"I love rocknroll-all the people with nothing to show..."  - Jesus And The Mary Chain

"I ain't lookin' for nothin' in someone else's eyes..." - Bob Dylan

"There's nothing I wanna see, nowhere I wanna go..." - Manic Street Preachers

"Don't take More Than You Need"  - Paul K.

"I raise my glass to the ugly truth that you can't reveal to the ears of youth except to say it isn't worth a dime." - Leonard Cohen

"I don't want to go out, I want to stay in, get things done..." - David Bowie

"We drink the water and it tastes like medicine... wake up, wake up..." - Richard Butler

DRESSED IN YOUR SHINY CLOTHES

Some people believe I'm excluding them from some par-tay, but there really is no par-tay. Sometimes, I wonder if  there was ever a par-tay. Mostly 'been a lot of changing urinal cakes, washing dishes, merchandising endcaps, ruining the knees with constant bending, and always being stressed from the constant threat of Ford truck hick ass ultra-violence. There might have been some nights of frivolous abandon and dressing up and boozy singing, but that was a long time ago .

... ruminations of a horrified social distancer on his evaporating way of life in the shadows of the green death plague.

_{Photo from a Brett Allen video.}

Damien Lovelock 1954-2019

I first caught the Celibate Rifles a few weeks after my 17th birthday in the upstairs room at the Paddo Green Hotel. They were loud, fast, made me grow long hair. I’d recently bought “But Jacques, the fish”, skipped the first few classes and went into the city; got back to school with that treasure. It was a passport to a different world.

There were a lot of Rifles gigs over the years. It’s remarkable now to think how damn LOUD they were in the ‘80s. Towering amps, double four-way PA, in an average pub or club. It was inspirational too.   If they could do it...

Of course, the average teenage punter didn’t know how much time and effort had already been ploughed into that band. Thirty-one years after that first gig I put this together. Read it, it’s the key.

SPENCER P. JONES
1956-2018

In "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", Robert Pirsig interrogates the very nature of quality through the lens of motor mechanics. Care and Quality are internal and external aspects of the same thing. A person who sees Quality and feels it as he works is a person who cares. A person who cares about what he sees and does is a person who’s bound to have some characteristic of quality.

Spencer Jones knew a thing or two about quality - especially musical quality. Born in 1956, the Year of Elvis, Spencer wanted to be a working musician as long as he could remember. Spencer’s family moved from the regional town of Te Awamutu to Auckland in 1965, the same year the British invasion swept through New Zealand, with tours by The Rolling Stones and, infamously, The Pretty Things.

Spencer’s grandfather was a gifted musician; his mother, too, was born with a natural ear. Recognising Spencer’s musical abilities, Spencer’s elder brother Ashley recommended his parents buy Spencer a guitar.

Carbie Warbie photo

This is part two of Michelle Dawn Saint Thomas's LSD-fuelled re-iiving of the notorious final Iggy & the Stooges show at the Michigan Palace in 1974. Part one is here.

The entire theater had become a massive downpour of flying objects. Everything from cans, bottles and coins were being thrown up onto the stage. The situation became contagious; soon random missiles were airborne everywhere throughout the hall.

The Palace now was half vacant and nearly everyone that remained was either clamoring to get closer to the stage for purposes of their own agendas, or rapidly exiting the venue. The stage itself looked a terrible sight, unsuitable for even the most daredevil of performers to be upon it at all.

Total chaos reigned supreme.

_{The last Iggy and the Stooges show.  Michelle Dawn Saint Thomas photo.}

I was oblivious to it at the time but the signs were all around. The counter-culture scene in early '70s Detroit was in a state of free-fall, towards a tragic demise from its epic creative height of the '60s.

Plum Street's attempted bohemian arts colony had completely collapsed, along with efforts by local artists to establish a street fair on Woodward Avenue similar to that in Montreal. The existing brick and mortar business were strictly opposed to this effort, in the belief that when people came downtown the local artists would seize profits from the larger stores of the establishment.

Problem was, people were just not venturing downtown like they used to. Life had changed. Two major aspects, one, the “white flight” exodus, and two, the high crime rate, were keeping people away from Detroit. Plus, something new was on the horizon: the suburban shopping mall. Why travel beyond your neighborhood community when all could be found locally?