Punk Under The Sun: Punk & New Wave in South Florida I used to be a longtime correspondent with Bobby Durango, the now deceased vocalist of Rock City Angels, and have a handwritten note from his mom who thanked me for writing some liner notes for 'em, They're here, too. Bassist Andy Panic and drummer Ringo Jukes, dug up all kinds of never seen fliers, photos, anecdotes and ephemera from their early days as the Abusers, a Southern-fried Dollsy punk band. Everybody loved their song, "Teenage Lipstick Boys".
They got signed to Geffen in the late ‘80s but sorta shelved by the label. Their ex manager claimed they were sabotaged by Geffen executives who sent them to Memphis to woodshed and record with Jim Dickinson while Guns N Roses were exploding into mainstream fame and popularity (once MTV started playing their first three videos all the time).
Real talented group of guys who deserved better, but rock ‘n’ roll aint got nothing to do with talent anymore, just money. It's a pay to play world since the media merged into those five big monopolies in the ‘90s. The Rock City Angels were a rootsy, get down boogie blues band who met while in line to see that Penelope Spheeris film about punk rock in L.A., "Decline Of Western Civilization".
Another Florida product, Roger Deering has been forming a long series of cool original bands in the underground for about as long as me if not longer, he seems like a right talented chap. I have liked all his bands, he even worked with Scarlet Rowe at some point, another legendary cult hero, who played in every cool, trashy glam band you never heard of.
My pals, Alex Mitchell and Gary Sunshine also came outta that Florida punk scene before they moved to NYC and found out about Zodiac Mindwarp at Freebeing Records and became permanent fixtures at the Lizmar Lounge. Circus Of Power were another real amazing live band with exceptional songs in their heyday who fell apart for the usual reasons - they got signed overnight and made MTV videos and opened for big name bands but were eclipsed by all those corny, mass produced, blonde haired blouse-metal bands that were being shat out non stop by the majors until everybody got sick of cowboy boots and guitars for awhile, supposedly.
I loved this book 'cause it's the spoken word history of the underground scene down there-the promoters and small-time tastemakers like Richard Shelter who made it all happen by identifying cool old venues and booking upcoming bands from all over, the fans who frolicked upfront, the touring bands who fucked shit up, Rollins drinking his own body sweat from a cup, and local legends I was personally unhip to who have great stories, like Charlie Pickett and the Eggs, and the Drills.
The co-authors, Joey Seeman and Chris Potash do an outstanding job of cramming all these stories and first hand accounts of South Beach decadence and creative nightlife into this time capsule that will take you back to your own good times youth before The Man killed off the fun and gave us gentrification bruncher V.I.P. rooms for yuppies with leather jackets, torture, drones, censorship, surveillance, war propaganda, douchey boybands, murderous kkkops trained by the IDF and tearing down the forest to practice urban warfare, and producer controlled stripper pop, instead. Another extraordinary, fun filled, inspirational tome from HoZac Books - a kickass company who have excellent taste and keep releasing these absolutely vital books and records at an alarmingly steady pace.
