. You think I want to meet all these fucking people? I don’t. When I’m done, I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”
And if a fan thinks paying $50 to meet the adult who paints his face and plays two-chord songs is a little steep, “They can kiss my ass. You want to steal shit? If I was making motorcycles and they came and took one, would that be a crime? Why can’t we punish people for stealing songs? There should be a $10,000 fine for that.”
Apparently, this music on the Internet thing really chaps his well-toned ass.
It’s sad someone of his caliber and level of industry respect has to punch down to the people that worship him. The only people attending a Doyle gig are Misfits die-hards who want the chance to meet a punk icon. Do you think people are dropping the coin to meet Johnny Rotten or anyone in Danzig’s band?
The majority of that room wants a photo with Doyle, and he’s robbing them of that experience thanks to his ego. Look, man you might be tired, but all of those people who’s gotten the Crimson Ghost tattooed on their bodies, or got the shit kicked out of them by jocks in middle school but kept the faith alive are now “some asshole” thanks to your inability to stand and smile while someone shells out $50 of their hard-earned cash for 10 minutes of your time.
You’re lucky that people care and want to see you. You’re lucky you get to live amongst the lore of the Misfits and it should be celebrated, but unfortunately, you’re too busy being mad about riding in a van when your band is on the road. That’s no offense to your legacy, but by no means should the fans who come to your gigs have to suffer a subpar experience because you couldn’t manage whatever money you’ve earned while probably signing away some kind of rights over the years.
Maybe the reason you’re not packing stadiums with your solo act is that it sucks and we’re humoring you. Does that sting? It should. You owe everything to those people sweating alongside you, and by vocalizing your dislike of the culture that effectively propped you up to this “rockstar” level, it’s bullshit.
Whatever the case may be, I’ll be at the April Misfits show in Chicago, singing along. I know Danzig and Jerry are far from perfect, but you know what? They at least understand their legacy and the role they play among the people willing to spend their monthly car payment to share their music.
Slap on your leather jackets, grab that upside down cross and get ready to call up Satan from the nether realm because hitting the theaters this week in select cities is Jonas Åkerlund’s film adaptation of the book everyone in metal was talking about twenty years ago: Lords of Chaos.
The book and the subsequent film is a look at what was going on in Norway during the late 1980s and early 1990s with bands like Darkthrone, Burzum, Emperor, and most notoriously, Mayhem.
While the rest of metal was partying, writing massive solos and seeing an evolution with bands like Pantera and Sepultura rise in the states, Norway was onto something completely different: they were birthing black metal, a sub-genre bathed in extremity from the look, the sound, and the attitude. Everything was about being more controversial, more metal, more dedicated to the black arts, to the lifestyle than ever buying into anything mainstream or even ‘happy.’ The Norway black metal scene demanded bands be fast, heavy and ultimately driven by brutality and fear thanks to a culture of long black hair, fast riffs and songs never meant to be played on the radio or by anyone who didn’t get the aesthetic from top to bottom.
Mayhem stuck pig heads on sticks, while lead singer Dead huffed the scent of death thanks to some roadkill in a paper bag just before showtime. Soon, an entire genre was flourishing in Norway and these kids were at the center of the movement.
Over thirteen churches were burned, a gay man was murdered, and two of the most distinctive figures in the Oslo scene, Mayhem’s Euronymus and Burzum’s Varg Vikernes were tied in a brutal danse macabre till one of them ended up in the grave, while the other in jail.
The pace of the movie is frantic as it follows the formation and establishment of Mayhem’s presence as well as what followed, the explosion of the black metal in the Scandinavian countries, I mean the place is dark, rainy and depressing, and with a lot of trees.
To make the plot even grimmer, Dead, Mayhem’s singer committed suicide while Euronymus snapped photos of his corpse while telling the rest of his band he’d saved pieces of Dead’s skull to put on a string and wear as necklaces. The whole enchilada is insane; what those kids were doing remains the stuff of lore because it’s always felt like a movie, and ironically now is one.
With Jonas Åkerlund’s vision of the material, the shots are beautiful, with some very interesting camerawork that definitely calls on his experience as a music video director. Åkerlund was also involved in the European scene back in the day as he was Bathory’s original drummer. He’d actually knew Dead for a time, so the pedigree is there. The overall vibe of the film plays on that inherent darkness, that lack of reason, but knowing that the work being put in, even if for the sake of building something grim was for show or for a dedicated stance to remain true to some kind of metal belief system.
Lords of Chaos is less about black metal instead it is about the spoiled existence of Vikernes and Øystein Aarseth AKA Euronymus. Both came from wealthy families who helped bankroll their dark metal fantasies. Aarseth’s father helped him open a metal record shop while Vikernes’s mother paid for the original Burzum recordings. Instead of showing the bands sweating it out in the clubs, the reasoning for the corpse paint, how Emperor rose to the top of the game, despite the drummer Faust murdering a gay man as an act of self-oppression in a park after a few beers, the movie is about a push and pull of two identities.
The movie is visually beautiful. The church burning scenes are well put together, and the black metal scene did look like a lot of fun. It’s a matter of perspective on what you want out of a music biopic, because this movie is about raw emotions, not being evil in the woods.
Admittedly, there are some throwaway elements to the Lords of Chaos, Rory Culkin does an incredible job of portraying Euronymus, but ultimately the character’s unlikability makes his demise easy to swallow, despite the murder and suicide scenes in the movie being absolutely horror-flick brutal. Sky Ferreira was thrown into the film as Euronymus’ love interest but plays a paper-thin role as nothing more than a photographer willing to get naked.
If there’s anyone who takes a beating in the film, it’s Vikernes. Throughout the movie, he’s portrayed as a maniacal, ugly person that’s self-obsessed and willing to go too far in the name of metal. If the real Varg Vikernes sees the film, I’m sure his YouTube channel will be ablaze with rants considering the Neo-Nazi, legend-murdering asshole posts multiple videos a week, and sometimes on the hour. Emory Coen does an impressive job of being a believable psychopath, which with the last name “Coen” is sure to boil Vikernes blood.
The story at the heart of Lords of Chaos is something metalheads have obsessed about for decades now. Black metal is still a thriving music scene, and people across all genres of the music find the story about what was happening in Norway fascinating. There are books, documentaries and now a feature film about these kids in black leather jackets and white corpse paint. The story has become something of a cultural ownership battle: what’s the heart of the love, is it what the music means or what the lore of the scene has done to propagate the music as pure “evil?” Euronymus wasn’t an evil genius, but he was PT Barnum showman getting people to buy into the schtick of black metal, of necromancy, Satanism, and witchcraft. While his was a world of bankable fantasy, Vikernes bought the story hook, line, and sinker – making the mantra of the “black circle” as they called it his religion.
Everyone involved in the Lords of Chaos story were just kids. When Dead took his own life, he was only 22. And when Varg Vikernes murdered Euronymus, they were each 25. There’s a significant through-line of childishness and callow youth in Lords of Chaos which teeters on the absurd, but if viewed as a snapshot of the insanity that was the time is expected. While not perfect, Lords of Chaos is a piece of media that every metalhead should watch because their story is ingrained into the culture, for better or worse. The average square won’t get it, and it’ll show. So, hail Satan or not, whatever – just don’t kill someone.
By Robert Dean
