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Get a Mein Teil DVD single with purchase!

99 CD



While supplies last.


SLAYER Reign In Blood, Still Reigning Live performances of Reign In Blood by the original line-up, plus bonus tracks, backstage footage and interviews




3 Inches of Blood Advance And Vanquish "A crusading metal army come to smite the heathen naysayers. These Canadians conquer." - Kerrang!


January 16 PNE Forum



Nymphetamine With their cunning amalgam of venomous black metal and high gothic drama, Cradle Of Filth return with their explosive new album 'Nymphetamine'.




Vol.3 (The Subliminal Verses)




16 of Manson's greatest hits including "The Beautiful People", "The Dope Show", "Sweet Dreams", "mOBSCENE", plus a brand new cover of "Personal Jesus".

Innards THE NERVE HIT SQUAD The Don (a/k/a Editor-In-Chief and Publisher) Bradley C. Damsgaard

I’m THIS many years old!

Pistol Whipper (a/k/a Music Editor) Adrian Mack Shotgun (a/k/a Film Editor) Michael Mann (a/k/a Managing Editor) Heinz Ruckemann Map and Details (a/k/a Skate Shreditors) D-Rock and Miss Kim Launderer (a/k/a Book Editor) J. Pee Patchez The Henchmen (a/k/a Design & Graphics) Pierre Lortie, Annie Totalenkrieg, Chris Trudeau 2 Bit Rounder (a/k/a Editorial Assistant) Ryan Calvery Weapons Cleaner (a/k/a Article Editor) Jon Azpiri Surveillance Team (a/k/a Photographers) Laura Murray, Jeremy Van Nieuwkerk, Miss Toby Marie, Heinz Ruckemann



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The Muscle (a/k/a Staff Writers) A.D. MADGRAS, Cowboy TexAss, Casey Bourque, Sinister Sam, Chris Walter, Billy Hopeless, Jake Poole, Razor, Carl Spackler, David Bertrand

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The Kid (a/k/a The Intern) Chris Trudeau

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Girl Friday (a/k/a Subscriptions/Mailouts) Sue Hobler Fire Insurance (a/k/a Advertising/Marketing Dept.) Brad Damsgaard, Kevin Angel, Kristin Lamont Mata Hari (a/k/a Cover Design and Photo) Miss Toby Marie Out-of-town Connections (a/k/a Distribution and Street Team) Calgary: Rick Overwater, Mike Taylor. Edmonton: Freecloud Records, Graeme MacKinnon, Lindsey McNeill. Winnipeg: Phil at Steel Capped Records, Victoria/Whistler: Jono Jak, Lindsay Seattle/Bellingham: Frank Yahr The Nerve is published monthly by The Nerve Magazine Ltd. The opinions expressed by the writers and artists do not necessarily reflect those of The Nerve Magazine or its editors. The Nerve does not accept responsibility for content in advertisements. The Nerve reserves the right to refuse any advertisement or submission and accepts no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or artwork. All content © Copyright The Nerve Magazine 2004

The Nerve Magazine 508 - 825 Granville St. Vancouver, B.C. V6Z 1K9 604.734.1611


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Off the Record 22 Live Wires 25


Film 28 SPORTSBEAT: with Carl Spackler 9 Books 24 Skate Spot 26 Ainsworth 10 Dance, Fuck or Laugh: the roots of R‘n’R 10 Crossword/Comics 35 THE NERVE DEC/JAN 2004/2005 PAGE 5




guess the colour of Waking Eye’s guitarist Matt Peter’s big muff will win a CD and T-shirt! Answers to, please.

ODB is Dead. ODB is dead. Fuck everyone who is making RIP shirts. I thought of it first. -Michael Mann

New Names for Casey and 8-Ball Look – Casey asked you people two months ago to help her choose a new name and so far the only response we got was from 8 Ball who totally missed the point and changed his name to Razor. Then T.C. Shaw came along and threatened to sue us for fraud after he won a competition that we didn’t even know about (something about Heavy Metal Logos) and he’s been throwing his weight around like a fuckin’ Sumo Wrestler on the Asahi Broadcasting Corporation’s version of The Price is Right and now he wants to be called 8 Ball, which won’t happen because 8 Ball took an injunction out, or so he claims but I have a feeling that he’s talking out of his hat because his “lawyer” is some guy I seen at the Brickyard with a huge ass. As if he has a law degree.

Top 10 Nerve moments. All 5 of them. 1. First issue hits the street… literally. Coz they fell out of the van. Fearing for their investment, advertisers pull out. 2. The Sex Issue. We offer tips on drugging kids and having sex with them. Advertisers pull out. 3. Notorious former Nerve staffer goes down on Ron Jeremy at The Fox Cinema. Ron Jeremy pulls out. 4. Notorious former Nerve Music Ed. Sarah (Meat Hole) Rowland enjoys a slow dance with Brad at The Nerve’s Christmas Party. The magazine never recovers. All remaining advertisers pull out. 5. Michael Mann finally gets a picture of a black guy in The Nerve, but he has to do a lot of weird shit in Brad’s living room first. Once again, Ron Jeremy pulls out.

Metal Logo Contest It was brought to our attention by a reader in Seattle that last month’s Nerve included a “Decipher the Metal Logo” contest. Linda C. actually managed to get all 10 of them but since this was not an official Nerve contest so much as a way to fill half a page, and since we’re weren’t honestly expecting any entries at all (we received over 100), Linda is just going to have to wait until we score enough free crap from Century Media or Nuclear Blast before she gets her prize. What was the prize anyway? What? 10 CDs! Holy crap! Linda – please forward your picture to as we would like to print it (make it obscene). Always read the small print, people. How about a Competition? Alright then! The first 2 readers who correctly

Tim: It’s Easier to Swim with Sharks than it is to Suck the Editor’s Hammerhead Tim has been together for over 8 years, got their start in Victoria, moved to Vancouver and are now calling it quits. I caught up with Tim from Mike, I mean Mike from Tim and here’s what he said when asked about why he’s a quitter and moving to Australia: Mike: Because I have a fascination with Great White Sharks and I have to swim with them. I’ll be writing songs with the sharks, might come back and resurface as a new Tim, maybe with some line up changes and maybe not, we’ll see – I may even be eaten by a shark. I’m going to spend some time working on my figure and tan. Nerve: This is your first coverage in the Nerve, why break up now at the peak of your media blitz? Mike: Well after trying suck Badly Damaged’s cock for over a year, I gave up because I realized he hates punk rock and spends the rest of his time giving RJ’s to male rock ‘n’ roll bands and barely legal (sometimes not) girls.

As Far as We Know, This is an Exclusive! So I’m sitting around pulling my own pubic hair out of my teeth (don’t ask) thinking what the fuck is going on with those guys in Strung Out, what with their new album Exile in Oblivion out now on Fat Wreck and boom! (That’s the sound my email program makes) I get this here letter from some dude called Gardner at Volcom, as if God himself (or Kevin Angel) were listening to my thoughts and decided that he’d help us gum some LA dick and get the magazine rollin’ all the way to the Tijuana border:

I picked up the phone and called the guys in Strung Out while they trudged through the Midwest on the first leg of the Exile in Oblivion Tour. Phone rings… Drummer Jordan Burns answers, ”Hello?” I answer back, “Hey Jordan.” Jordan: Yep. Me: Hey it’s Gardner. Jordan: Gaardnaaar…. what up? Me: Hey, I have you on speakerphone because I’m recording this for Nerve Mag. Have you

Sir Ar t hur

“As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart’s desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.” H.L. Mencken

heard of the Nerve? Jordan: Yes, I believe I have heard of the Nerve. Are you thinking of doing an interview or something? Me: Yeah, just a little somethin’ somethin’. A little supplement. Jordan: Word. Me: So how’s it going man? Jordan: It’s going a bit better… after several days of being intensely ill. Me: No way, you got sick? Jordan: I think Chris got sick first, and then I think I got it a little worse than him, I don’t know. I was puking my brains out; I think I puked like seven times. It was horrible. Me: Holy Shit. You guys were playing gigs the whole time? Jordan: Yeah, you just have to roll on the theory “the show must go on,” you know? It wasn’t very good; I think Detroit and Grand Rapids, Michigan were my two bad nights. The kids in Grand Rapids, a couple of them got a little pissy because we didn’t play an encore, but I was just spent. That was the day I had been throwing up all day and I barely made it. I only really wanted to play 30-40 minutes but somehow we pulled the whole set minus a song and an encore, and some kids got pissy and our tour manager had to go off the handle and ring ‘em up a little bit. Me: So fuck, how many of you guys got sick? Jordan: Everyone started going down a little bit, you know, you’re all traveling in tight quarters and you know how it goes, it tends to trigger quickly. Me: Oh yeah, the germs are flying. Jordan: But we’re pulling it off, we got two more shows left. Tonight we are here in Nebraska, we’re playing right next to this crazy porn shop and our roadie went in there thinking it was going to be all bitchin’ and he got chased around be this fuckin’ weirdest looking transvestite you’ve ever seen in your life. He just came running out of the place screaming. Me: I saw the new DVD/game system in the van. It looks like the van is designed to make the miles go by a bit easier. Jordan: Yeah, it’s helped. We’ve had some long ass drives… 8 hours and beyond starts pushing it. Me: The legs start going to sleep… walls start pressing in… Jordan: It’s all good though. Me: I just wanted to check in, man, and see how things were going. Drive safe and looking forward to seeing you guys on the west side soon. Jordan: Still want to do that Whistler show together, been waiting… Me: Well hey, I’ll call you back later and I won’t record that conversation and we’ll talk business. Jordan: All right.

dudes with nice hair, leather jackets and cheese turd music. The eighties bland rock days are hopefully over forever, although with millionaires like NarkleBack supporting/writing/promoting this steaming pile of shit, we may be in trouble for a while. Damaged giving free RJ’s to “eighties” bands will provide some longevity to this horrible situation as well. Word on the street is he could give Hilton’s snatch a really good cleaning with his “fast and soothing tongue”. Maybe he could lick some sense into those No No Spots, assuming that a full can of Sebastian Zero G Weightless hasn’t already been deployed on that perma-frosted downtown quim, making approach treacherous if not impossible. It’s like putting muscle rub on your In Form couch legs, if you have a cat. On that note - I know this isn’t a cheap shot and it’s not related to house pets but - I think the best band to come to Vancouver in the last few years has to be Get Hip’s The Last Vegas. Brad should give them a round of special delight. Oh wait, he did. You could have seen them twice during the Festival of Guns but if you didn’t, don’t worry. They stayed at my friend’s place, partied at The Penthouse/Nerve HQ until the early hours and smoked all the/our weed, which is a small price to pay for getting the chance to see them twice in two days. You’re all welcome to stay at my place (Nerve couch) any time. - Random

The Nerve is giving away a Vintage Electric Blue Chevy Nova, 1970. Pristine condition. One owner. (Dead). And all you have to do is come up with a name (here we go) for Paris Hilton’s dirty mitt, seen here making a surprise appearance at the opening of fuck knows what but there were plenty of other vapid celeb-types running around with their vaginas falling out, we’re sure. The scuttlebutt on “the internets” is that Colin Farrell had just finished popping his entire head in and out of that thing – we mean his actual head – his wiener’s way too small for a fucked-out burnt squirrel like the one we see here. “Burnt squirrel” has already been used, obviously. So has “gnarly snatch, beef curtains and Arby.” Also – we’re not really giving away a car but we do have some wacky coloured condoms and flavoured lube courtesy of our own (well-kept) homegirl. Answers to editor@, please.

New Music West – why didn’t somebody think of this before? Anybody heard of New Music West? We’ll if you have it’s because you didn’t fall asleep while you were reading the program. I thought that maybe my Nerve Magazine accreditation would help me get a media pass. I asked for one and was told, “It’s only $20 for a wristband.” Cheap pricks. I guess they haven’t heard about The Nerve’s pay benefits. I was forced to go see 2 shows anyway, as a companion for a friend, I swear. One at Crush and the other at The Buffalo Club. Crush was somebody trying to catch the tail end of the wave Joan Jett was riding 32 years ago. She looked, sounded and played the exact same. I’m glad that wave has crashed. Buffalo Club was 80’s night and State of Shock headlined while Triple 6 Clothing officially launched their new line. Overly happy eighties





“Sure I’ve got principles. And if you don’t like them, I’ve got others.”- Groucho Marx

ONG KONG… The Chung King Mansions are for the godless… Yet here I am, again...why? Last time I was here at this, ahem, hotel: it caught fire. The fire started in the garbage bin. Actually, “bin” is probably not the right word. In the middle of the entire building is a wide shaft filled with garbage on a daily basis by the building’s denizens. Your standard garbage dumps tend to be open air out on the edge of town, so burning tires, exploding diapers, and smouldering grapefruit rinds are not a life or death situation. But here in the Chung King Mansions, a flaming bag of dog shit dropped by some local prankster can turn these no-star accommodations into a smoke filled, sizzling, Szechwan tomb for any unfortunate saps who happen to be dwelling within its filth covered walls “Safety first” or “women and children first” are not expressions bandied about here in Hong Kong. At least I haven’t heard them. These guys stomp their own. It’s survival of the nippest! On the night this dank stink-pit erupted in smoke and flame, in the mad rush to get down the stairs, I’d never felt more like some sort of trapped vermin on a doomed vessel in my life (and that says a lot). Suffice to say, the price of these lodgings is what keeps bringing me back and not its track record for safety. And back I am. And what a town Hong Kong is. Pushing, shoving old ladies on all forms of public transport; wizened old men coughing up thick oysters and spitting them on your shoes; knife-

wielding shop owners who are incensed if you like to look at the wares, but don’t want to buy; cheap electronics, cheap silk, cheap life, and so many new diseases, from SARS, to Bird Flu, to I’m-pretty-sure-that-guy-just-wiped-his-asswith-his-hands-and-then-made-my-dim-sumitis. But the drink is good and the distance away from my usual beat has provided me with a well-needed change in perspective. Plus, you have the surreal atmosphere of some of the nightclubs, which are caught in some sort of time-warp wormhole. Show room singers; Dixieland bands; variety acts; trick poodles! So many of them the relics of the great British

ing like some great boxer. But I can sense that my peace in the east is about to be shattered, the vibrations in my head are turning nasty, the phone rings, I feel my three step lead shrink to one. I answer, “Yeah?” The voice on the other end seems disembodied, mechanical. “Spackler?” “Who wants to know?” I hear a clicking on the phone. I’m zero steps ahead now and good fortune, I feel, is fading fast. “Goddamnit this is important! This is an emergency! I need to speak to a Mr. Carl Spackler! This is an investigation and he may

Empire, circa 1973 Grimsby or Birmingham, possibly. The English can’t even keep a fat guy in a Batman suit out of their Houses of Parliament. How they managed to rule much of the world is fucking beyond me. If this was the entertainment they provided to the colonies, I don’t know how Ghandi kept his minions from stringing up these Benny Hill fascists! Between these Brighton Beach Talent show cockney rejects and the cuisine; I’m ready for a bloody uprising! Whoa. Hold on… easy Spackler…. There are so many things here to knock you out of balance, which is what life constantly does in my line of work. It’s always coming at you and that’s why I like to stay three steps ahead of the fucker! Keep it guessing! Diving and weav-

be a key part of it!” This voice means business. The clicking on the line starts up again. My left arm is numb. It’s the venom, for sure. “Get the fucking tap off the phone!” I shriek, “Who do you people think you’re playing with here? Some fucking toddler?” “Take it easy,” he says. “I’m a friend. I mean him no harm.” I’m unconvinced. “Spack-a-lee a no here now!” I reply in the best Asian accent I can muster, “Him go bye-bye! Long time now! Berry long time now!” “I must speak to Mr. Carl Spackler, the Sports Editor for the Nerve magazine!” The voice sounds desperate and I’m on the verge of a total freakout! This is when I flash to the

This is when I flash to the washroom of the Morrissey bar, downtown Vancouver, snorting quarter-mile rails of MDA...


washroom of the Morrissey bar, downtown Vancouver, snorting quarter-mile rails of MDA with those two ghouls who sign my paycheque. And them babbling about expanding the demographic for the magazine. A bigger piece of the pie, they said! A sports section! They insisted it would revive their flagging magazine. “Genius!” I hollered, through my teeth. “I know how much those drug addled rock ‘n’ roll sonsofbitches love to play sports. Yes sir, boys! Sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, and the complete AAA baseball scores! Maybe some beach volleyball? Yeah! Chop me up another, Brad! Say Mack, I think that’s a stroke of brilliance!” I smiled and shoved the Canadian Tire bill deep into my nostril. Jesus, I thought, these guys have really fuckin’ lost it! What’s next? 8 Ball’s Home & Garden section? See how the black garbage bags cover the basement windows just so? Turns a grow-op into a little oasis, mister! It’s called cocooning! But it has nothing to do with black people! I also sometimes substitute the garbage bags with black nylon Iron Maiden banners, or Manowar posters, it really doesn’t matter. Mix ‘n match people, mix ‘n match! Whoa, now my mind is racing again. Slow down. Get a grip. How the fuck did I get to Hong Kong? Next issue: Spackler on Cricket and the thrilling Test Match showdown between Australia’s storied team of destiny, the pickpocketing White Ghosts of Perth vs. Hong Kong’s much-feared hooded Tong.




Sean Law’s History of R‘n’R

004 and 2005 are viewed as being the unofficial 50 Year Anniversary of rock ‘n’ roll and the reissue program is beginning to kick into high gear. Many records that for years have only been available as high-priced collectors items are now showing up on the shelves again in CD format. In the hopes of guiding The Nerve readership through first-wave Rock ‘n’ Roll (and its offshoots) I’ll be reviewing some noteworthy reissues currently available at the time of writing.

CAVEAT EMPTOR: the rock ‘n’ roll reissue business is fraught with sharks, and thus has it always been. After their initial five-year (maximum) rush of fame, many artists were promptly forgotten by the fickle public (those fuckers), then consequently ditched like an old cum sock by their money-grubbing labels. Label merry-go-round would ensue and eventually some less-than-respectable record companies released Greatest Hits type packages by artists (e.g. Bill Haley, Chuck Berry) where the only thing true to the songs are their titles: the artist in question often having to essentially cover their own material many years later, with inferior results. Many old groups have had their best material re-recorded by as little as one remaining member augmented by journeyman musicians. These records suck big-time and can usually be found in gas stations for about seven dollars. What a bargain! That said the only CDs you should investigate (or not) are the ones I’m writing about here. I am well versed in this field and it’s not my fault if you’re too stoned (or cheap) to pick up the right disc. Some things that younger readers should take into account to better understand the nature of the 1950s albums under review: Most of the tracks were originally released as singles. 12-inch LP (Long Play) albums had only recently been invented and record companies would market the LP around the hits. Some of the CDs I’m reviewing here are (more or less) exact copies of the original LP releases, while others are retrospective collections of archived single recordings. I am rating these releases on packag-

ing/presentation (art, liner notes etc.), sound quality and, of course, the music. I am also rating them on their rarity and cultural impact.

Bo Diddley Is A Gun Slinger (Originally released by Chess/Checker Records, November, 1960. Currently available as an exact reproduction CD reissue from Geffen/Universal, with bonus tracks and extensive liner notes. Bo Diddley is THE MAN as far as I am concerned. He is hands-down my all-time favourite artist and this is one of the best (perhaps the best) of his original LPs. This is real jungle music. Pounding African drums in the background accompany twin guitar players Bo and The Duchess riffing on the Bo Diddley Beat (the greatest rhythm pattern in rock ‘n’ roll - probably of all time) while maraca man Jerome Green shakes away like he’s possessed. All the elements of Bo’s best works are here: the manly bragging (a forerunner of Rap), the unique guitar tone, and the humorous lyrics. My yardstick for good rock ‘n’ roll is that it has to make me either wanna dance, fuck or laugh: this LP scores on all three. Bo Diddley has always been poorly represented in the reissue sweepstakes. This release goes a long way in redressing the balance. Rating: 316 out of 5 (but I’m biased). I about had a cow when this was reissued. An original mint condition copy of this LP would cost you as much as the price of reupholstering your ‘59 Cadillac. To acquire original tapes of the bonus tracks (three of the five have never been released before anywhere) you would have to agree to be David Geffen’s personal sex slave. Probably.

My Bloody Road to Death

Ainswor t h


By J. Ainsworth

uhammad Ali the famous Negro once said that Christmas was the time of year/ when ever-one is in all good cheer. And maybe it’s true. Christmas always reminds me of Nurses, who are my new favourite thing. Nurses are really great, except when you see them walking about the street they… they seem to be wearing these great fabric boxes. In blue, and they look like asstronauts. Anyways, not twenty years ago, I was in Wales and my uncle gave me a present. There was a tree in the corner. There was a hymn, somewhere in the distance, it was a child’s Christmas in Wales to the max, and also I had a huge cake before hand. My brother, now a deacon, opened up his packet…. It contained a tin of cigars with a nude baby boy on the label. They were pregnancy cigars. My Uncle drank like a steamroller and he, possibly on purpose, messed up the labels. SO MY BROTHER SHAUN GOT AN UN-AGE-APPROPRIATE GIFT! Why not just give a watch to a horse!?! God, everyone there just averted their eyes, and my brother threw the tin across the room, in tears, and everywhere there was cigars, and one went out a window, which was open, which is funny in itself. Mother tried to take my gift off me, but I just kicked out with a lashing boot and socked her good and ripped off the paper with my teeth. A VCR tape thing fell out, a movie for home consumption. It was a copy of Sperms of Endearment. It was an adult film with an emphasis on all-anal action. I grabbed it like a baby seal and ran away to watch it with some tramps I knew who had a VCR, but it all went fuckity because it was an American tape what wouldn’t work in a British TV. So in many ways, my uncle got the last laugh. He got rid of some useless goods, and avoided buying a present. It was the third best Christmas ever. Once my uncle decorated the tree with a string of human ears he got from somewhere. That is a real Christmas, not all this homo-fuckity carol singing. Sometimes at Christmas time people put out a table, covered with sad, sad things no-one wants anymore. Pencils too short to use anymore. An empty jar. It is just such a sad thing to see.

T His head bounced around like something gone crazy! Box-Jellyfish-all-Nude-action! His womanly mind was bouncing around in the skull and it sounded like if you dropped a toolbox down a million staircases. In the end, man, he looked like he was auditioning for the role of “Policeman” in Agatha Christie’s mystery play The Mousetrap. In the end, it’s the cop that’s the killer, by the way, not the Italian. (I guessed it was the Italian.) While I was spitting on this guy, I got to thinking, why don’t the Nurses wear tight white pretty uniforms like they do in my mind? And then the next thing you know, dues ex machine, my shoulder went all crinkly. “I THINK I PULLED A MUSCLE!!” I screamed and sobbed as I ran to the hospital in tears. And you know what, readers? This is where the adventure just begins. I lay on the gurney, NUDE. A Nurse of between 30 to 40 years of age approached my nudity. (I am 5’6 and 215 pounds.) She placed a nude hand on my nude, nude, nude shoulder. I gasped in a huge air… “Oh! OH! Nurse! Would you like to dry-shave me while I blood-frot my Cockable!?” “No.” “Oh GOD! NURSE! Please take my temperature with a broomstick while I slice off my own nipples with a broomstick!??” “No.” “Oh GOD NURSE!!!NURSE!!! At least let me suck down great torrents of your golden essence as I recline in a nude and supline position!” “No.” I gave up. I hope I have that sort of Nude Christmas and a Merry Nude Cock Year. Thanks for reading!

A VCR tape thing fell out, a movie for home consumption. It was a copy of Sperms of Endearment.

Anyway, as Muhammad Ali says, “Sting like a butterfly/ slap like a bee”. Some guy came up to me when I was peering from behind a tree at some Nurse dressed in that goddamn blue fabric box tracksuit thing. This guy said he wanted to become a nurse. I guess God does things in mysterious ways, because I don’t know why he told that to me. At first I could not hear my ears, okay? Then I lashed out fast, like Muhammad Ali, and I put my huge goatish fist right in that guy’s chops!



THE WAKING EYES by Meghan Dean

The Waking Eyes are all over the fucking place right now. MuchMusic, CFOX, you name it. Since I don’t listen to the radio or watch that god-awful kiddie-channel, I did not know this. And maybe you don’t either, but they are. Ever since signing to major label Warner, and releasing that “Watch Your Money” song (ringing bells yet?), these guys have been teetering dangerously on the edge of hyper-mainstreamdom. And I have to admit: this disturbed me a little. Would I be talking to the laid-back, humble, good-ol’-boys band I’d sort of made them out to be in my head? Or would they be cocky, slick and uber-cheesy like other “big” Canadian bands on their label (Our Lady Peace and Finger Eleven, barf). Not knowing if I could deal with the latter, I pound some ryeand-gingers and dress a little slutty, just as a failsafe (guys are so easy). WHAT’S WITH ALL THE FUCKING STAIRS?! Hopped-up on booze and flu medication, rocking my lowest low-cut top and deadliest cum-fuck-me boots, I traipse down the back alley of the Commodore Ballroom to hook up with the boys from The Waking Eyes. No one told me there’d be so many goddamn stairs; my feet are bleeding by the time I make it to the top of what I can only assume was the millionth step. My efforts are rewarded with an introduction to vocalist/guitarist, Matt Peters. All scruffy red hair and cupid-bow lips, he comes across as wholesome and dirty at the same time. So far, so good. We make our way across the floor of the ballroom - which seems impossibly huge, by the way, in the hell-boots – to grab drummer Steve Senkiw. I’m taken aback by his deep, smoky voice, which seems somehow incongruent with his doe-eyed, child-innocent face. Flustered and feelin’ lucky, I follow the guys backstage (surprisingly, not the first time I’ve uttered that statement). I thought we had reached our destination when we got to the backstage lounge, just off the main floor, and was preparing myself for a much-needed sit-down. I was horrified when they kept walking, headed straight toward yet another fucking set of stairs. Fuck’s sakes! Wincing in pain and trying to carry on a civilized conversation with Matt about last night’s Wilco show (“They were so awesome,” he says excitedly. “Yeah, amazing,” I manage to squeak out, doing my best to cover up my terrible suffering), we finally make it to a small, poorly lit room and take our seats. I’m so happy to be off my feet I could shit. (Note to self: green vintage knee-high boots are for sitting down and looking slutty).

GARAGE, SHM-ARAGE Any doubts I had about these guys’ egos are quickly disappearing. Two minutes in and we’re laughing and bumming smokes like old pals. Then again, that could just be the push-up bra working its magic. Who knows? What I am sure of is how unaffected they seem by all the recent attention they’ve been getting. But it hasn’t all been positive. The Waking Eyes (rounded out by bassist Joey Penner and jack-of-allinstruments/vocalist Rusty Matyas) have had to defend their latest album, Video Sound, to nasty critics and skeptical audiences, bent on lumping them into the made-up “neo-garage revival” category. A particularly scathing review from Now Online, calling the band “unremarkable” and “more dated than Paris Hilton,” gets Matt’s back up in a hurry. “I guess, ya know, if he listened to three or four songs off the album that are more garage-y, and not the ones that aren’t necessarily that garage-y, then he would think that,” he scoffs. “But I think that if he would’ve listened to the whole album a couple of times, then he’d realize there are more dimensions to our band”. Which is what happened with me. And this is where I start to gush a bit, going on about how brilliant the song “Headlights” is, how it sets them apart from the pack, blah, blah, blah. The guys look a little frightened, but I don’t care, cuz it’s true, damnit. Several songs on the album showcase the band’s dexterity, giving them depth and texture without sounding like total pussies.

“THIS TOUR HAS BEEN VERY HARD ON THE LIVER” That’s what Matt tells me, recalling some of the band’s more debauched time on the road. “I think we’ve stayed up drinking until five every night.” Much to their approval, beer is always on-hand. Um, except today. “Right now I’m very disappointed that there’s no beer over there”, Steve pouts, motioning to the “bar” containing juice and water. Lame. But things are a little different once the boys get back to Winnipeg. Steve

confesses, “I go home and I lose five pounds in, like, a couple days, cuz I’m too broke to drink.” “When I’m home, and I have, like, no money, and I wanna drink like when we do when we’re on tour, we can’t,” Matt adds. “Like, it’s just always there in front of you and it’s impossible… not to indulge. And the worst part is being the opening band, because you have two, three beers before you play, and then you have a couple onstage, and our shows are done pretty quick. Like, tonight we’ll be done before ten, and just think about all that time to sit around and drink.” They even admit to having been too drunk to play, leaving the stage before their set was done. Good ol’ boys, indeed.

I ca n se e up her skir t.

THEY’LL ONLY FUCK YOU OVER IF YOU DESERVE IT But this might be too much: Matt and Steve are selfprofessed “nice Canadian boys”. They can catch (and gut) a fish, and they don’t think Bryan Adams is the devil. I mean, they haven’t even tried to look down my top, okay? They’re just really nice. So when Matt announces enthusiastically “We’ve definitely fucked a couple people over!” I’m a little shocked (and a lot delighted). Sure, they drink lots, but screwing people over? Do tell. “Along the way, certain individuals

provide you with opportunities…” Um, groupies? “No, no, no. But you take these opportunities to further your career, and then you meet someone better… and you just stop calling the other people.” When I suggest that maybe this is just good business, Steve agrees, but only “until they get ahold of you and call you a Nazi.” Ouch. “Yeah, we’ve had a couple of harsh encounters.” After a bit of prodding, Matt tells me what the hell he’s actually talking about. “Pretty much when we first hooked up with our management, we met this guy in L.A. and he was such an asshole,” he elaborates. “ He hooked us up with the people we’re with now, but he’s just such a fucking prick that when we ended up telling him we didn’t want to work with him anymore, I didn’t feel bad in the slightest. Zero guilt, cuz he was just such an asshole.” Wow - Matt looks really hot when he’s angry. And I think he just looked at my tits.

SO…WHAT NOW, THEN? “I think for us, the best thing to do, would be to take a couple months off and go into the jungle,” Steve says. Huh? “We need to re-find some sort of music, because we want to evolve constantly. But I think it’s harder when you’re playing the same 12 songs every night. And, so, the way I look at it, the curse of being able to change is the tour. Whenever I pick up a guitar to start writing a new song, it ends up sounding exactly like what we’re already playing.” Adding to the frustration, Matt says, is the way the music industry’s set up now. “You can only put out an album every two to three fucking years, and if you’re gonna evolve at all in that span, it’s gonna look a bit sudden,” he explains. But they’re not gonna let that stop them. As soon as this tour is done, they plan on taking a couple weeks off (in the exotic jungles of Winnipeg), writing new material, and heading back into the studio. Though the constant touring may have gotten in the way a little bit, Matt just wants to keep on “coming up with new ideas and trying to move things forward.” And if you don’t like what they come up with, Steve suggests you check out another Winnipeg act with a similar name: The Inward Eye. According to him, they’re “younger, better-looking, and way more talented.” Really? Got a phone number for those kids? Apparently not. Anyway, It’s unfortunately time for me to stand up and pretend my feet aren’t killing me again. Just as well: my buzz is starting to wear off and my head feels like it’s gonna fuckin’ explode. But instead of saying good-bye, Matt and Steve up their niceness by asking me to stay and have dinner with all the guys. Nice boys or not, the outfit seems to have worked.

The Waking Eyes play the Commodore Dec. 6th.




The Vancougar “Losin’ It” West Coast Tour Diary Sept. 10 – 19, 2004

By CC Rose

Vancougar is: Eden Fineday – guitar, vocals Becca Stewart – bass, vocals Megan Johnson – keys, vocals CC Rose – drums

Back in September we hit the road and holy shit did we have some hot California fun! Here’s the lowdown:

Friday, Sept. 10 The Funhouse, Seattle, WA Our virgin set at this rough little bar is awkward, but we wash it down with plenty of good ol’ American Bud. Thanks Seattle for popping our cherry! The Insults and The Midnight Idols are nice enough to give us their gig money at the end of the night. We meet up with Texas Bob, who we adopt as our chaffeur\masseur\testosterone equalizer because he doesn’t drink and just got his massage therapist license! Ken Dirtnap invites us to crash, feeds us a huge helping of punk rock, and, surprise surprise, doesn’t seem to mind us sitting around in our underwear. Pant shortage 2004!

Saturday, Sept. 11 The Twilight Café, Portland, OR We score free food and booze all night, smoke weed in the girls’ can from a pipe fashioned out of tin foil and a tampon, and play a decent set. Everyone gets wasted and Eden makes out with two blondes in the ‘rest’ room. Then she takes pictures of her boobs. Luckily we’ve brought Ken and he takes us to Holly’s place, a fantastic old pirate ship captained by a fat cat named Napoleon, where we party til 5am and crash. Sunday, Sept. 12 Day off We drive all day to San Francisco, stopping in Weed, CA on the way, where I buy a suspiciously handy ‘toothpick’ holder. The hills are gold and suddenly there’s Mexican Restaurants everywhere. We crash at our friend Hiya’s, and the next morning, after some authentic Huevos Rancheros, we leave for Los Angeles. Monday, Sept. 13 The Smell, Los Angeles, CA L.A. is the Garbage Hole of America. Bob’s aggressive driving coupled with the girls’ incessant chatter drives me to a meltdown minutes before the show. After a quick beer-chugging ceremony I suck it up and we play a furious set. The kids stand there like they’ve got poles up their collective ass. The only friends I had planned to see on the whole tour fail to show up (pfft…L.A. rockers) and we have no place to crash. Some hobo steals Becca’s rare Danelectro bass as we load up in the alley and our only option for a place to stay is at Megan’s friend Tommy’s, who is blitzed drunk and driving. Apparently,

“that’s what (they) do here.” After almost dying on some crazy L.A. freeway we make it to his place only to find out that his roommate is psycho, but as long as you feed her beer and cigarettes it’s okay. Becca and I walk the streets and take pictures of palm trees and cute Californian houses. It never gets dark in L.A.; the big city lights reflect off the smog so it looks like dawn. A huge palm leaf falls to the sidewalk ahead of us with a monstrous thud and we’re fascinated by it for about half an hour; ten seconds later, it would’ve taken us out. The next day we get the hell out of there.

Tuesday, Sept. 14 Day off Santa Cruz is the Multiple Orgasm of America. Rose, our denmother-of-the-road, hooks us up with da herb, sends her boyfriend to the store for a bottle of vodka, and then, after a killer round of Cosmopolitans, takes us to the Saturn Café, a hip 50’s diner where you wait forever but it’s okay because the food is good and the waiter is hot and covered in tattoos. Yum! We sleep well.

Wednesday, Sept. 15 Day off After breakfast we head to the beach near Rose’s. We frolic in the waves, take glamour shots and watch surfers. Later we drink at the Red Room, a happening bar with comfy leather booths, and a burrito restaurant attached to it. They have the best salsa bar and we gorge ourselves ‘til we’re sick; literally, in Becca’s case. Later we watch American Pimp and it’s all bitches and hos from then on. Thursday, Sept. 16 The Hemlock Tavern, San Francisco, CA

It turns out that Bob is the biggest bitch of us all. His surliness towards every boy that comes near us and his constant whining warrant a thorough schooling. After counseling him on his “issues”, (no Bob, you do not break up with your girlfriend by acting like a dick and waiting for her to dump your ass) we decide NOT to feed him to the sea lions and head to San Fran. Bob vindicates himself by calling up Greg Lowery of Rip-Off Records fame and we hang in his swank pad all day drinking Sparks (malt beverage\energy drink a la Red Bull) until we’re sober (whappen?). We endure Greg’s endless self-aggrandizing so that he’ll lend Becca his Fender Mustang for the show and thankfully, he obliges, even though we won’t pay him to come see us. He comes anyway and loves it. Thanks to a nice plug our girl Hiya has written in the S.F. Weekly, every friend we have in California shows up. The Holiday Band, a theme band who’s topic for the night is ‘back to school’, teach us all a lesson in pulling off covers that range from Big Star to The Ramones. I flirt too hard with the bartender and he sends me to Blackout City on the Double Whiskey Express. We crash at


Bean’s place in Oakland, where a party develops involving firecrackers and faceplants on the sidewalk (er…that would be me). Also, the ‘Coug don’t kiss and tell, but let’s just say one lady’s ‘vantasy’ is fulfilled, and then some (wink, wink). Friday, Sept. 17 Plymouth St., Santa Cruz, CA Eden and Becca both used to live in Santa Cruz, so tonight is a real homecoming for them. Plymouth St. is an infamous party house and Happy Meal, a pissed off, noise-punk, Suicide-ish trio comprised of a set of Ritalin-crazed twins, show everyone how to keep it real. They introduce us to the word ‘Huckapino’, a term their father uses to describe anyone who’s not black or white. We’re horrified at first but gladly replace the already-dead bitches and hos joke. Mike Park, the man behind Asianman Records, plays an inspired acoustic set, and is followed by Cassidy, who breaks our hearts with a sledgehammer and there’s no point picking up the pieces. We drunkenly play to a roomful of happy faces. Later, our host Greg dons a cookie monster costume and it’s downhill from there. Saturday, Sept. 18 The Stork Club, Oakland, CA We spend the day at the Santa Cruz boardwalk where The Lost Boys was filmed. (Hot!) Megan takes her first ever roller coaster ride and by some fluke the cars don’t stop and we go on Megan’s second ever roller coaster ride. We hang around drinking beer and then drive to Oakland. Ladies, you know how there’s an overwhelming number of hot chicks in Vancouver and a shortage of hot boys? Well, it’s the other way around in Oakland. Yeeeee-hoooo! The Stork Club is a pretty cool bar; vintage Barbie dolls and neon flamingos line the walls. Van’s very own Chinatown are on the bill, and true to bad boy form, there’s drama. They don’t want to play first; we don’t want to

play first. There’s an attitude showdown, followed by them telling us that if we don’t play first, they won’t lend us the backline equipment they’d promised. Luckily, Drunk Horse are there to party with us and save our asses by offering to go get their gear and play a few songs so we can borrow their stuff. Drunk Horse!! Hello!!! Chinatown chooses to play last. Drunk Horse goes up and SLAYS, despite birthday boy Chris’ I’m severely inebriated drumming, which 30! ends with him standing amidst his splayed drum kit in his orange tighty-whities. We happily play for twenty hot boys. While the next band is up we all decide to go to Cyrus’ house, emptying the bar before Chinatown has even hit the stage! It is an epic burn. At Cyrus’, a full-blown dance party is in effect! Drunk Horse are our heroes!

Sunday, Sept. 19 Day off We embark on a marathon drive home, Oakland to Vancouver. Bob drives nonstop for 13 hours. We drop him off in Seattle and he gets all weepy and shit. Not only do we title him an

The Demon’s Claws

honourable Canadian (he learned to be polite and incorporate ‘eh’ into his vocabulary), but we must now also make him an honorable Woman. We get him a tissue and take off. We pull into Vancouver at 5am, sad that it is over so soon, because by Day 10 we’re just getting the hang of it. Next time we ain’t coming back.

Dear C.C.: this is not what we meant when we asked for a picture of Megan’s “first time.”

By Therese Lanz

...are a rawk’n’roll four piece out of Montreal, who will be ravaging Western Canada in early December. Their sound is grittier than Stevie Nick’s nasal passages and more infectious than mad cow disease. Check out for tourdates. Nerve: What’s with the name? Jeff: The name comes from a plastic electric racetrack in Edmonton where cars are controlled by triggers. I put the pieces of track in the oven and melted them, reassembling them into a new and improved racetrack with tighter corners and a higher level of action. Nerve: You work with some interesting record labels. Ysael: We did a demo of 7 songs and Serge sent them to a couple of labels. Dead Canary is a new label that has the Bassholes, so it seemed like a good idea to try it! As for the label in Germany, P-Trash Records, Serge met the guy when he was on tour. We also have a single coming out in New Zealand. The same thing happened there, we sent the demo and the deal was done. Nerve: Sounds like you’ve played some pretty impressive bills lately. Any you’d like to mention? Jeff: Our favorite band we played with were the Black Lips, they were good guys, both on and off the ice. Ysael: We gave them so many mushrooms that I thought … God! Maybe they won’t be able to play… but they were so good! Most of the time the guitar player was just hitting the strings without doing any chords and screaming like a maniac in the mic… and if you would close your eyes and listen, you would hear an amazing song! Nerve: You guys’ “garage” sound is pretty authentic. How do you feel about the revival of the “garage” sound in mainstream music? Skip: It’s really just the way we sound. We do want to have an authentic sound, be it garage, or country or psychedelic or whatever. We want to play real music that comes from the heart and soul. As for the revival of the garage sound, well, I really don’t follow much of what is going on in the mainstream. But, I don’t think I would feel all that good spending all that money to produce a record when the music I like the best often comes from low budget recording sessions. It’s all about the feeling you get out of it.


Jeff: Everyone who plays in these bands should do so with the full knowledge that the God of Rock ‘n’ Roll is watching them. Nerve: Who do you feel are the real pioneers of the “garagey” sound? In particular, who are your influences in the genre? Skip: Well, when I first started, things on Crypt Records were incredible for me. But, at the same time I was amazed by stuff on Sun Records, or 60’s stuff like the Back From The Grave comps. As for the modern “garage” sound, well the Oblivians did a lot for me. The Gories, Cheaters Slick, 68’ Comeback, etc… But, I don’t like to think in terms of garage “sound”. Good music is good music! That’s it! Jeff: Maybe today people feel too free to say and do what they want. If you knew you were going to be punched in the head for writing a song, you’d probably make sure it was at least going to be a good one. Nerve: So, you’ve got a full length coming up in January, recorded by Edouard Larocque (exScat Rag Boosters, also worked with The Sexareenos). Want to share any secrets about it with us before its release? Ysael: Hum… It was recorded in one weekend at Rabbit’s Ear Studio (Edouard’s studio) We were drinking a lot, especially when we did the first mix on Sunday… We were drinking whiskey and Edouard was asking us our opinion about his mix between every song… We were like

“Man this is perfect! So good!” But when we heard it afterwards, we realized that it was almost impossible to hear the vocals… so we did another mix… with only café latté and water! Nerve: Anything in particular you’d like to do or see out west? Ysael: There are tons of great skate parks out there, and I love the Rocky Mountains… maybe we can go do drugs on top of one and try to contact some mountain gods. Jeff: I just want to look through all the Salvation Armys and thrift shops. I’m not interested in those mountain gods Ysael wants to contact , they may not be as friendly as he thinks. The Demon’s Claws play Vancouver’s Pub 340 Dec.4th

T p

e d

? e e

d l


anitoba. It’s like the Ice Planet Hoth. It’s full of strange and unhappy people. None more so than David Reimer, who committed suicide after 38 years of life as a girl. This was because mad scientists with turtlenecks and pipes reassigned his gender after a botched circumcision left him with a burnt potato chip where he used to have a wang. Manitoba is also the home of The Tups, who remind me of that big old retarded heap with the midget in the mechapapoose out of Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. Pull the helmet off that murderous Master Blaster and whaddya got? A child, my friend. With soulful doe-eyes and a yearning to be loved. The Tups come on like hammer-wielding, punk fuck pederast garbage-eating hate monsters but take a little peak under the hood of their new album, I Dressed Up for This?!? (if you can get past the racket) and you will find a humanitarian streak that would be unbecoming if we were merely meeting for some fast toilet sex. Their biggest beef is with circumcision. Boy are they ever pissed off about that. I’d like to give them a platform because I have a big, beautiful prepuce right down to my knees and the highlight of my day, every day, is soaping that fucker up and keeping it pristine. That’s why I have such a lovely shine on my penis and why I feel sorry for you, coz you don’t, baldy.

Nerve: OK. Why are you against circumcision? Shameless Shaebus McFuckface: We are against circumcision because we feel it is fuckin’ sick and, really, there is no goddamn need to cut off the genitals of a helpless fucking baby. It is baby mutilation, bottom line. If you don’t want foreskin, cut it off yourself, fuck.

Nerve: How many of The Tups are cut? Shaebus: Only Pete O’Phile is cut, and if we ever make any money selling records, we are getting the poor bastard a foreskin graft for his fuckin’ birthday. Nerve: Does the foreskin bring any advantages to bedroom technique? Shaebus: Sex questions? I never get fuckin’ laid, fuck. All I know is when I do get some fucking lovin’, I fucking love it. I have no idea how it feels to fuck without a foreskin and I don’t ever want to know.

Nerve: Do circumcised men have less sensitive helmets? Shaebus: I would think so. I mean, the end of your fuckin’ dick is so goddamn sensitive. If it weren’t for the foreskin your knob would lose

The Urethral Mite: put that in your pipe and smoke it.


Shaebus: I think you’ve hit the nail on the head. All who read this should tremble in fear at the thought that The Tups could be coming to your town. Lock up your daughters (seriously), especially if they are under 16. When dealing with The Tups, remember, Viking rules apply.

Nerve: Described the most fucked-up show you ever had.

a lot of its sensitivity… because your dickhead isn’t rubbing against the inside of your pants from the day you’re fuckin’ born. Not to mention the increased threat of urethral mites. I read about those fuckers on the internet, man. That’s fucked up. Little mites that crawl up your goddamn dickhole and fuck shit up. That’s shit out of science fiction if you ask me, but its fuckin’ true. Jesus wept. (For he too was cut.)

Nerve: Is it fair to say that circumcising an infant boy is equivalent to cutting off a baby girl’s nipples? Shaebus: I would say its more equal to the female circumcision still practiced in some countries, where they remove the clitoral hood, as it has the same effect of damaging the exposed nerve endings. Who would want to cut off a chick’s nipples? Nipples are fuckin’ sweet. But then again, who would think it’s a good idea to cut off the end of a baby boy’s fucking cock anyway, right?

Nerve: Why do circumcised men become so defensive about this issue? Shaebus: I reckon cuz, for one, it isn’t their fault the end of their penis has been cut off and, two, they would not want to feel bad or inferior because of something that occurred to them before they were conscious they even had a dick. And three, I believe there is so much misinformation based on religious and social tradition that is embedded in most people’s minds that obscures the fact that cutting off the end of someone’s genitals when they are an infant is, plain and simple, MUTILATION. Fuck. It really seems to me a black and white issue: Cutting off foreskin equals fucking sick. Nerve: Have you ever actually met somebody with penile cancer? Shaebus: Nope.

Nerve: I understand that your song “Nazi Barmitzva” criticizes the Israeli occupation of Palestine: do you worry that, along with your antipathy to circumcision, some might misinterpret your concerns as anti-Semitic? Shaebus: We believe in saying what we feel, and we don’t believe in circumcision as it is an outdated and cruel practice which was (poorly) designed to make sexual intercourse undesirable and, like all outdated and cruel practices (crucifixion, for example, or burning people at the stake) it should be discarded. Also, though we are not schooled in the teachings of Judaism, we feel it is questionable, if not hypocritical, to claim circumcision is a natural, holy thing, while orthodox Judaism preaches that body modification/mutilation is unholy and will result in being barred forever from heaven. Also, we feel the way the Israeli state treats their NATIVE Palestinian population to be disgusting, considering the reasons for which the state of Israel exists as we know it today. In our eyes, we see very little

between the ghettoization of Palestinians (not to mention the wholesale incarceration and elimination of Palestinian ìinsurgents which goes on all the time) and the same ghettoization the Warsaw Jews and others faced in the mid to late 1930s. It’s fucked, and personally, I don’t care what I get called for saying what I think and standing up for what I believe in. Oh, and for the record, I fucking hate Izzy Asper too. Fuck Global CanWest up their dirty fucking asses. So what if he was from Minnedosa? Fuck him and fuck that whole family. Nerve: Why bother with a Screaching Weasel cover (“Old Folks”)? You guys are waaaaay better than them. Shaebus: It was the first song we ever learned how to play properly. Besides, we really do hate old folks. Fuckin’ creepy old bastards.

Nerve: I can see the advantages of male-onfemale necrophilia (it’s always stiff) but what’s a dead chick gonna do for me? (aside from not having to cycle through a bunch of her orgasms before I can have mine, thank you) Shaebus: if you’re fucking a dead girl, there’s A) no chance of her saying no, or B) you getting busted for fucking underage girls, cuz who needs an age of consent when the girl is already dead? Oh yeah, and C) they don’t talk. At all. Ever.

Nerve: Tell me about some of the music you dig. Shaebus: As a band, our interests are varied. Collectively, we listen to everything from dirty fuckin’ Canadian drunk rock to hip hop to new wave to speed metal to country fucking western. We dig music that is, above all, fucking real. If the music is real, then who cares what it sounds like. Having said that, I’ll contradict myself by saying (honestly) that we’re all big Avril fans. Especially me. Avril, if you read this, call me. I’m serious. I fucking love that fuckin’ girl.

Nerve: The song “I Didn’t Know Slamdancing Was a Sport So What’s With These Uniforms?” seems to be a pretty pointed criticism of Punk Rock conformity. What are The Tups doing to exclude themselves from the same allegations? Shaebus: I couldn’t really tell you. On stage, we present ourselves as ridiculously as possible to attempt to show the ridiculousness of the whole punk rock, counterculture, look-atme-I’m fuckin’ cooler-than-you uniform bullshit. We don’t take ourselves seriously. At all. We’re just a bunch of fuckin’ perverts and losers who happen to make up the 4 parts of the best band in the fuckin’ world right now. If anyone wants to call us punk fashion bitches, they can go right the fuck ahead. I’ll even give them 10 scene points for doing so! Nerve: Are you guys as crazy and frightening as I seem to think you are? Or am I just old?

Shaebus: I once ate a bag of mushrooms half way thru our set opening for DeVille then later that night had to talk to the police after eating more mushrooms and drinking a shit ton of whiskey and convince them to not press charges on us for the party we held at our place after the gig where about 70-80 people showed up to our two bedroom apartment at 4 am. I dunno, there are a shit ton more that are just as fucked. Like the time Pete pissed his pants, or the time those 14 year old chicks took off their shirts for us. Oh, the memories.

T U P S the

by Adrian Mack


The Kills: Ciao VV! y interview with The Kills got pushed back and put off so many times that I was hardly thinking about it anymore when I was called at home by VV (nee Alison Mosshart), the Yank half of the transatlantic duo who are currently receiving golden tongue kisses from those fancy pants magazines that Mann keeps “casually” leaving around the office with his name on the little subscription sticker. Not that they’re wrong. I’ll put my golden tongue on that piece too; it’s not everyday that a voice as august and, well, consistently right as David Dalton’s comes to your coming out. More on that later but first: I was done for the day and had put something in my body that caused me to see spots, or insects, and my mouth was a little dry. I was craving sugar but VV wanted to talk after going squirrelly in a car for days and since my brain had called in sick, I was relieved that she turned out to be a motormouth off stage, too. I didn’t have to do anything for once! I think I love her!

VV: I spent all day in the van and it was impossible then my friend died and then we went to the hotel and they said you’ve got 10 minutes before soundcheck so basically I dropped my suitcase off and got a cab and then had to do a photo shoot then had to do sound check so now… now it’s fine. Nerve: Did you say your friend died? VV: My friend had died? No! No, my phone! Nerve: Oh, thank God. Is this what it’s like when they’re calling you the next big thing? Sounds pretty hectic. VV: No. This is just what it’s like to be disorganized and not be able to read a map. I’ve never been on a tour where we got lost so much… We’ve just been in the van for, like, three or four solid days not ever getting where we wanna go. I haven’t slept. I’m totally nuts so let’s talk. Nerve: Have you come across a description of your music that you’re satisfied with? VV: Yeah, I have actually. I met David Dalton the other day, the guy that wrote the Marianne Faithfull biography (and Jim Morrison, Janis, Sid, James Dean…) He was co-editor of Rolling Stone and… I can’t quote him exactly, he said it was like watching the whole entire history of rock ‘n’ roll, combined and crushed down into a Quaalude. That’s what he said and that’s my favourite description of us, probably ever. Nerve: Do either you or Hotel (Jamie - the other, British half of The Kills) have psychic abilities? VV: I think I’m kind of, like, physically psychic because before anything wrong happens… I start to get a stomach-ache and I know something bad is gonna happen. And then it does. All the time. Nerve: Jaki Liebezeit, drummer from the great German group Can, he claimed he could play a rhythm that could make audience members vomit. He also claimed to know a beat that could kill. VV: That’s insane. Nerve: Are you guys into that voodoo shit? Can you kill a person with music? I’m not talking about how I feel when I hear Good Charlotte. VV: I think you can definitely freak people out. You can definitely piss them off… because people have gotten really mad with me. We receive the most amazing hate mail. Nerve: Can you name another band right now that embodies what you (and The Velvet Underground) call “The Total Experience”? VV: No I can’t. And I think that’s it. I mean, there’s loads of bands right now that I like but I don’t really think that they’re changing my life… But, you know, that’s kind of the way that Jamie and I have always lived and it was really great to meet each other because it was like everything that you do during the day is really important – it has to be – or else you’re kind of, like, dying in a weird way, you know? Nerve: Who or what started you on this course – the total experience and living your art? VV: There’s three things. When I was little the first two bands, I was about 11, that just swept me away were Fugazi and Patti Smith. And that was it. That was a complete thing for me. And then it was like The Velvet Underground and I was absolutely addicted to Edie Sedgwick. And her life was just a complete piece of art. Just to go to the shop next door she’d spend like four hours getting ready because she’d go out onto the street, THE NERVE DEC/JAN 2004/2005 PAGE 16

you know? I grew up in Florida, in a retirement community… I think it’s almost good to grow up in a place like that because you’re either going to totally rebel against it and become the absolute opposite or you’re going to become it. Nerve: Welcome home! VV: It’s been a long time since Jamie and I have driven across the country and looked out the window and… it’s amazing! It’s so unclassy. It’s so fucking tacky. Everything’s giant and stupid and ridiculous and it’s horrifying. I’m so anxious in the car, I’m clawing at the windows… you stop at a gas station and the children are three times the size of the adults in Europe and everything is haunting you. Everything is just bizarre. You’ve come to some insane circus… I think ever since Bush was elected again the rule should be that anyone who wants to get the fuck out of here should be given the money to do so and… moved to somewhere that’s nice, you know? Somewhere where your kids aren’t gonna grow up to be stupid fucking slobs. I’m really happy that I had the balls to move out when I was 19. Not move out, but leave the country coz I’d had enough. Nerve: What do you think the “war” is really about? Is it Oil? Is it religion? Is it both? VV: I think it’s money. I think they use religion as a tool to get votes and to get money but I don’t think they really believe anything seriously… It’s just so mindblowing. But that’s all it takes because people’s attention span and people’s thought processes here are so short and so stupid and so Wal-mart that you just have to try so little to get everybody to just cheer and say “yes” and fucking cheerlead for it and wear the T-shirt and buy the fucking mug and do everything… You can do anything you want to this country and they’ll fall for it. They have every single time… I’m excited about China. I can’t wait until they can kick the shit out of us. I can’t wait. I really want war. In this country. I want it to be in this country… I want it to be here… it’s like, when (9/11) happened there wasn’t any doubt in my mind that America had done it to itself. I mean, it was quite sad. I knew people but… for how many years have we been asking for that? We certainly deserved it. There hasn’t been a year when we haven’t declared war on somebody in my lifetime… Nerve: You’re talking about covert wars, covert financing etc… VV: Yeah, of course! There were wars going on that were covered up by baseball scores… there’s never been a time when America wasn’t taking advantage of everybody and I just can’t wait till there’s somebody bigger and someone more powerful and I love the fact that China is getting rid of all its American money… When Bush was re-elected that was such a turning point… I don’t know one person that voted for him, except for Vincent Gallo, who I can’t stand anymore. Who voted for him? I don’t know one person which maybe means I keep good company or, you know, I’m living in a dream. But something really, really fucking drastic has to happen now. And if it doesn’t then, you know, everything’s over. But if people learn how to protest and riot again, if people have the energy to get up and get out of their houses and stop watching TV and do something physically or… Nerve: Has the protest movement taken refuge in the internet, maybe? VV: Yeah. It’s a little bit worrying because the internet keeps someone in their seat, you know? … and it’s quite class-oriented… there’s always gonna be that line where, like, I have to eat before I’m educated, you know? And then they’re making people crazy with MSG and fucking sugar. They’ll never learn a damn thing because their brains are fried! And alcohol and everything… Nerve: Speaking of which, what is the Kills drug of choice? VV: Hmmm. Well, I really like vodka. My favourite drug, probably, is speed but I can’t do it anymore because I like it too much so… I’m on a break. I’m on a huge break. That was

a part of my life for a little while but I had to stop because I was arguing with people too much. But my favourite drug is probably just cigarettes and a couple Bloody Marys. Then I’m pretty happy. Like now. Nerve: You toured with Primal Scream. VV: Right. That was where my speed problem started. Nerve: Really? VV: Of course! Thank you very much Bobby Gillespie! Thanks for putting me on the right track! The Kills are at Richard’s on Richards in Vancouver Dec. 5th

photos: we stoled them from tha internets


By Adrian Mack




By Casey (photos too)

ue to limited funds, I had to restrict my FESTIVAL OF GUNS 2004 partyaction to one evening. I chose to rip it up the Friday (Nov. 19th) and rode my bike downtown in order to maximize my wristband & ingest all the bands I could swallow. I wanted to go to Asbalt to catch part of the Keg Killers/Dry Fisted/Excessives show but there’s no way I could get to that part of Hastings (from 12th & Fraser) without pulling a serious doubleback. I decreed that show too far outta my way but I’m sure all those Jakasses had a dirty good ol’ time.

Flyin’ on my cruiser through Chinatown, I spotted several hammered, thirtysomething Chinese business dudes stumbling down Quebec St. They stuck out their thumbs, attempting to hitch a ride with me as I whizzed past & when I rang my bell at them, the drunkest of the bunch screeched “nice cunt!!!” Thanks dudes! (See Cheap Shotz on pg. 7 for a gross one.)

I started the night @Pub 340, one of my fave venues in town. My buddy #555 (aka Dawn) is a server there & we downed a shot of Fireball (I hate cinnamon, hate whisky but fucking LOVE Fireball!) then I tried a Red Cap beer, which comes in a stubby bottle - holy nostalgia! A trio called White Licorice was playing and I can’t figure out how to describe them ‘cuz they were weird. They had a lot of vocal harmonizing & it was kinda metal & their drummer was really hi-hat happy (which was cool) but that’s about all I can muster until I see them again.

Next stop was the Pic Pub to catch Eldorado, whom I (strangely) had never seen. Foxy singer Angela Fama channels a less tragic sounding Patsy Cline against a background of bittersweet 50’s style country complete with a pedal steel guitar. I couldn’t stay for their entire set as it was midnight - time to hit the next venue.

I had only been to the Lamplighter once in the 10 yrs I’ve lived in the ‘Couve, back when it was an après-Cambie date rape pub, but I realized the rawk venue potential back then & was stoked to catch my first gig there. The unmistakable sound of Ladies Night and the deliciously nasty energy of the crowd washed over me upon entry, beelining it to the side of the stage to take some pix. This band sounds deceptively simple with Mr. L’s desperate wail and Mr. J (#2)’s furious, no-frills pounding of the skins but Mr. J’s sharp riffs fused with Mr. C’s fuzzed-out style creates a thick sound in which there’s no room for bass.

I was madly takin’ pix when someone behind me suddenly lifted me right off my feet. I turned my head & saw some doughy jock I didn’t know so I kicked him with my heel until he dropped me then pushed him & gave him shit for grabbing a stranger. My pals Becca & Megan fetched the bouncer, who threw the creep out while he insisted, “she told me to lift her up!” Rock shows are relatively new @Lamplighter so it’s gonna take a while before those kinds of dudes (hopefully) learn to stay away. I had to carefully maneuver around the frantic fans up front to snap pix ‘cuz Mr. J.’s wide shoulders were blocking my shots, plopping myself in front of Mr. C. During a break between songs, I told him “take off your shirt!” to which he replied “OK!” and promptly whipped it off. It wasn’t long before he was rolling around on the ground whilst playing guitar & collected an Iggy-sized amount of broken glass in his flesh, which kinda sums up Ladies Night.

photos: we stoled them from tha internets

I had every intention of hittin’ the Brickyard to see Side 67 for the first time in like, 5 yrs and going back to Pub 340 to heckle John Ford during their set, but soon after smoking a joint then cigarette outside the Lamplighter, Raised by Wolves started their set & I couldn’t leave. They sounded to me like a heavier & faster Murder City Devils minus the pretentious vibe and crap lyrics. I was surprised to see Bryce Dunn playing drums with RBW, sounding a little sloppier than usual (he’d only practiced briefly once with them or something) but it was rather perfect. They are my favorite newish Vancouver band & an excellent finish to my one night of FOG debauchery.


HOB Nerve Dec 1p 4c Slipknot


2:03 PM

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JANUARY 16 – PNE FORUM TICKETS ALSO AT SCRAPE The House of Blues Concerts logo and trademarks are under license from House of Blues Brands Corp. (USA).



By David Bertrand

mong other things, like oh, say, the exploding children of Fallujah, November for me has been all about THE DAVE MUSTAINE EPISODE. With Brad n’ Mack still licking their wounds from the Gene Simmons fuck-balling they received two months back, this last-minute interview, set for Remembrance Day, was stamped ‘MUST NOT FAIL’. …But of course it did. Mighty Dave, in a grand display of Metal Etiquette, denied me the right to speak until I’d heard the new album, because, as Dave so modestly stated, it would be “kind of like telling a virgin what an orgasm’s like.” This was followed by, “You’re an honorable guy for telling the truth, that’s rad.” Ha! What a guy! So METAL!

! e h c u o

d a g e m

Dave Mustaine: All about the family values

Now to my mind Megadeth has always been a bit of a laugh, a pleasant diversion. And though yes, they certainly do have their moments of sharp-browed, head-nodding awesomeness (read: Holy Wars…), mostly it’s just a foolish chuckle of a time. AND THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. Sometimes we all need a round of big, sloppy Metal idiocy. So I’m a fan. Was a fan. I own the albums (all ten of them), I got the T-shirt (courtesy of Value Village!), all that jazz. So getting to talk to the chief of this MEGA-empire, the captain of this steel ship of great fortitude, the infamously troubled and troubling Dave freakin’ Mustaine, cheesiest man in the UNIVERSE, was just supposed to be oh so grand…

But life is a funny one. Our southern neighbours are currently cluster-fucking the Earth, ignorance and tyranny abound, all people of thought and substance are bubbling over with rage and fear, and then I’m informed that dear ol’ Dave is – wait for it – a BUSH-SUPPORTER. Wow. I thought Dave was edging past his bonehead peers insofar as world awareness goes, but it seems I was mistaken… What to make of this? I’m thinking Peter Pan Syndrome; he’s a 43-year old who’s still scribbling pictures of stick men blowing each other up with bazookas during math class. Such is the way in Metal. See what you think. Some preparatory notes: Mustaine suffered a much publicized, severe and debilitating continued on page 21 THE NERVE DEC/JAN 2004/2005 PAGE 19


continued from page 19 injury back in April, 2002, WHEN HE FELL ASLEEP ON HIS ARM. No shit. He retired the band indefinitely, and spent a year doing physical therapy and focusing on his family life. When it came time to start working on the new album, Dave Ellefson, Megadeth’s long-standing bassist, was not invited back into the ‘Deth camp, and is obviously none to pleased. He is currently suing Mustaine for $15 Million US, for owed money from merchandise sales (I think), and Christ knows what else. Defamation probably. I don’t know. I was told not to bring it up for legal reasons. Mustaine, always at the center of old-guard Metal dirt-slinging, shit-canned him anyway. Enjoy the read!

Nerve: The System Has Failed is a return to Megadeth, circa OLD-SCHOOL. Chris Poland (lead guitarist on the first two Megadeth albums) is back, and I think it’s safe to say that this album is the return to form that the last Megadeth release, The World Needs a Hero, was supposed to be. Dave: See, Risk (Megadeth’s critically panned electro / industrial-tinged album from 1999, which I actually kind of like) was when I realized I was heading down the wrong road. The World Needs a Hero was about halfway between the U-turn, and System… was once the U-turn had been made. On Megadeth’s progression away from Dave’s original vision… Dave: The band had totally gotten out of control. You had me as the leader who was not being listened to or respected by other guys who’d think that they were as smart as I was, and every time we tried one of their ideas the sales just went down more and more and more. And it’s like, guys, at some point you’ve got to be smart enough to realize your way isn’t working! Risk I think was a great record, but it wasn’t a Megadeth record. If it said Dave Mustaine on it, or anything else, it would have been fantastic. People that want to listen to that kind of record won’t buy it because it says Megadeth. People that want to buy a Megadeth record will feel cheated when they hear that kind of music. This (System…) is a Megadeth record. You know one of the things that the guys have been saying to me is, “Welcome back.” And that is such a kind thing to a man who has been… very bruised. There were times where I just didn’t know what I was doing anymore, and it kind of freaked me out. You know, you just want so badly to make people happy with your art. But art is taking risks, and sometimes I had to do things that most people just don’t want to hear. Nerve: And the recent tour with Exodus? Dave: We’re having a blast out there! This is the happiest I’ve been in my career. The tour’s sold out from soup to nuts, from one end of the country to the other, from the North Pole down to Mexico. Everything is done, gone. You want a ticket? You gotta buy it from a scalper or suck somebody’s dick! Two months ago we played in Montreal where the Drover boys are from (Glen Drover, guitar, and Shawn Drover, drums are both in Megadeth’s current touring band), and it was like a homecoming for them. We played in Phoenix and it was a homecoming for me. That’s where David Ellefson lives, and Ellefson went around talking shit about me in my own town. And people that showed up that support me were like, “Heh! What is Ellefson thinking?” Mustaine is Megadeth, Ellefson was a bass player in Megadeth. Really, I mean this is probably gonna sound kind of cocky but, all you gotta ask is… what has he done since then? Nerve: Yeah, well he’s uh… Dave: …He’s played in a couple no-name bands, he’s played on a couple songs for Soulfly, he’s got his own band, which isn’t doing anything, and he’s just talked a bunch of shit about me and sued me. I feel sorry for him that he had to go out on public record, and tell all the dirty little nasty secrets that he feels were important to say about us. About ME. Telling people about my drug problem. Excuse me, was I the only one that had a drug problem in this band? Nerve: It’s sad to hear that man. You guys have worked together for ages and ages… Dave: Well you know what, it ended long before it ended. It was over at Youthanasia. That’s why I did MD.45 (side project with Fear’s Lee Ving). I hated Megadeth, and I just didn’t want to be part of it anymore. And when MD.45 didn’t take off, I went back to Megadeth and did Cryptic Writings, which was successful to some degree, but it wasn’t really what I wanted to do, and then when Risk came out, I was just sick. And I told Marty (Friedman, former guitarist) we have to go back to our roots; we have to go back to being a Metal band. He says, “I quit. I’m gonna go be a kimono wearing Japanese-wannabe.” And look at his website, he’s wearing a fucking kimono! Aren’t kimonos for chicks? My god, what the fuck happened to him? Nerve: I haven’t heard anything he’s done post-Megadeth at all. Speaking of which, Nick Menza (former drummer, ousted from the band in 1998; was going to play on the recent tour, but now

he isn’t… it’s a long story) put out a solo album after leaving Megadeth… Dave: And did you see what Brave Words & Bloody Knuckles had to say… Nerve: …it was their most panned CD ever! Dave: I couldn’t bring myself to [hear] it. When he called it Life After Deth, I thought, Oh my God, like freakin’ Sam Kinison! Now this topic has been done to death, but fuck it: Metallica: Some Kind of Monster. For the record, it’s a painful film to watch. See as this once legendary band struggle like amateurs through awful songs as you experience their lives and feel your hatred rise. James Hetfield has his moments of humanity, but really only Mustaine and Jason Newsted, the two former Metallica-ers, actually come across as (relatively) respectable, honest, and likeable people. Bob Rock (producer / opportunistic knob-gobbler) is a rival for Lars in the money-hungry asshole department. And Kirk Hammett is just a pushover. I had to ask about the infamously emotional scene between Dave and Lars Ulrich, where Mustaine lays his heart on his sleeve about life as a Metallica-rejectee. Dave: I wanted to be in it, but I wanted to see the footage first, and when I saw how they edited down the footage to only make Lars look good, I said no way! Nerve: You know what, honestly… Dave: What the fuck does Lars say he’s sexually attracted to me for on I’ve got a cock, what’s his thing? Nerve: I don’t know man. Did he say that recently?

Dave: Go look at (seriously, go check it out. There’s all sorts of filthy rock gossip) Lars Ulrich: “I wanna hug Dave. Maybe I’m sexually attracted to him.” Listen you fucking Danish wing-nut, stay away from me! Nerve: Oh man… You should see the movie. Lars comes across as a pompous spoiled prick. I really don’t know why they put the movie out. The band looks terrible. Dave: Their last couple of records were terrible! Nerve: The one and only time I’ve actually seen Megadeth live, interestingly enough, was in Vancouver on September 12th, 2001. Dave: The day before I filmed the movie. Nerve: Really? (This is not what I was expecting to lead back into at all…) Dave: Yep, I filmed the movie on my birthday; I turned 40 years old. On my 40th birthday I had to sit in a room with fuckin’ Lars Ulrich. Happy day. I would just as soon have my testicles hammered flat than sit in a room with that guy again. Nerve: So, it was September 11th, then the show I saw on the 12th, then you were filming with Lars the very next day? Dave: Yeah. Nerve: Oh my God. Dave: People don’t understand, “Oh Dave looks like he’s crying, he looks so upset.” Well yeah, I’m upset! The other side of my country looks like a piece of incense, because it’s just constantly smoldering! People are walking around dropping little envelopes of white stuff; it’s either cocaine, dandruff, or anthrax, and a person wouldn’t be upset? I was supposed to go home for my 40th birthday to be with my wife and children, to get a brand new C 55 AMG Mercedes. I lose my car, can’t go home to see my family, and I’m stuck with LAAAAARRRRRSSSS! Nerve: Well, why’d you do it?

Cov er

Dave: Because you know what? I figured, y’know, I’m totally out of sorts, my world’s rocked, I don’t know what’s going on, and I just thought, I couldn’t possibly be being set up on my birthday. With the most bafflingly unfocused, indecisive, crowded, adolescent and politically-charged cover art in recent memory, my desire for some sort of order and explanation was overpowering. Turns out that Dave doesn’t have a clue what he’s trying to say either. Just don’t tell him that. But here it is… Dave Mustaine on politics… I think. Nerve: About the cover art on the new album: I’m wondering exactly what the message is… There’s the Supreme Courthouse in the background (which I mistook for the Whitehouse, silly Canadian that I am…), and it reads ‘Unequal Injustice Under Law’, and you’ve got Vic (Megadeth mascot) at the judge’s podium… Dave: And President Bush telling Vic, “Don’t do this.” Because Vic is selling ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ cards to people. You see people like Ted Kennedy going up to buy ‘Not Guilty’ verdicts. Ted Kennedy, if you remember, drove a car with a drunken intern into a creek and killed her. Nerve: So Bush is telling Vic not to do this? OK… I wasn’t quite clear… I thought Vic was handing him money? Dave: No, no bro, look at him again. Nerve: OK. So alright… I see what… Dave: A lot of other musicians are out there saying Bush is the bad guy. I’m a daddy, I’m a husband, I love the Metal community. I don’t like the fact that the Democratic Party is a contributor to the whole bullshit that has prejudiced people against Heavy Metal artists, OK? Look at a Heavy Metal person, a guy with long hair, a guy with tattoos, or a guy that just dresses like a Heavy Metal person, what do they do? They get the low-paying jobs, they get looked at cross-eyed… And I mean even in Jurassic Park when the jeep needs to be hot-wired, who do they send out there? The Metal Guy. Nerve: …yeah. Dave: Listen, too bad there’s a fuckin’ Tyrannosaurus Rex out there, would you mind going and hot-wiring this car since you obviously know how to steal since you listen to Megadeth? Nerve: Yeah. So… that would be your main opposition to the Democratic Party as opposed to… Dave: No. The whole thing is… I believe in God. I love my family; I love my country. I couldn’t get behind John Kerry, and even if I did get behind John Kerry, I’m not one of these guys like Jon Bon Jovi, who still needs a booster seat just to go sit in a restaurant, telling somebody how to vote. I’m not somebody like Bruce Springsteen, who, you know, dude needs to change his pants! He’s worn the same blue jeans for thirty years! Get with the fucking times, Bruce! Going out there and telling people how to vote… Nerve: But I mean, if you’re showing Bush in a positive light on the cover, you’re supporting one side… Dave: No I’m not.

Nerve: …and they’re supporting the other side, you know, so… Dave: No I’m not. Nerve: OK. That’s what it seems to me anyway, because it’s definitely a political cover right? That’s why I’m asking… Dave: Hang on. You’re Canadian so you don’t understand American politics. I have been very involved in American politics. What Bush is doing is characterizing how he stands. He stands for what’s RIGHT. OK? And he’s telling Vic, who’s being involved with this whole thing, “You want to play God? Pay me. You want to commit adultery? Pay me. You want to have these holy wars? Pay me.” OK? The Clintons are standing there, they’re looking out for their hides and thinking, “You know what? 2008 isn’t that far away, Hilary, and you’ll be the President, and I’ll be able to fuck the first [female] American President.” Alright? It’ll probably be the first time in history that two Presidents will fuck each other. Or maybe not? There’s another thing too, bro. If you look at the back cover of the CD, it shows the road in between the Haves and the Have-nots. One side of the road shows a homeless guy, and a homeless mother and child. The road in-between them is split, and the Earth is on fire, and on the other side of the road are all these politicos that are multi-millionaires, that don’t even care! Look right across the street! David, right across the street, there’s people dying on the sidewalk. Is one person in that line looking over at these other people? No. I made it that way for a reason. You are free to draw your own conclusions. Megadeth played at the Commodore on November 26th. I hope you were there and I hope it was great. Thanks Dave.


Off The Record

T T h e W P P Th he e W WP PP P

duty as a power-mad rock journalist to instruct them to disband at once! But really, what is the purpose of these reviews: for the reader to make informed purchases at the record store, or for me to feel better about myself by slamming gifted musicians? I think you already know the answer. - Chris Walter

Nerve: WPP. Who the fuck do you think you are? Al: Who the fuck do you think you are? There’s that question. Answered. Ryan: Next. Nerve: WPP, where’s the beef? Ryan: Tom’s in the van, sleeping. I’m not fucking around either. Nerve: What’s cooler? Machetes, ninja stars or night vision goggles? Ryan: Ninja stars. Brad is a known and skilled assassin. A water gun, I would say. Nerve: Is it true that WPP really stands for “wet pants party” and that you guys don’t have groupies: you have group pees? Ryan: Actually, WPP stands for gettin’ shitty, brah. Let it be known. Nerve; Who would win in a fight: Stormshadow or Snakeeyes?” Al: I would say, yeah, the body massage guy. Ryan: Yeah. He would kill anyone, man. Nerve: Cocaine: over-the-hill drug or choice of a new generation? Al: Cocaine is a dangerous drug. Ryan: I’m Rick James, bitch! Brad: I’m high on God. Nerve: Who are your favourite wrestlers of all time? Ryan: Jake The Snake, man. I’ve seen him do crack. Brad: Tatonka. Nerve: Do you guys agree that the further you get from the city, the uglier people get?

4 Ft Fingers A Cause For Concern Go-Kart

Lets see… sweeping melodies, tasteful arrangements, sincere and heartfelt lyrics. This is well-produced meaningful rock music that will doubtlessly be a big hit on campus radio and in teenage bedrooms everywhere. I see a bright future for this band, and indeed the sky is the limit. Not only that, but it’ll make a fine coaster. - Chris Walter Bakelite S/T Sound Document

The problem I have with reviewing local bands is my tendency to constantly shit in my own backyard (not literally, although…) Seriously, I don’t know what it is about local stuff that doesn’t get me excited. Perhaps the music lacks mystery, a certain je ne sais quoi, whatever that means. At any rate, Bakelite do it for me, plain and simple, and have been cleared from any sour words or critical finger shaking. By creating a melange of electro and bedlam similar (but more impressive than) Whirlwind Heat and Dance Disaster Movement, Bakelite still succeed without being overly obnoxious while dropping crazy beats to get your too-


photo: Laura Murray

The WPP He Has The Technology Satellite City

Ryan: It depends on how far you get. If you go to Montreal, then… boom. Al: Dryden and Drake Valley. Ryan: Yeah, Drake Mountain is hype, man. Nerve: They’re hot there? Group: Noooo… Ryan: They’re all mutated. It’s all fucked up blue haze and shit Nerve: How much money would it take to sell out? Ryan: Couple o’ bucks. Whaddya got? We takes the money, we fucks you up. Nerve: If you could have one super power, what would it be? Guy hanging out: In other words, if you had two super powers taken away. Ryan: I would take the X-Ray vision away. That shit’s freakin’ me out, dude. You look fucked up right now. Al: I would freeze time, so I could get more cereal. Nerve: If you could own any instrument in the world, what would it be? Ryan: Baritone guitar. That’s it! This interview’s over! - Burnside cool-for-school ass shaking.

-Adam Simpkins

The Mad Caddies Live from Toronto: Songs in the Key of EH Fat Wreck Chords

Songs in the key of “eh,” eh? Live recording from Toronto’s Opera House to a sold out crowd from a tour last year. New songs combined with a 6 minute fraffe of old one. Bonus points for the layout of the cd. Why the fuck can’t people in British Columbia care enough to make a live album? Porque ella esta un pinche puta, cabroncito. (That last sentence was actually taken from the Mad Caddies question board) - Coffee Pot Bullets and Octane The Revolver Criterion

Would record labels still send radio-friendly rock music to The Nerve if they knew it was going to end up in the hands of a jaded old punk with a hard on for all things corporate? Probably not, but until they smarten up, they will simply have to pay the price. As far as radio-friendly rock music goes, Bullets and Octane are not so bad, which is lucky for them because I would certainly rain insults and venom down upon their heads. It would be my

When The WPP (formerly The Witness Protection Program) announced their “break up” last month, a collective sigh of melancholy hovered over our already dismal city. But the Gods were gentle with us during that time by successfully bringing 75% of the band back together. But before all that silliness, The WPP recorded a jaw-dropping album entitled He Has The Technology which transcends their live show with superb production and clever studio trickery. But what’s most refreshing about this debut is their refrain from excessive spazz-outs and their ability to bait the listener with gentler numbers (“Hawaiian Jam”) only to dunk them back under the water with rifling-assaults like “She Swam to Sweden” and “Champions of Muldar 7”. I say, well done. -Adam Simpkins Closet Monster We Re-built This City Underground Operations

The latest installment from the above ground operation of Underground Operations is the new Closet Monster and what an excellent release. Anti War, one love and ‘knock one of us down and we’ll meet underground to conquer the world’ type attitude gives you hope for something – not sure what but who cares? CM need no justifying. If you’re not from and independent DIY ethic then go fuck yourself or see what it’s like to be part of the major label machine and take the mandatory ass-kicking and return to the roots where happiness, anger, and all those other emotions actually have some non-monetary weight. I’m talking about bass player London here, kudos to him for keeping the money out of the music and writing his own songs. Double points for thanking: “vegan/vegetarian diets (the homotarian editor of this ‘magazine’ may now want to interview them or even give them a cover. FAG!), coffee machine, self and pre-rolled cigarettes, salvia divinorum, some hash, a lot of heart and way too much expectation.” While we’re on the topic of expectation, maybe London has seen Avril’s supposedly hairy ass (I think it’s peach fuzz) and can put an end to this never ending debate at Nerveland. Hey Editor, go find out about her ass please and shut the fuck up. - Coffee Fucking Pot Damn 13 Black Heart Northern Soul Independent

There’s this bizarre subculture in the putrid depths of rock ‘n’ roll that involves lots of pale tattooed girls, shitty coke and cheesy bands that all sound like Motörhead. It seems to exist in its own little bubble and survives without any corelation to the world around it. I think Damn 13 fit somewhere right in the middle of this scene. Now just because something isn’t culturally

relevant doesn’t mean it isn’t good, but I sure would feel guilty giving this band, or album, any sort of noteworthy press. The good news is, this is a slick sounding record produced without any label support and fans of thrash and glam-metal will probably automatically think that “this CD frickin’ rocks!” But unless you are looking for a vapid soundtrack to party your face off with, you might want to wander down some other avenues. - Adam Simpkins Fabulous Kildonans Cock: A Celebration of Male Power and Strength Fabulous

Another smokin’ release from Winnipeg’s favourite sons, and this one will really make you wonder why so much great stuff comes from the city of mosquitoes and ice. In this, the Fab’s second full-length release, Mark Stretch Mark again provides the old school punk, while John Sterling supplies the rock action that makes it all new again. With tongue firmly in cheek, these lads sing about blowjobs and taxes as if nothing else in the world matters, and that if we don’t have fun now we never will. This is the wonderful world of the Fabulous Kildonans, where the clock is ticking, the beer is cold, the girls are naked, and the Marshall stacks are always turned to eleven. - Chris Walter Flogging Molly Within a Mile of Home Sideonedummy

Flogging Molly are often compared to The Dropkick Murphys which is not only grossly inaccurate, but also a wee insulting to our brothers from Beantown. Flogging Molly don’t have a punk bone in them and are as traditional as they come: kettle whistles, roving jigs and even the odd pirate shanty or two. This could be any band from Nova Scotia to Killarney (even though FM are from Los Angeles, of all places) and there isn’t anything astounding that separates these whiskey-and-ale tunes from anyone else’s. I’m sure that history majors and the fake Irish louts that come out every March 17th would love to clink pint glasses to this, but for the rest of us in tune with relevance and reality… no thank you. - Adam Simpkins The Opposite s/t Independent

What happens when things stop vibrating? The opposite. Is that good or bad? Judge for yourself. If you’ve been in Vancouver for some time and actually pay attention to good music, then the all too familiar heavy and creepy lyrics combined with the heavy beats and riffs somehow add up to something similar, not exactly the opposite, but definitely drug induced. - Coffee Pot Jello Biafra and The Melvins Never Breathe What You Can’t See Alternative Tentacles

No matter whose side you support in the ongoing feud between the current Dead Kennedys and Jello Biafra, you might as well resign yourself to the fact that there is no chance of another DK album, ever. But, there will be some that certainly come close. This 8-song mini-album goes back to the basics with short and snappy, anti-everything tracks ranging from Reagan-era Punk to heavier dirges akin to LARD and Nomeansno. Probably the most concise and

accomplished recording put out by Biafra in the last 20 years, but with the exception of the closing track, the mayhem you’d expect from The Melvins isn’t fully unleashed. -Adam Simpkins John Guliak and the Lougan Brothers 7 Stories and 13 Songs Mint

On John’s second outing on Mint, we find him delving into a veritable woodshed of excellent, sing-able songs for the folks who like their country/folk music on the laid back side. The Victoria-based songwriter has a lazy baritone one of those character voices that I think should actually be trademarked, since it’s unmistakably his. Stories of drifting, dreaming (“Feathers for a Fool”), winners and losers (title track) are laced with a wry wit. Guliak is able to exercise humour without hiding behind it or avoiding honest emotion. The Lougan Brothers, (a who’s who of the Vancouver roots scene) pack enough bite into the music to keep it out of that loathsome “gorgeous tapestry” subgenre of alt. Country. Finishing up with a slow burning version of “Wreck on the Highway,” this is music for the winding road. - Shit Ricky Mix Master Mike Bangzilla Immortal

Continuing with the fascination that hip-hop kids and turntablists have with Japan, superheroes and supernatural beasts, Mix Master Mike, the part-time record spinner for the Beastie Boys, tackles his Numarks to bring you a loosely-thread concept album of classic Good vs. Evil. This may sound like Madvillainy, the stellar LP put out by MF Doom and Madlib earlier this year, but Bangzilla doesn’t have the chutzpah to rhyme ‘got troubles’ with ‘snot bubbles’: this is entirely breakbeats and samples. It’s actually quite a remarkable piece of work, but you shouldn’t really expect much less from the champion of countless DJ battles and competitions. Normally scratch albums are a bit dull, and I can only stomach so much of the whooka-wooka-wicka. But with MMM’s added electro glitch, solid beats and crafty sampling, things stay interesting from the get-go to the let-go. -Adam Simpkins NOFX The Greatest Songs Ever Written (By Us) Epitaph

You know when a band puts out a greatest hits packaged CD? It’s called “getting out of a contract that much faster”. Listening to this “package” I ask myself, why would a band do this unless their career is over? Most bands put something like this out when they got no gas in the tank and can’t even open the curtains let alone write a song. One thing I can say is, if this is the bands’ favorites, they should have made a CD-R for their beemers and maybe asked the so-called “fans” what they thought. You’d probably get a whole different compiled “package”. Oh yeah, it has one new song too. Wooooo - Plow Neko Case The Tigers Have Spoken Mint

Recipe for a good live album: good band, good singing, good song selection (including well chosen covers), good live “feel” to the recording, Good Brothers (… I couldn’t help myself).

Neko hits all these bases and a few more on Tigers. Backed by what may be the best country band on the road today, The Sadies, and featuring Carolyn Mark and Kelly Hogan on backing vocals, Case pulls off the difficult task of putting out a decent live record. The songs and performance are great, including the Case/Sadies original, “If You Knew” and Buffy Sainte-Marie’s “Soulful Shade of Blue”. Only one problem for me: it’s too short, clocking in at around 35 minutes. I would love to see studio albums go more in that direction, but I like my Double Live, you know? Nonetheless, it’s a fine snapshot of an excellent artist where she’s at her best: onstage. -Shit Ricky The Tups I Dressed Up For This?!? Cum Sponge

These awful men seem to live on the fringe of the fringe and warn visitors to their website that entry may result in “loss of scene points.” Much as I hate the environment that gives rise to such Punker-Than-Thou type assertions, there’s something about this vile album that put a big smile on my face. It’s not the uniformly god-awful production nor is it the total absence of musical acumen, though both those things should be noted. Perhaps I’m just impressed with its total perversity: it’s actually pretty hilarious and completely criticism proof as it marches right up to your face and commences to suck with a pride and fervour unseen since The Angry Samoans first learned to swear and play guitars at the same time. And if The Tups haven’t quite gotten round to the second half of that equation, they surely have committed themselves to the swearing with uncommon gusto. The subject matter, naturally, includes murder, suicide, masturbation, bestiality, pedophilia, “fecalphilia”, necrophilia… all the philias, really, and circumcision. Which they are against. The best album that ever came from Clear Lake, Manitoba (except for Gunter Wexler’s classic Polka with a Big Stick). Available from - Mack Neo Nasties Eight Song E.P. Independent

The bands on Punks and Pints should have taken some lessons from these lads before they decided to call themselves punk. This is the real shit, as angry and intense as, well, four white boys with cheap guitars and gutfuls of bad whisky can be. Musically, the Neos harken back to the early eighties, and L.A.’s Wasted Youth in particular. What they might lack in technical proficiency, they more than make up for with attitude to spare and plenty of raw aggression. When I close my eyes, I can almost hear beer bottles smashing and police cars howling in the distance. Hopefully, these young hooligans will bless us with a full-length product before they self-destruct like the bad role models they so obviously admire. This means you, GG. Wait, he’s dead… - Chris Walter Punks and Pints Various Artists Sterling Sliver

If someone had handed me this disc in ’78 and told me that it was punk rock, my life might

Off The Record

T T h e T u p s Th he e T Tu up ps s

Nerve: How has the band changed since your first EP, Getting a Head in Federal Canadian Politics? Shameless Shaebus McFuckface: We sorta know how to play our instruments and we are much more fucked in the head. We’ve also been together for over 2 years now, rather than 6 months when that first disc was recorded.

Nerve: Gimme the lowdown on your bandmates. Shaebus: Pete O’Phile is an RSO (Regional

have turned out very differently indeed. Hell, I’d probably still be listening to Montrose in my parent’s basement. There is indie rock here, pop punk, alt rock, and even what sounds like modern grunge, but with the exception of the Rotten Eggs, Botox Aftermath, Mind Candy, Last Out, and maybe Gutbomb, IT’S NOT PUNK ROCK! Honestly, play “I’ve Had It” by Black Flag next to any of these tracks and you’ll see exactly what I mean. This isn’t to say that most of these bands aren’t good at what they do, or even that I don’t like them, but THEY’RE NOT PUNK ROCK! That’s it, the fucking dollar stops here. - Chis “Near Beer” Walter

Saint Bushmill’s Choir s/t Empty

Though this Celtic ensemble is more along the lines of the Pogues than the Dropkick Murphys, it does have a generous amount of electric guitar and bass. There is quite a range of influences at work here, from the fairly predictable (The Clash) to the totally unpredictable (Poison Idea). These lads almost make me wish I were still a drinking man, because this would sound damn fine over a large single malt or two. I’m sure they’d understand down at the rehab., “Those bastards have sent more than a few people our way,” they’d say. Hell, even without the sauce, this is raucous and lively and it’ll have you tapping your foot and singing along in your finest Irish brogue. Unless you’re a bloody sissy, of course. - Chris Walter Toxic Narcotic/ Misery Split disc Go-Kart

At first listen Misery didn’t do a lot for me, but the second time around it wasn’t so bad. Very metallic, with growly vocals similar to Oi Polloi. This is sure to have tattooed and dreadlocked hipsters bangin’ their heads and playing the air guitar, but I don’t necessarily wanna be around when they do. Maybe I’m just too old

Security Officer? – ed.) who is now in the process of deportation (we don’t know where he’s from originally, but he always has to leave Canada for extended periods of time after fucking around with the wrong farmer’s daughter). Jon E Trotter is the best drummer I’ve ever known and can out smoke any motherfucker on the bong. He’s in ‘peg city taking “photographs”. Jiminy P. Intercourse is the craziest motherfucker on the planet. His whereabouts are (honestly, I shit you not) unknown right now. Fuck, for all I know he could be drug running from Brandon to Cuba and back, fuck. As a band we are the four most perverted, fucked up, drugdependent losers in western Canada and we are also the best fucking band you’ll ever hate. Check out our Tups feature on page 15

for this. Shucks… Now, Toxic Narcotic have been around longer than shoes and my buddy French Chris wears their patch on his back, but honestly this ain’t my favorite shit. Here’s how it works: if I still can’t make out any of the lyrics after three plays, then two men have a better chance of getting hitched in Louisiana than this does of going into heavy rotation on my CD player. This is very harsh, brutal sludge punk, and I like happy music that makes me want to sing and dance and run around naked inserting flowers into rifle barrels. Seriously, if you like Toxic Narcotic then you’ll like this, but I’d rather drink paint in the rain than try to figure out what the fuck they’re screaming about. I’m soooo old! - Chris Walter

Vampire Beach Babes Beach Blanket Bedlam Independent

I can forgive this band for a lack of crunch, for they are not pretending to be anything other than what they are: a light-hearted romp filled with beach babes, fast cars, hot sun, and vampires. Okay, so maybe there’s a slight conflict of interest, but I can forgive them for that too. With a pleasing blend of B-52’s pop and Cramps vox guitar surf, they bounce along not annoyingly, making me long for buxom beach babes and the graveyard at midnight. Somehow, this trio manages to make vampires and the beach seem perfectly natural. I kinda wish the bassist Boa did more sweet backup vocals, but that’s not really a gripe. I was a little surprised to see that the Vampire Beach Babes are from Toronto. Do they even have a beach there? - Chris Walter Voodoo Glow Skulls Adicción, Tradición, Revolución Victory

In his Eulogy for a Fat Man, John Donne wrote “If thine art is not broken, disallow the urge to

continued on next page...


Off The Record

mend it”. While that quote may be extremely misquoted, or even completely fabricated, it still pertains rather nicely to Riverside’s Voodoo Glow Skulls. On album number seven (seven!), the band plays exactly what you would expect from a VGS record, which isn’t necessarily something to frown upon. Whereas most ska-punk bands blow your eardrums with their excessive horn sections, VGS keep theirs nestled in the background, which contributes to their Mexi-Cali flavour without sounding like Mariachi Mondays at La Grande Taco. But much like their last album, Steady as She Goes, the production quality is pretty weak and murky. Whether or not this low-budget recording is part of their master plan is beyond me, but it certainly doesn’t win them any gold stars. -Adam Simpkins Sick of it All Outtakes for the Outcast Fat Wreck Chords

I think we can all agree that rarities albums are a bit of a scam, especially in this day and age of the “Internet” and “file-swapping”. I mean, really, how hard would it be to find all of these songs on Soulseek and burn them onto a disk? I’m sure it would cost substantially less than this 15-track collection of hidden gems. But for all you ethical types out there, you’d be hard pressed finding a better selection of “throw-


away” tracks to spend your dirty little pennies on. Spanning the last 10 years of their productive career, Outtakes for the Outcasts contains a chunk of covers, live tracks and b-sides that most bands would be lucky to have as singles. Included also is the long-forgotten remix of “Just Look Around”, starring hip-hop lagerthugs House of Pain. Sample lyric: “I see a homeless man beggin’, he’s got half a leggin’” Word! -Adam Simpkins

Book s

Submission Hold What Holds Back the Elephant G7 Welcoming Committee

Submission Hold have been together for more than 11 years now, have had more than 15 official releases and show no signs of stopping soon. Their debut for G7 is an excellent sounding album that mixes elements of eastern folk, free improv, punk rock and whatever else crosses their musical vista. To call them passionate would be an understatement. Breaking down barriers musically and lyrically with their politically charged rants, this album is a must have for anyone who likes this type of stuff. If you are wary about it though, don’t bother. You’ll hate it, and I mean HATE. - Coffee Guy


He Is Legend I Am Hollywood Solid State

Okay, it’s official. This eyeliner metalcore shit is the new glam metal. Until recently it had no discernible name, this unholy concoction of AFIstyle goth punk and Iron Maiden-worshipping hardcore dweebs, but now the term “retro-metalemo-core movement” is being thrown around by publicity hounds who should know better. And it’s just a stupid enough tag to fit this poser stew. It’s not like He Is Legend are that much worse than the 18 Visions and Atreyus of the world (and, trust me, the plague continues to spread), just that they manage to push the glam one step further with choreographed riffs, insipid love-gonewrong lyrics, and pouty promo pics. I mean, fuck, are these guys a hardcore band or Sears catalog models? I swear if I see one more red-headed prick with dyed black hair and mascara, I’m gonna have a nervous breakdown. Now, what’s this? Some slap-bass action thrown into the crazy mosh breakdowns? Does the “retro-metal-emocore movement” (god, I hate that…) have its own little Mindfunk? Have we degenerated this far already? Perhaps this fukkin’ screamo trend is finally playing itself out, wearing thin on ideas and energy, ready to collapse into the obscurity it came from. Or, more likely, a whole new genera-


Never Mind the Pollocks Neal Pollack Perennial

tion of kids will spend their youth worshipping bands like Avenged Sevenfold as if they invented power metal riffs and tattoos. Won’t be long before talking about Metallica and Slayer will get us blank stares from some kid in a Bleeding Through t-shirt. Trust me, 10 years from now we’ll be looking back at bands like He Is Legend with the same guffaws we currently reserve for Mr. Big. This crap deluxe is on religious label Solid State Records, but it turns out these guys aren’t really a Christian band. They’re just pretending to be to score Jesus chicks. -Jason Schreurs

You know those cheezy rec-room paintings where Elvis, Humphry Bogart, James Dean, and Marilyn Monroe are all chillin’ at the soda fountain? If you can suspend your disbelief far enough, it becomes like; “hey, why not?” Never Mind the Pollacks is the fictional story of Neal Pollack, the greatest rock critic of all time, and the saviour of rock ‘n’ roll. In classic Forrest Gumpian fashion, our hero traces the history of true rock ‘n’ roll by just happening to be there for every major musical event of the last half-century. It all starts with Elvis backing over a young Neal’s father in Memphis, resulting in a huge cash settlement and a long friendship with the King. It ends in Aberdeen with an aged Pollack discovering a young Kurt Cobain and mentoring him into the perfect cynical punk rocker. In between, Pollack finds himself in constant pursuit of the

true rock. He meets Dylan, crashes with the young Rolling Stones, becomes entrenched in the Warhol scene, meets a young Iggy Pop, goes to Woodstock, goes to Detroit to find MC5 and the P-Funk, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, Patti Smith… in LA it’s Black Flag and The Go-Go’s, and he goes on tour with The Minutemen. All the while Pollack is exerting a quiet influence on all of these musicians and shaping the history of music. This book is funny as hell with lots of drugs and stuff and it keeps you glued with the numerous short scenes. In a lot of ways it’s like Lemmy’s biography, which I reviewed last month, except his story is non-fiction. MTV is shitting out lame reality shows while a book like this would make a wicked movie. Go figure. - J. Pee Patchez

Festival of Guns Kickoff Party featuring The Hell Yeahs / Rich Hope Buffalo Club, Vancouver, BC Wednesday, November 17th, 2004

We arrived stylishly late, just in time to catch the end of a Rolling Stones cover by Rich Hope. To my dismay, it was also the second last song. Damn, now I still don’t know if Adrian Mack can play the drums. The shindig was off to an inauspicious start, and you could have fired a cannon through the place without hitting anyone. A chilly breeze blew in through the open door, keeping my drink at an optimum temperature but freezing my nipples solid. Hint to the owners of the Buffalo Club: If you want customers to take off their jackets and stay awhile, then close the

Million Dollar Marxists / Red Hot Lovers Pub 340, Vancouver, BC Sunday, November 28th, 2004

Much has changed at the Pub 340, and I still remember it as a Hell’s Angels coke bar. Back in the bad old days, I shot drugs in the bathroom and then was knocked unconscious over a not-so-friendly game of pool. Tonight when I walked up the steps, Iggy’s “Shake Appeal” rolled over me, unlike the favoured Motley Crue of yesteryear. Blood has been spilled on these floors, much of it mine. The joint was almost empty, so we took a seat up front and waited for the show. I knew the bar closed at midnight, so I was surprised whenThe Red Hot Lovers took the stage after 11. How could there be time for The Marxists? Anyway, the RHL are a better-than-average hard rock band, but I know what I’d find if I went through their record collections, and 20 years ago these guys would have been mortal enemies. The war is over, I know, but old instincts die hard. Soon the Million Dollar Marxists exploded all over the place, playing their guts out for a tiny audience of perhaps 20. First, let me say that these guys are criminally underappreciated. There are so many punk groups now that it takes something very special to stand out, AND THIS BAND HAS IT! The M$M have absolutely no weak links, and play with a fury and passion that cannot be bought or imitated. What else can I say? Watching them gives me the same razz-drazz feeling I used to get from The Circle Jerks, Personality Crisis, or Dayglo Abortions back in the day. This is the real fucking deal, and if you don’t go out and buy their new release NOW, then never speak to me again. - Chris Walter

what thin crowd out of their mellow mood. And when I say mellow, I mean lifeless; the room had all the electric atmosphere of a taping of, say, The Ellen DeGeneres Show. Musically, Swank didn’t really come flying out of the gate; instead, the energy built up gradually, a lot like a 40-wheeler’s diesel engine (the band were dressed kinda like truckers themselves, actually, except they weren’t bald, filthy and covered in dried food stains) but around the fifth or sixth tune, they started to lock in, nailing some really tasty three and four part vocal harmonies, the most impressive aspect of Swank’s sound. At this time, the area right around the stage began to warm up, which was notable when you take into account the audience, who either had to save their energy for all-night janitorial work later on, or were all basically spent from blowing their collective partying wad on the warm-up acts. Or something. Sadly, the whole vibe was summed up for me when I stepped outside for a quick cigarette. Holding my smoke aloft, I asked this dude if he had a light, and he “replied” by giving me a blank expression and then just kept on walking! Thanks for nothing, fucker… In England, they have a word for people like this: does the phrase “bell end” mean anything to you? - T.C. Shaw

The Sadies

The Sadies / The Leather Uppers Pic Pub, Vancouver, BC Friday, November 26th, 2004

Tonight’s events brought to mind something a wise man once told me: “The only way to tell if a woman truly loves you is if she’ll have your dog.” – Lite (a bad man). - Spackler

Swank, Eldorado, The Stag Reels, The Grange The Pic Pub, Vancouver, BC Friday, November 19th, 2004

As the SkyTrain approached Stadium, about to become the DirtTrain, I prepared myself for the sights and sounds of the madhouse-sans-frontiers that is Vancouver’s downtown eastside. But the streets were unusually quiet for a Friday night. Like, I walked all the way from Beatty to Seymour and only two people tried to sell me crack! Once at the Pic, I settled in only to discover that I had arrived unfashionably right on time, despite my best efforts. As the five members of Swank, the evening’s headliners, were hitting the stage to a true smattering of applause, I quickly realized they were going to have to play the show of their lives to shake the some-

7sevenyears. But I digress. Highlights of this show: Ridiculi, young and enthusiastic practitioners of that singyscreamy, intensity-before-precision style made so popular by (okay, sorry, I HAVE to draw this comparison) Alexisonfire. These kids shriek like they mean it. Alec Whitford, also known as Straight-Edge Al, is not so much a one-man band as he is a punkrock kid whose band forgot to show up for the gig. His shirtless display of yelping and frantic chords is one of the most appealing, and paradoxically, the most dangerous things I’ve seen in a while. I’d written off The Suicide Boys largely on account of their name (come on, admit it, it sounds like a joke band), but they sound like Orchid gang-raping the Dillinger Escape Plan… shit yeah! The kids in the Bane hoodies might not have gotten it, but I sure did! Headlining was, of course, As Astraea Falls. This female-dominated, fledgling hardcore band endured the predictable cries of “You’re hot!” with endearing awkwardness, then unleashed a tight, ferocious and heartfelt performance sure to send every teenybopper in the room packing to Long & McQuade with Daddy’s credit card. And before anyone attempts to compare them to a certain teenage female foursome from Ontario, don’t bother: they sound more like a melodic, keenly focused Zao, topped off by the amazingly menacing rusty chainsaw inhabiting frontwoman Mary’s throat. Who needs Suicide Girls when you have Multiple Homicide Girls? Thumbs way up! - Therese Lanz The Faint, TV on the Radio The Commodore Ballroom, Vancouver, BC Friday, November 5th, 2004

Photo: Miss Toby

I know I’ve complained about the Commodore in the past, but tonight they scored extra points for stocking Beck’s, the King of Near Beers. Yum. And up I went, Beck’s in hand, to watch Tiger Army (I missed the Explosion, which is a shame. I wanted to check them out.) Tiger Army turned me off at first, for saying dumb stuff like, “Vancouver, you rock!” but aside from that, I began to see that these guys had a bit of style. A stand up bass and steel guitar gives their psychobilly sound an almost Latin flavour, and comes across as distinctive and fresh. By the time they finished playing, I was a convert, and almost bought one of their CD’s. Unfortunately for Tiger Army, I needed my money for a ridiculously expensive and paperthin Social Distortion T-shirt. Whatever happened to quality? Fuck! Uncle Mike and his boys soon hit the stage, taking bows like the returning champions I suppose they are. The band kicked things off with Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire”, and followed it up with “Reach for the Sky” from their new album, Sex, Love, and Rock ‘n’ Roll. The capacity crowd went apeshit, and as I watched, I could not help but feel a measure of awe. Ol’ Mike Ness has come a long way since I rolled him off my mattress at a house party back in ’82, and he has not only conquered his personal demons, but has captured the hearts and minds of a new generation of fans as well. This was a more aggressive, hit-laden set than they played when they were here last September, and Mike even kept his cliché stage banter to a minimum. The new songs already sound like classics, mixing seamlessly with the older material. Aside from Rancid bass player Matt Freeman’s apparent boredom, the band was hotter than a whore’s armpit, and I almost forgave them for the crummy shirt. Almost. - Chris Walter

door and turn on the fucking heat! The place was colder than Ralph Klein at a charity picnic. One of the main reasons I wanted to attend this little soiree was to meet some of my esteemed colleagues at Nerve magazine, but as I didn’t know what they looked like and they didn’t introduce themselves, this was not to be. Most of the other guests seemed to know each other, and chatted jovially amongst themselves, leaving my girlfriend and I in the, er, cold. In order not to appear as a social pariah, I cornered Jason Ainsworth for a lengthy but baffling conversation. Guests even more stylishly late than us trickled in, but the temperature remained sub-zero. The Hell Yeahs from Portland came on, and though I didn’t dislike them, they didn’t make me wanna get down and boogie, either. The guitarist kept breaking strings, and I felt a twinge of empathy for them as they struggled along in the cold, with only one pretty girl to dance for them. Just another indie rock band in a saturated market. I still felt like a leper, but another pretty girl named Sue introduced herself and invited us to see her band play on Saturday. Why would anyone want to talk to us? She must have been drunk. - Chris Walter

Photo: Therese Lanz

Social Distortion/ Tiger Army/ the Explosion Commodore Ballroom, Vancouver, BC Tuesday, November 9th, 2004

Photo: Jen

Social Distortion

Liv e W ir es

As Astraea Falls / The Suicide Boys / Alec Whitford / Ridiculi Alexandra Centre, Calgary, AB Saturday, November 27th, 2004

Something strange is happening in the all-ages scene in Cowtown. Seemingly overnight, the DC hoodies, Airwalks and faux-hawks have vanished, to be replaced by Dickies, Chucks and that godawful Bay City Rollers-esque haircut. I hear they call it “hardcore”. Also, the average age seems to have dropped by about

Seeing as my ears were still bleeding from the previous night’s Trail of Dead show at Richard’s, the last thing that I really wanted to do was further damage my already precious sound-collecting organs. However, after completing my four-year intensive rock journalism course at Sprott-Shaw Community College, I swore a sacred oath that hasn’t been broken to this date: “At any cost, the music must be reported.” So onward I went to the Commodore Ballroom, picking up a discarded Q-tip that I found on the street to scrape out dried blood from my ears on the way. Omaha’s Beep Beep didn’t appear this evening due to unforeseen circumstances, so it was up to TV on the Radio and The Faint to entertain me. After an hour of mingling with the rest of the media and emptying the buckets of champagne backstage with the bands, TVOTR took the stage for an hour’s worth of soulful and engaging Post-Rock. Didn’t think Soul and Post-Rock would ever be comfortable bedfellows, did you? Well, they are, and it can sound rather good at times. Problem is, TVOTR couldn’t quite keep my attention for long and I was (surprisingly) looking forward to The Faint to pick things up. After a longer wait this time, and finding myself increasingly frustrated by the ‘80slookin’ kids parading themselves around the dancefloor with their “am-I-being-ironic-Idon’t-know” dances, the lights went down while The Faint’s sequencers and keyboards started revving up. As predicted, they pleased their bosses by focusing on their latest (and not so shit-hot) album Wet from Birth, but occasionally dipped into their back-catalogue for crowd pleasers like “Agenda Suicide” and “Worked up so Sexual” for the older, more refined crowd. If anything, The Faint has blossomed into an arena sized band, which no doubt was abetted by their previous touring with, ahem, No Doubt. Included also were some colourful visuals but it seemed like they were used as compensation for the lack of interesting music. All told, I wasn’t disappointed by either band and felt good about myself for toughing out another night out in order to continue spreading my words, and knowledge, to those who need it the most (p.s. you’re welcome!) - Adam Simpkins




Because you love useless factoids

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fantasize about being cast to play Chloë Sevigny’s role. In this writer’s humble opinion, the infamous beaking scene gets an 8.5 and the Pepsi can that Gallo is walking around with in his pants is to wangs what Picasso’s Guernica is to paintings.

-Fade to Black opens in theaters in the middle of December and it chronicles Jay-Z’s farewell concert at Madison Square Garden. There are cameos from Missy Elliott, Mary J. Blige, P. Diddy, Usher, R. Kelly, Pharrell Williams, Ghostface Killah and a bunch of other people you’ve never heard of.

-After an eternity of getting blown up, gassed and genoicided, the Jews finally have something to smile about. The new Wes Anderson movie The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou opens on Christmas day.

-Black Dog video claims it will be reopening December-ish. Check for updates.

-All teenage readers of The Nerve are encouraged to visit and fill out a questionnaire. The results of the questionnaire will be used to make a movie that exposes the sexual prac-

tices of teenagers.

-All teenage readers of The Nerve who have engaged in sexual practices with Nerve Music Editor Adrian Mack are encouraged to visit to the STD clinic and report to The Nerve office to get some hush money.

-The Brown Bunny screened in late November and The Nerve staff is still recovering. The office is divided into two factions: those who think Gallo’s penis was “big, beautiful, not as veiny as one might suspect” and those who

-We’d like to thank the good people at Rockstar Games for throwing us a copy of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Without their generous contribution the arti-

cle on the following page would not be possible. In the future we had planned to do an article on Halo 2 but were informed by the people at X-box that all the review copies are gone and “if we had tight deadlines we should go buy a copy.” YEAH RIGHT, I WILL RUN TO THE STORE AND PURCHASE AN $80 GAME SO WE CAN PROMOTE IT IN THE MAGAZINE.

-Video pick this month is The Office Christmas Special. Features David Brent’s music video, David Brent doing an Austin Powers impersonation and David Brent trying to get a date.


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I LOVE BLACK MEN and they think I’m okay I

By Michael Mann

have a confession to make. I love black men. I think they’re great and I wish we had more of them in Canada. Usually, I’m a miserable loathsome creature. Gollum-like, if you will. But if I see a black man I actually go out of my way to be nice to him. I don’t know what it is, but they’re cooler than us and have better hair and can dress in ways that if a white person attempted it, you’d want to huck a bottle at his head. I guess I just think they’re neat. It was one of the highlights of my life when I was in Hollywood and a black man approached me on the Walk of Fame, lit up a joint and offered to smoke it with me. So, I was excited to see that the new Grand Theft Auto game would finally allow me to become a black man. You might be asking yourself: “Why is an article on a video game is appearing in the film section?” Well fuck you. If you think you can do a better job as film editor of The Nerve I invite you to submit a resume. Between listening to Adrian Mack transcribing his inane interviews of bands full of white people and Brad Damsgaard consistently yipping on the phone trying to book these bands full of white people…. it’s not a fun job. Petty grievances aside, I’d argue that this game is better than 95% of movies coming out in theatres. If you’re bored you can go to IMDB and see that Chris Penn, Biv from Bel Biv Devoe, Christopher Plummer, Wil “Weasley Crusher” Wheaton, Axl Rose, Bijou Phillips, George Clinton, Chuck D, Andy Dick, James Woods, Samuel L Jackson, The Game and Ice-T all lend their voices to Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas…


officially giving it a better ensemble cast than Glengarry Glen Ross. If you don’t remember Ice-T from his roles on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit or Leprechaun in the Hood, he was actually a famous rapper in the 90s who gained infamy from putting out an album called Cop Killer with the band Bodycount… who you might have heard of. Speaking of music, the soundtrack for this

three cities that resemble LA, San Francisco and Las Vegas in the early 90s. The game is about 10 times bigger (I just made that number up but it’s probably bigger than that) and the cities aren’t as linear as GTA: Vice City so it’ll probably take you a little longer to get bearings. You have to develop your thug skills, so don’t expect to steal your first car and drive it like an expert. It takes time and practice. Also, this

game is spot on as well …even if you don’t like rap music. There are plenty of rock, funk, dub, and alternative stations to flip through as you drive around in your stolen cars. Compiled by Interscope Records, an eight CD box set of all the stations is for sale in stores. There’s also a two CD “Best of” compilation for those who aren’t that extreme. While the last game was set in the 80’s in Miami, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas is set in

game takes the stealth elements from Rockstar’s infamous game Manhunter, so now you don’t have to run up to people and shoot them in the face. You can hide in the shadows and creep up behind someone and stealthily slit their throat or snap their neck. In this game you get to experience what it’s like to be a black man and consequently have to deal with the typical every day stuff black people have to deal with. Avenging the murder of

GTA: San Andreas is the video game equivalent of Black Like Me… except you don’t have to worry about getting cancer… unless you like to use your Playstation 2 as a stool while you play.

your mom, dealing with corrupt cops, and coming to terms with your sister dating a Mexican gang member. You’ve gotta protect your ‘hood’ by killing crack dealers, spraypainting over people’s ‘tags’ and performing drive by shootings on rival gang members. And one can’t forget the importance of getting tattoos, a pimped out ride with hydraulics, new clothes and “your hair did” up in cornrows all for the purpose of increasing your sex appeal so you can get as many girlfriends as possible. To sum it up, GTA: San Andreas is the video game equivalent of Black Like Me… except you don’t have to worry about getting cancer… unless you like to use your Playstation 2 as a stool while you play. While Halo 2 had a way heavier marketing frenzy going on when it came out, look for GTA: San Andreas to outsell and outlast the competition. With people beating Halo 2 in around five hours, it looks like it doesn’t have much replay value. San Andreas boasts a total of 150 hours of gameplay. There are endless mini-games aside from the plot line and you could probably play this game for a year and not finish it all. Also, I don’t own an X-Box and have never played Halo but I’m pretty confident that underneath your character’s suit of green armour there be a whitey. So steal a car, drive to your nearest video game retailer and steal a copy of GTA: San Andreas. Or, cuz it’s that time of year go: “hey mom, get off your fat fucking ass and get me this game for Christmas. And, by the way, Dad is leaving you for a younger woman.”


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I’M AMBIVALENT TOWARDS FILM MAKERS Jonathan Sutton: writer/director/star of God’s Baboons captured in a completely spontaneous and unstaged photo-


By Baird Naked

hen asked about independent films, Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot, Sunset Boulevard) once remarked, “You now spend 80% of your time making deals and only 20% making pictures.” Things haven’t changed much. Independent film producing is about making deals. Deals for your financing, deals with the cast and crew, deals for locations, deals with your partners and deals with the devil. With low budget productions, you need to make more deals than the VPD makes with their disciplinary review board. But with the success of such films as Clerks (under $30,000), Slacker ($23,000) and El Mariachi ($7,000) these films have gained a lot more respect. No longer is it a “let’s put on a show in the old barn out back, my mom can sew the costumes” Our Gang banality. Now, with better equipment available to John Q. Producer, the results are pretty incredible, all things considered. To find out about their experiences making independent films in Vancouver, I recently interviewed Rick Alyea (Producer, Part of the Game) and Jonathan Sutton (Writer, Producer and Star, God’s Baboons).

Nerve: First things first, have you ever been arrested? Rick Alyea: I have never been arrested; however, I did have to take a lie detector test for ICBC to prove that I didn’t steal or have someone steal my own car! That was fun, especially when they had to apologize! (Note – Rick didn’t show up for The Nerve Magazine photo shoot. Remember when Venus Flytrap in that WKRP in Cincinnati episode didn’t want his

photo in the ad ‘cause he was hiding from the cops? Hmmmmmm). Jonathan Sutton: I was arrested in Montreal for streaking when I was 18. The worst part was I had to spend happy hour (10-11 pm in Montreal) in a holding cell while the cops tried to figure out what to do with the fake number I gave them.

Nerve: Did making the movie get you laid? RA: Sadly, making this film really interfered with that sort of thing. No time and constant fatigue are a bad combination for doing anything in bed other than sleeping. Sorry everyone. JS: Actually quite the opposite. I abstained from sex during the whole production, I know it should be the other way around but I thought it would make me work harder and be more focused… Coincidentally we wrapped three days early. My girlfriend was happy. Nerve: OK what are the movies about? RA: [Part of the Game] is about Robert, a drug kingpin of sorts, who finds out that his younger sister (Janice, 16) is hooked on heroin. The film follows them both along destructive paths. JS: God’s Baboons is a story about a young writer’s tightrope walk between invention and madness.

Nerve: How did you finance your films? RA: My film was independently financed by local entrepreneur Darrin Pezer for $15,000 this summer. Although, Darrin is still affiliated with the project, he sold his share of the film to the Rampart Film Company, which is a brand

new local film company who saw the film and wanted Part of the Game to be the first film they would launch for their company… I tried the lovely Telefilm route, however they don’t finance films under $300,000 which is nice to know and although I begged and pleaded with them, they said they’re restructuring their current allocation of funds. Good ol’ Telefilm. Actually Rampart would like to take over Telefilm in the next few years… Truthfully. JS: My film cost $20,000 from start to screening and duplication…I took extra shifts at my day job and continue to do so. Filmmaking is very busy, and all the more so if you’re taking extra hours at other jobs at the same time. I rallied some investors (read “extended family”) in the final hour to finish sound and on-line, but they’re slated to be paid back. Most of the money was my own. When I fasted it wasn’t on purpose.

Nerve: Any problems with equipment or locations? RA: I would absolutely love to burn down the location where we shot the psychiatrist scene. We shot those scenes in the weekend of July 18th and it was the hottest weekend imaginable. We were in an older building without A/C and in this room maybe 900 square feet big. Add 12 people and three giant lights and you can imagine how hot, sticky and claustrophobic that weekend was…not to mention the minor earthquake that transpired that Sunday. We had just wrapped our take when the building started swaying. It was like God is telling me that this film is not for him…

JS: I wouldn’t recommend editing on a DVision system from the early nineties though. Nor would Alan, the editor. He has a new Avid system now and he’s really happy with it. The one drawback of that larger camera was carrying it; I’d be happy never to do that again, but going so far as banishing it to Hell would probably hurt my relationship with Alan somewhat.

Nerve: Any memorable reviews? JS: “Wow…That is one fucking impressive achievement. I really, really enjoyed it.” That was from an author named Pete Norman. And “This is weird,” from a kid sitting next to me at a screening.

As for the actual movies, the finished product of both of them is pretty damn good. I mean, to produce a watchable low budget film is an accomplishment in itself and both of these films, I quite enjoyed. They are not Gates of Heaven, mind you, but they are much, much better than I expected. Part of the Game has a really, really good look to it with pretty good acting and a decent story (albeit a predictable one). God’s Baboons has a great story and some better acting, but is a bit too surreal and confusing at the end though this might be a demonstration of the main character’s mental meltdown. God’s Baboons is screening in Vancouver in January. Check out for times and locations. Part of the Game will screen at the Whistler Film Fest December 2-5 where it is entered in the Best Canadian Film Category. for more info… cuz y’all love being informed. THE NERVE DEC/JAN 2004/2005 PAGE 29

Photograph: Heinz Ruckemann

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I HATE HITLER but Nazi sex is pretty fucking hot


By Sinister Sam

t sometimes baffles the imagination why such a genre as the “SS Camp film” would exist in this world. Especially after vivid atrocities such as the Holocaust of WWII were presented to us in responsible filmmaking ventures and various documentaries. Like all other genre attacks, the SS Camp films were something that spread from the late 60s, were stamped in the early 70s, and then kicked into gear with a prolific nature into the late 70s. The US were the official first to have a handle on the genre with Robert Lee Frost’s LOVE CAMP 7 in 1968, filtering down the roughie triangle to try and achieve some sort of new shock wave (not underwater zombies) that would permeate through the grindhouse theatres of yesteryear. Oddly, the Italians had the next turn with the seminal masterwork THE NIGHT PORTER of 1974. Directed by Liliana Cavani, this movie achieves a new ambience for viewers that conjured themes of punishment, need, and S&M predicaments that supplemented a very serious Nazi death camp storyline. The one and only master of erotica, Tinto Brass, decided to step up the aesthetic and sexual themes once again in SALON KITTY (1976) by driving the females of the SS camps into new avenues. By developing ideologies around camp women picked and trained into being lovers for the soldiers, all the while participating in various experiments, this laid the groundwork for future, trashier exploits in this new Italo-genre. Something must have struck a real chord here amongst the Italian audiences and US audiences alike, as the films then took a turn for the worse as the plots reached new levels of exploitive nastiness. The simplicity that revolved around torture, rape, and sexual situations is something only the golden age of Italian trash film could muster. Back home in North America (and the rumours still fly that it was actually Canada), the Ilsa series was developing for audiences with a taste of the raw with a more straight for-

ward approach to the genre that avoided any REAL political doings or responsibility (which SALON KITTY and THE NIGHT PORTER managed to achieve). The premiere film of the series, ILSA, SHE WOLF OF THE SS (1974 Dir. Don Edmonds) managed to delve into the torture and atrocities prevalent in the world of the Holocaust while Dyanne Thorne and her Breasts take advantage of and bloody the female prisoners of her “camp.” With the groundwork laid out the stage was set for the Italians to take the genre to another level and produce some of the most irresponsible, shocking, and distasteful films of all time. It is one thing to make a gore film that includes zombies, some fantastical cannibal tribe, or a sole masked murderer. It’s another thing to tackle very real themes that affected so many lives. It’s pretty fucking punk if you ask me. These films are collected by many as they include some of the most overthe-top violence of any genre. They force the gore and extreme film fan to succumb to unPC plot lines and give you a good look at how far the box office can push a genre. Another really neat detail is the fact that all the films end with very real tragic circumstances. Most of the time the evil camp workers get their own and the heroes of the film (read naked women) end up dismembering for freedom. The camps are looked upon as evil, but the evil entertainment manifests itself into something very shock-value awe-inspiring (that, again, such a genre could even exist). Here’s a few of the standouts:

SS EXPERIMENT LOVE CAMP (1976 Dir. Sergio Garrone) This was my first official foray into the world of the Nazi women’s camp film some 10 years ago as I humbly picked this title up at a Rogers video. Right off the bat you know you have something new and dangerous as you watch the naked female forms actually dance in the

ovens. Women are strapped to poles and tortured to death for not performing in the orgies. The s e m i n a l revenge theme that dominates this film is the head officer of the camp having a bone to pick since he had his penis bitten off during an earlier soldier style rape attempt. Dark grey and brown filmmaking that has a more aesthetically morbid tone than the rest of the films from the stake.

NAZI LOVE CAMP 7 (1977 Dir. Mario Caiano) This is the latest film that I’ve come across from the last 10 years of steadily acquiring these “gems” of tastelessness. Fresh after being chased through the woods naked from a very horny bear monster’s POV, Sirpa Lane went on to star in this XXX entry in the swastika spangled banner of SS camp films. Following a love triangle plot that most of the films succumb to, one of the officers starts to have real feelings for one of the inmates, Sirpa’s character goes from rape victim to oppressor as she humiliates her officer in his favourite beat down way. WOMEN’S CAMP 119 (1976 Bruno Mattei) OF COURSE Mattei would have a hand in this genre, and his input is nonetheless one of the most gruelling exercises in the landscape of Nazi women’s camp films. It even features some real documentary footage to compliment the already too


real proceedings. The very cute Lorraine DeSelle plays a Jewish doctor that manages to use her medicinal talents to avoid persecution. A very different role than the lesbian encounters with Gemser in EMMANUELLE IN AMERICA and the running from pursuers in MAKE THEM DIE SLOWLY.

SS HELL CAMP (1977 Dir. Ivan Katansky) Well known for being one of the most brutal of the SS exploitation films due to its graphic nature surrounding a sexual monster being developed by a Nazi scientist played by the drop dead gorgeous Macha Magall. This subplot is dropped in the midst of some footage stolen from the 1970 Italian war film WHEN THE BELL RINGS, all the while coupled with the usual violent and bloody torture tendencies. Commonly lumped in with WOMEN’S CAMP 119 for its notorious status, but personally I don’t think it digs its own hole like… GESTAPO’S LAST ORGY (1976 Dir. Cesare Canaveri) This film goes where the others don’t with political manifestos presented beyond the common normality of the tortuous goings-on of the other features. This one really pushes the taste envelope. From discussion via slides of the prisoners loving to eat their own shit to achieve sexual pleasure, to acid and rat torture (etc.), to the pinnacle of depravity – a feast of prisoner flesh after some scientific reasoning is presented to a Nazi banquet on solutions to the social problem of starvation and food rationing.


Thought Control

Originality. Individual thought. Non-conformity. Art. Music. Freedom. It’s true; skateboarding does lead to harder crimes. In this age of talented skateboarders being lied to and told that they must belong to frat-like, identically clad teams of conformists doing the same six tricks, the time is ripe for a little perspective. It’s not about your fucking agent or your stupid cell phone, it’s about being a monkey baring your ass at complacency. Be a man - ride a little piece of wood with wheels on it. That goes double for women. And stop being so goddamn narrow-minded while you’re at it. True to form, the Skull speaks with a distinctive voice in a derivative universe. Foregoing the superfast pace , narrow focus and NOW!NOW!NOW! of the typical skate video, “Resist Control” is a historically deep, incredibly wide ranging and reflectively paced 50 minutes that shows just how big is the little world of skateboarding. It’s like a ‘zine version of “Dogtown and Z-Boys” sans the Hollywood bullshit. Influential and trivial, legends and locals are presented in a format that lets viewer judge wheat from chaff. Name or no-name, talent and realness always comes through. The Coles Notes to real skate culture from Canada’s Tony Alva. Who’s your daddy? When you die you want PD’s life to flash before your eyes. BANG! Shot in the heart, and who’s to blame? Devil’s Toys give Westmount a bad name. FUBAR! “SKATEBOARD!” starring Leif Garrett with Tony (Bluetile) Alva and Jay Adams, who almost choked on his freedom. Vert born in a pool’s womb. Halved pipes become halfpipes. Plexiglass hallucinations at the Turning Point. Tom Sims held to snow by rubber straps and a dream. Gator sells Gullwings by the he-whore. Ron and Nancy surreal with BBoys. Skull Skates in Cali. Lester Kasai decks. Seylynn. Hosoi, Chili Peppers, and Gang Green Skull Skates pro decks. “Thrashin’ “ starring Eddie Reategui’s eyebrows, co-starring the Jaks and Team Pain. Daily Grind ‘zine. Skating’s growing up. Tricky youngsters Colin McKay and Sluggo at Griffin and the Skate Ranch. Barry Walsh ollies stairs and freestyles rhymes. Moses transfers from bowl to bowl, from abrasive to mature. Sluggo mass-produces backflip and rodeo flip variations. Ray rodeo 540’s the China Creek teacup. Tony Alva and Bill Danforth at Parkgate. Danforth with an all-ages eggplant 360. Millennium Park. Trevor BS 360 slides a tight backyard pool. Longboarding from cemetery to parkade. Bricin bombs a holy crap highway. Spanish Banks skim sessions with Norm, PD, Dax, Lisafer, boardslides and shuvits. And somewhere along the way, skateboarding stops being silly and starts being amazing, and we all get a life. The DVD comes with the CD “Music For Resistors” by DJ Kilocee, with mellow grooves plus hip hop and punk old and new, and sonic snippets from Public Enemy to Smash Skates.

RDS COMP RESULTS RDS held its first annual contest Saturday Nov. 20th. Much rad was ripped. T-shirts and decks were won. Blood was spilled. We showed up Sunday and skated when the park was depleted of groms, like the old bastards we are. Shouts out to: 14-18: 1.Kyle Desaulniers 2.Kyle Hounslow 3.Tyrone McGee 4.Vadim Voit 5.Tomy Gudmundson 19 & Over 1 Adam McCausland 2.Ryan McKellar 3.Daryyl Steen 4.Josh Lyons 5.Travis McGee Sponsored 1.Jordan Hoffart (J-Ho) 2.Scott Decenzo 3.Matt Berger 4.Nate Lacoste 5.Steve Denham (Stevie D!!)

ALMOST A VIDEO PREMIERE Check the Vancouver Almost Vid at the RDS Skatepark on Saturday, Nov. 27th. The video is free to watch, but they request that you bring a donation to the food bank, and if you want to skate after, the 7-10pm session is $10.70. Haslam’s part is rumoured to be among the best. RDS is at 14380 - #150 Triangle Road, Richmond, phone 604.271.PARK(7275). Almost includes legends Rodney Mullen and Daewon Song, Ryan Scheckler, Slam winner Greg Lutzka and of course Chris Haslam.

SNOW REPORT Whistler opens Nov. 25th, and local hills Seymour, Grouse and Cypress are aiming for the beginning of December and C.O.P. is already open in C-Town. Check comp dates next ish. email Skate Spot at:


Jarrod Au, Ollie down seven stairs, Calgary Photo: Julia Davis SITE CHECK by Miss Kim

Check out - this skate/snowboarder/filmer from Calgary, and past Whistler loc, Jarrod co-owned and ran the 403 Skatepark, which preceded the Source park as the only indoor in Calgary, and a fine indoor it was (vert ramp, mini with spine, huge snowboardscaled kicker, good street course... ah, the memories.) Jarrod coaches snowboarding in Calgary, and is making the move to VanCity in spring. He runs Samewood Skateboards, films and shoots photos, and makes pretty websites in his spare time:,,, GNARTIST OF THE MONTH: Julia Davis by Miss Kim

Julia Davis is like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, and in Cloud City, that’s a blessing. Always down to skate, Julia is among other things, an ink/canvas/graphix artist, photographer, and president and CEO of Pashu Skateboards, an up and coming skate company to watch out for. Her website is rad, as are all things in Juliaworld. Check it at: Pashu is dedicated to animals and skateboarding. Be sure to peep the SwampBeast video, it’s hilarious. You can hang out with Julia Sundays at 12-3 at the RDS park for the unofficial, unsanctioned and unholy weekly girls skate sesh. Maybe she’ll sign yr board. Buy a t-shirt, you’ll be the coolest kid in class.


Halloween Sunday begins in true Boozehawk fashion with a hangover-free wake-up after my second consecutive shitcranking. How does this happen? I’m sure as fuck not asking any questions because it’s the third straight day of the best holiday of the year and it’s time to get my ass to the Bonsor Halloween contest as a member of the unholy Barrier Kult horde. On arrival, I discover that nobody knows who the hell the Barrier Kult is. After explaining myself three times I decide that I’m a terrorist. Then when I go to sign up, someone’s already entered “Jeff the Assassin”. I’m so misunderstood. Skating? Trevor hits it like a guy on his deathbed… Jim Barnum skates fucking fast… The Hulk throws sparks… Seb’s “costume” rules… criminally insane Dr. Harris is on a tear… In the end, Pragnell takes it, Vato Johnny and Stevie Bubbles split second, and Cody takes third. The Texas Deathmatch, pitting 20 skaters against each other amid a hail of fireballs launched from the judges’ platform above, is the perfect end show. Special bonus points to gracious sportsman Seb for hitting Rocke twice while he’s down, including one fireball up the pantleg. With darkness settling in, fireworks continue to be handled in an irresponsible way. A thousand points of light in, around, and above the Bonsor Pipeline and its denizens. After a heckling from Vato Johnny for jumping away from a tossed cig, thinking it was some type of explosive (“what kind of assassin are you going to be with fear like that?”), it’s time to split and continue the adventure elsewhere. Happy Halloween. “Rise through the Gate to reap the unholy fucking hell pivot” - BAKU Video review by Jeff Chan

Seb, Bonsor Halloween Photo: Jeff Chan

All hail Shub Niggurath. All hail Pazuzu. All hail Iak Sakkath. Summon forth the Ancient Ones from the roiling seas of Nar Mattaru. Feeble mortals, struggle in vain to hide the fear in your heart. Unholy Barrier Kult warriors have arrived to spread hellfire and shred-doggery on the bleak tundra of highway barriers. Come with fire and set ablaze the fucking abrupt transitions with backside 360 methods and frontside blunts. Invoke Barrier Kult Horde video hellfire at Antisocial.

Greg Pughe, Pressure flip Tawassen Photo: Julia Davis


Ollie, Ryan Keller Photo: Julia Davis

Have you ever driven by a waterslide park and thought, “I want to skate that.”? Well, now you can— sort of. In Moosomin, Saskatchewan they have a skatepark that is built from the same materials as a waterslide park. There’s only one difference – waterslides are really fun whereas this park is not. The park itself has two quarter pipes with concrete poured between them, forming a makeshift mini-ramp. This sounds fine and good until you drop in on the five foot high ramp and realize there’s about 4 inches of vert on there. So after you kill yourself on that thing, you can move on to the main attraction—the snake run. Before I rolled into the snake run I noticed a little bit of water trapped at the base of one of the rollers. I thought nothing of it until I hit the first berm. I ended up flat on my ass and my board ended up in a pile of mud. I’ve never really been “chewed up and spit out” by a park before, so I waited for some locals to come and show me the lines. After about 30 minutes of waiting I realized that any local skaters would be in school. I left without seeing anyone shred this park. If you find yourself driving on the Trans-Canada Highway near the Manitoba/Saskatchewan border with hankering to skate, don’t go to this park. I had more fun grinding the curb at the Moosomin gas station, trying to make it spark with the hopes of blowing up this abomination of a park.





Win a pair of TICKETS to SNFU All Ages show Dec. 16th at Mesa Luna in Vancouver

Bring your completed puzzles in person:to The Nerve office weekdays between 12- 5pm or you can mail them to: The Nerve Magazine 508-825 Granville St. Vancouver, BC V6Z-1K9

-by Dan Scum

ACROSS 1. containers for blood or crack 6. oily nuts 11. Jody Foster movie with aliens 13. distorting time 15. star of Alien 17. orchestral maneuvers in the dark 18. member of KISS from outer space 20. ctrl + alt’s buddy 23. Aliens movie with Will Smith (and president Whitmore!) 32. ______ of the lost ark 33. $6,000,000 man ‘s technology 34. bullshit 35. artificial intelligence 36. sig. weav. mv. 37. Mike Muir’s bnd. 38. tic-toe connection 40. cia forerunner 42. ______ ____________ of the 3rd kind 50. female Larry? 51. Alien signature in a crop (2 words) 52. ______ wan, roc (republic of China) 53. sci-fi nerd facial feature 54. Chicken Predecessor??? 55. scrape out a living 56. Mafia boss 57. Mars hue DOWN 1. ______ vod 2. sweater maker 3. dis-integrated

39. artichoke dip cheese 4. bestow upon 41. attack 5. supreme chaos records 42. genetic duplicate 6. crow cry 7. _______ 51(top secret) 43. city with illegal aliens 44. type of perception 8. Aliens 45. unclothed (like how 9. bees’ bungalow they found travis in “fire 10. ship’s heading in the sky” 11. polite abbreviation of “cocksucker” 46. desert dreamland 12. Nashville’s st. 47. union code 13. Cheyenne’s st. 48. royal legion 14. Athens’ cntry. 16. ingrain 19. defunct Russian Last Issue’s Solution: space station 20. domain name M O N S T E R V A M P I R E system E L E C T R A A D O R N E D L A V A M A N S T R I K E S 24. apprehend Y E R T S P G E E K 25. warped R I P E O L D U S D S 26. “v” S M E L L M Y F E E T 27. electronics S M O R E S L Y S H I P P O R A I R T E H A S A research institute A G E S C O D A M L E t 28. long or peeples C O U L R O P H I L E 29. invading entity S H A R L U C I A N O L E N D G C N O W D 30. sliced open in a S I N N E R S U N C L E I T lab S C R E A M S L E S T E R B 31. play a part W E I R D O S T R U A N T S


The Nerve Magazine - December 2004 / January 2005  

The December 2004 / January 2005 Issue of The Nerve Magazine featuring Megadeth, The Kills, The Tups, The Waking Eyes, The Demon's Claws

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