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Contents Death Sentence......by. Mike O.......... p.10 Bang the Machine....by. Adler Floyd....p.7 COLUMNS: Alt F4..................................p. 8 Civixen..................................p. 4 Who Else.................................p.18 Jeff Oliver..................................p. 5 Blue Movies.................................p.18 It’s Rainin’ Men..............................p. 6 Tex and Dex: Tour of Booty (new!) p.18

SECTIONS: Live Wires p. 10 Books and Zines p. 16 Straight 8 p. 14 Off the Record p. 15

WE FUCKED UP!!!

In the last issue, the crossword puzzle was missing two DOWN clues: 34. Gospel scribe and 35. Medieval peasant and one ACROSS clue: 47.Red or black. 26 across should have read: 26.How Mother nature's watchdog's workday was. 49 down should have read: 49.Satanic Bible author LaVey _____ and 51 down should have been 51. America's Stupidest Prime Time Mime

We apologise for any of you who spent days trying to figure that shit out. and we’ve doubled up on the prizes this time so go crazy and win win win! Oh yeah, Dan Scum does the puzzles.

SORRY!!! THE NERVE HIT SQUAD! King Pin (a/k/a Editor-In-Chief) Bradley C. “The Shank” Damsgaard The Getaway Driver (a/k/a Production Manager) Pierre “Blowout” Lortie The Enforcer (a/k/a Contributing Editor) Heather “Machine Gun” Watson Map and Details (a/k/a Art Director) Saturnin Father Gary (a/k/a Visual Arts Editor) Jason “Everywhere” Ainsworth Shotgun (a/k/a Film Editor) Elizabeth “Legs” Nolan The Henchmen (a/k/a Design & Graphics) Pierre Lortie, Saturnin Wise Guy (a/k/a Illustrator) Mike “The Hammer” O. The Muscle (a/k/a Staff Writers) Atomick Pete, A.D. MADGRAS, Mike O, Jeff “Big Ones” Oliver, Elizabeth Nolan, addict, Casey “The Cougar” Bourque, Sinister “Slappy” Sam, Jason “Everywhere” Ainsworth, Leather “Machine Gun” Twatson, Adler “Pretty Boy” Floyd, Aaronoid, Dmidtrui “Buggsy” Otis, Jason “TexAss” Wertman Friends of the Family (a/k/a Contributing Writers) Terrible, Dave “The Plow” Crusty, Dan “Lucky” Scum, Rusty “Coathanger” Haight, Rachel “Some” Guy, Melanie “Lefty“ Covey, Paul “The Bull” Crowley, Billy “Smokey” Hayley, Bjorn “El Perversio” Olson, T.Dawg McWhirter, frickinjordan The Cleaner (a/k/a Cover Design and Photo) Saturnin Nerve Agent # 9 (a/k/a Advertising) The Nerve is published bi-monthly by The Nerve Magazine Ltd. Circulation: 10 000 in Vancouver and via subscriptions. The opinions expressed by the writers and artists do not necessarily reflect those of The Nerve Magazine or its editors. First publishing rights only are property of the Nerve Magazine. 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.Copyright 2002

The Nerve Magazine Ltd. Box 88042, China Town PO, Vancouver BC, V6A 4A4

www.thenerveonline.com

editor@thenerveonline.com advertise@thenerveonline.com Editor: 604-734-1611 Production: 604-899-2406 Fax: 604-632-9654

Memo from the Boss:

Shootin’ from the hip and kickin’ below the belt, we’ve beaten another issue out of the hired help. Cigarettes, whiskey, soap in a sock, a bucket of water and a car battery are all an editor really needs these days. And some last words, of course. Update from Nerveland: The Sex issue is NOT next issue. It is the one after that. June or July, so stop fuckin’ bugging me. And look for Funarchy Productions events in the near future... especially one in November... kids, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

A correction in the form of a letter!

Hey there! First, I want to thank you for the great review of my documentary about Wesley Willis. I use it in all my press kits. Aside from that I just wanted to let you know that my name is Daniel Bitton with two t's not BiLton with an l. Thanks!

UNCENSORED please, enjoy.

WHOLE LOTTA ZERO IV You don’t need drugs to blow it real bad. Cowboy Zero

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Hockey, Hooligans and Hoochies: Let the Funarchy Roar

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am a hockey chick, loud and proud. I’m not quite up there with your body-painting, bikini-wearing, puckhead-sporting babes who churn the butter with the best of your foam finger Freddies, but I do enjoy a good hockey game. No Fun City has a solid reputation for busting the balls of hockey hooligans that, if memory serves me correctly, was the genesis of all this heavy-handed policing at public gatherings in the first place. And now they’re at it again. Fuck those fuckers. Hockey is better than any of them and they know it, so maybe they should just go off and play some hockey instead of trying to hose down the embers of fun before they even have a chance to ignite. (So there.) One Hallowe’en I spent in New York with my friend Lynne a couple of years ago (B.T.T. - Before The Tragedies – it was the same visit we got tickets to see the Leafs play the Rangers at Madison Square Gardens… you better fucking believe we hooched up for that) she and I got ready at her house to go out for the parade in Greenwich Village where she lives, and we’d finally managed to score some weed (ah, Vancouver — your bounties, your convenience). By the time we went out the parade was over, but the streets were still thronged with thousands of people from side to side in every direction. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in a bigger crowd, and it was pretty trippy, I don’t mind telling you. But people had dressed up, their dogs were dressed up, and then, there were the drag queens – drag queens tend to make everyone feel safe – these ones

no fun city

were incredible avant-garde showgirl geishas whose complicated costumes meant they couldn’t run, you fucking bastard copper bastard… just look at the HEELS! You never see Vancouver’s Finest dumping out thermoses of Mai Tais at the Pride parade. What have they got against the heterosexual hockey-loving funseeker (or the homosexual one, for that matter) who wants to gather on the streets? Once again, following the absolutely fucking superlative Olympic wins for Team Canada, the robotic bleat from the sheep at Team Baanada (i.e. the downtown gendarmerie) continued to be “Don’t… come! Must… crush… fun! Liquor… is… Satan! Take it… from the Evil Ones… and… crush… them!” Hockey fans, hooligans and hoochie chicks. These are the evil ones they think they need to protect people from. Let’s see… crushing fun versus crushing crime… can you say “allocation of resources”? I don’t

want to overstate the obvious, but we got some real shit going on here with these “Piggy’s Palace Murders” (as I imagine they might end up being called) and that is a truly nasty business that certainly deserves the most assiduous forensic examination possible. Give ‘er shit, Mr. Po-lice Man… we at The Nerve are behind you 100% on that one. But, come on… let’s be realistic about hockey fans. If let run totally amuck, the worst the guys are likely to do is a bit of property crime, maybe bust some windows and take some Roots shit (hell, Americans own that company anyway) and maybe some hoochie chicks might be coerced into flashing their tits like at Mardi Gras. Hockey chicks are brassy like that (as brassy as you can be when your teams win GOLD! Hah!) and so what?

We don’t have anything like Mardi Gras, we should, and let’s face it, there are a lot of hot hockey chicks out there… on the CBC after the women’s game, I think it was Hayley Wickenheiser’s sister who was in her bikini top (beside their brother, shirtless and painted as well) and she was all stoked about having met Don Cherry. Dude! What a peak experience that would be in the life of a hockey chick… you go, sister! The hockey chick is perhaps an archetype for which the world is not yet prepared. The international perception of Canada as a supreme hockey powerhouse (which, oh, look, it IS! Tee hee!) seems to still be about us being a nation of hockey loving guys, although, from my own research (watching every once in a while and then a lot more when the big games are on) broadcasters do seem to give the hot ladies lots of screen time, which does sort of nicely validate the ridiculous notion of getting hooched up to go see a hockey game in the first place, does it not? You see how it all comes together. (That and the idea of scoring after the game, wink wink, nudge nudge! Do you like sport?) Funarchy is a tricky proposition and people don’t need wet, musty old blankets just as spring is in the air. Heritage Minister Sheila “the Bulldog” Copps has declared that April 15 is the Federally Mandated Hockey Bacchanal, where we must fest and toast the game loved by men and (hot) women all over this country. Go out and get yourself a piece. And if I were you boys, I’d bring a few strings of sparkly beads. PS: Hockey-loving drag queens are always welcome. civixen@thenerveonline.com

Why?

we hate Japanese we love Japanese girls boys Eyelid Surgery The Louis Vuitton obsession They steal our boyfriends

Superior vinyl collections Their avant-garde asymmetrical hair surf, skate and snowboard better than we do

Weezer

Guitar Wolf, a punk band that, among other things, made a movie about zombies who ride motorcycles around suburban Kobe

They don’t sweat

Osamu Dazai, the 1940’s writer who makes Hunter Thompson look like a coherent Mormon

High heels and polite clapping at Slayer concerts “Loman Horiday and Audrey Hepburn still agree to arranged marriages Responsible for padded bras

Creators of Burst Magazine They study flower arranging in the Self Defense forces will never choose yoga over drinking excellent at oral sex Rachel Guy

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Excerpt from the short story:

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emember reading ‘Of Mice and Men’ by John Steinbeck back in junior high? Remember Lenny, the big oafish migrant worker that tries to pet a baby rabbit, but is so massive and clumsy that he kills it with his bare hands? Remember that? Well, if you were any bigger than average back in junior high and your class happened to be reading ‘Of Mice and Men,’ then you probably had the misfortune of being called ‘Lenny’ many times. Lenny means big, dumb and dangerously oafish. Like me? Maybe. I was a towering six-foot-four by my Bar Mitzvah. When the rabbi blessed me, he looked out to the congregation and said, “What am I, standing in a hole?” But height isn’t it – I’m helplessly clumsy. A lanky jangle of limbs that I can’t always account for. No table is safe, no drink unspillable, no chair that I can’t break with a misplaced ass, or plate I won’t shatter with a

The Lenny Syndrome

wunny) every time I climbed into bed. So I never bit Darlene’s ass. In fact, I never did lots of things that I would have liked to do, fearing that I might klutz out. The result was that I never got truly uninhibited — the sex was always good, but never great. It was my fault, of course…. After the first time we had sex, we went out to get drinks. Darlene fed quarters into the pool table while I went up to the bar. As I ordered, some guy approached her. He was short and well-distributed, dancer-like, with deep set eyes, floppy hair and a dimpled chin. He wore a waffle shirt and faded blue jeans that fit snugly. I watched this non-Lenny work on Darlene, and burned with jealousy as the bartender took a full year to get my drinks. When I got back to the table the guy was gone, but I was nervous. “Who was that?” I asked, laying down the drinks. “Oh, just some guy,” she said. “He commented

I wondered if Darlene was in on it; if she’d already hooked up a dalliance for later, and everyone was just going through the motions until the chump left. I was so insane, in fact, that when Darlene bent over the table to shoot a tough bank-shot, I figured that she was showing the guy her ass. “You know, you could use the extension,” I suggested. “It wouldn’t hurt.” “Naw – I got it,” she said, seizing up the eight ball and positioning her ass even higher. “I’ll get around.” “I bet you will,” I said, bitterly. “Hun?” “Nothing…” When we left, I barely said a word. I walked her home, kissed her goodnight, and strode towards my apartment. But then, like a fiend, I turned around and walked into a coffee shop across the road from Darlene’s apartment. I sat there until dawn, just to see if she’d sneak out to see him (insane!) and I ate my last cruller to

it’s basic etiquette for a woman to swoon over the size of a man’s package, unless he’s swimming in his own pubic hair. wayward elbow. Once, at camp, I toppled a row of bunk-beds like dominoes with a misstep of my massive size-thirteen foot. Another time I started a small fire at a five-star restaurant that set off the sprinklers. There is little I can do; I am caught in the Lenny Syndrome Catch-22: the more careful I try to be, the more prone to disaster I am. And I am prone; the King of Klutzes, The Emperor of Ineptitude - Elliot Farb, his royal Lennydom! But my reign did not end with adolescence. Nor has it secluded itself to expensive restaurants and social gatherings. No, The Lenny Syndrome has followed me throughout the years, and to some of the most unfortunate places you can possibly imagine… Need a hint?: Bed frames are made to be broken CONTESTANT #1: I’ll wager a bet, Alex. Three hundred. ALEX TREBEK: Okay, Contestant #1 - give it a go! CONTESTANT #1: What is: “I’m a Lenny in the sack”? ALEX TREBEK: You win the Daily Double!!!! ——CUT TO COMMERCIAL—Comprende? Indeed. Just think of all the booby traps set up in a sexual situation: there are pants to trip over, limbs to twist, wine glasses to tip, candles to topple, condoms to spill… Not to mention the act itself, which is filled with head-butting, butt-heading, nose-breaking-and-non-ceremonial-genital mutilation potential. My proclivity for short women hasn’t helped, of course. Luckily, I also prefer them muscular. Durable types with big asses and thighs. I like a woman that can take an accidental elbow if need be… a woman with padding. Darlene was such a woman – short but thick — with meaty thighs, a muscle-y ass and shoulders. A woman’s woman - my bubble… And I worshipped her. A friend once told me that if you really love someone you’ll want to bite their ass. Well, I wanted to bite Darlene’s ass many, many times. But there was a problem: I was a Lenny, and that could get dangerous. In fact, lots could get dangerous, and I feared hurting Darlene (my own little bunny

on how happy I look.” “Oh, yeah? What’d you tell him?” “I told him that I am happy. That you make me very happy.” Then she looked at me, her eyes sparkling. I think she was really in love with me at that moment. I think that Darlene was really in love with me in general. But I couldn’t see it. Too blinded was I by the green monster of jealous rage. So when I kissed her, I peeked over her shoulder and watched the guy. He was sitting at the end of the bar, laughing with the bartender. The conspiracy was evident to me: the bartender had purposely taken longer to get my drinks so that his buddy could move in on my girlfriend.

a rising orange sun. Needless to say, I acted like nothing peculiar had happened when I saw Darlene the next day. But she must have known. I got more and more jealous every time we hung out, and it ruined all our fun. For one thing, the sex suffered. I was desperately gentle in bed, over-compensatingly gentle. I worried that if I klutzed-out Darlene would crave some non-Lenny (like the guy at the bar) to get the job done. The result was at least vaguely homo-erotic: every time we made love, I thought of other men. Meanwhile, Darlene did everything she could to assure me; she never looked at other guys, never mentioned ex-boyfriends (of which there

were only two) — but, even that bothered me: Darlene’s lack of sexual experience actually made me jealous! It pointed to a need to sow wild sexual oats (with someone else, naturally), and I imagined all sorts of hot infidelitous action going on behind my back. But there was something even crazier: Darlene never once complimented the size of my penis. Now relax — I’m very average, maybe even a little under par — but in my experience, it’s basic etiquette for a woman to swoon over the size of a man’s package, unless he’s swimming in his own pubic hair. Darlene never did this, and my imagination soared; I was certain that Abdullah Akbar and Vito (the names I’d assigned her two past lovers) were hung like piano legs, and I lived in constant fear of their unnatural girth and expertise in tantric-multi-orgasmic sex! And worse, because Darlene was coy in the bedroom (another lack-of-experience thing), I felt that she was never horny for me. The fact that she never showed up in stilettos, a garter belt and no undies, never grabbed my dick and led me to the bedroom like some super-whore whispering how badly she wanted to rub my cum onto her tits was somehow a personal affront. I was deeply hurt! Offended that she never acted like Darlene the Porno Queen! But I couldn’t tell her that. Or didn’t want to, until one night when it all came pouring out: I should probably mention here that I’m no good at smoking pot. I faint, or else I get horribly insecure. But Darlene had never smoked pot before, so when my friend left me a joint as thanks for letting him crash in my pad, I set everything up in the bedroom. The idea was to smoke the joint and then have wild, psychedelic, other-worldly sex. So we got naked and lit up. Darlene took a hit and coughed, but immediately began to giggle. Then I took my hit. Puffed it in slow and easy, and then, at the very moment I exhaled, I turned to Darlene and said (I shit you not): “YOU DON’T FIND ME ATTRACTIVE! WAAAAAA!!!” arms folded, face knotted, feeling fat and impotent and puny… “YOU THINK I’M A LENNNNYYYY!!!!”

Joe Sleaze did this.

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It’s Raining Men!

by Jason Ainsworth

“Dr.” Jason Edward Ainsworth Amateur Physician “Quality is my Motto. Quality is my God-Damn Motto.”

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o last week, I’m walking uptown and I pass this business establishment owned by some weed and it said, “ Dr. So-and-So, Art Therapist.” So I said, What a crock of horse filth. I mean, Jesus Christ, this is what they learn people going to them fancy schools like Simon Fraser (who was a Jesuit)? You know what came to mind when I saw this? Bastard. Just think what goes on inside that grotty horrible building. A den of Inequity. For God’s sake, if you can’t tell a few symptoms of mental instability to fuck off without “art therapy”, what sort of man are you? I was angry with rage. But then I got to thinking – why bottle up that rage? Maybe art is actually worth something to the world at large, has value, like a banana or a stone. Maybe this art therapy thing is an integral part of everything… I don’t know, like a big chess set in the sky. I don’t know. Maybe it could help the homeless.

JIM: As a boy, I always wanted to go to sea, but my poor vision kept me out of the Navy, and after a while I got a job and forgot about it. I remember it now, though, and I sure am filled with a longing for sea salt in my hair! Thank you, Doctor, for I am cured of my bad habits, which were many!

It was time to find out. As a licensed amateur physician (call 872-0752 for an appointment, “V D is my specialiDy.”), I decided to art therapize myself.

That’s just what the doctor ordered! Just what the Fucken doctor ordered..

Dig it. I thought about sad things. The sky was as dark blue as a black sad thing, and it was raining sadness which was also dark blue, it was as blue as it was. And over there were some pencils — pencils too short to use anymore. People just tossed them away. They were all alone, hopeless and unwanted, as unwanted as a blue cloud. I realized nobody liked me either, because of my abhorrent personality. Were there tears? Sad tears, wet tears… just tears really, tears as blue as a cloud at night. So I drew this picture of a burning orphanage. It worked. Just like that I became a perfect specimen of humanity, the “uber-man” of which Hitler spoke. So, like Christ I decided to bring salve to the lepers. I found some other guys and art therapized them so

I threw him against the wall, hard. He knew who was the dominant male here (me again) “You god-damn god cursed foul fucken human so-fucken called worthless pissed on human fucken being you take that pen out of your back-pussy and you fucken draw me a picture about why you’re such a worthless junkie asshole son-of-a-bitch. Now! NOW!” “What in God’s name do you call this mess, “Barry”?”

good. “JIM”, age 35, dresses like a girl, owns two cats. I threw him against the wall, hard. He knew who was the dominant male here (me). “Tell me about, for fuck’s sake, you son of a bitch, tell me about your problems with a drawing. I don’t want to have to shove my pen up your fucken urethra, but I’ll do it if that’s what it will take to make you whole, you son-ofa-bitch!” It was like magic. “Fucken explain yourself, ok.”

“BARRY”, age 29, former drug abuser currently working as a “waiter”, surviving on “tips”. Tips of men’s grotty cocks, more likely!

BARRY: For a long time, starting as a boy, I hid in alcohol, and Marijuaner. This led into harder drugs, and I lost six years of my life to Heroin’s delirium. I’ve

How I Became a Jaded

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nyone can be angry, and it takes someone special to be a true jackass. What’s really hard to do is smoke weed and STAY mad. I always say things get bad before they get better. It’s the cry of the terminally doomed. What usually happens, if no one does anything, is that they get a whole lot worse.

It’s easy to feel futile now, with the Gestapo-like tactics of the Liberal dictatorship slowly starving the poor. It’s an assault. But hey, I’m not one to talk. If I weren’t such a stoner, I’d stop looking at the mountains and smash some glass instead. Here’s a little guide to the world, and it’s all true. I like to call it ‘the Good, the Bad, and the Deranged.’ And if you don’t agree… who gives a shit, anyway? 1) The War on Terror: BAD Yeah, who are the terrorists now? The only thing I learned from watching this illegal war funded by a death-loving superpower with international control is this one fact: Afghans are HOT (not those hideous talibones with their hide-like beards which are soooo 1983.) To do my part for humanitarian aid, I’d like to adopt children who’ve been orphaned by the fighting that has gone on in their country for so long. A couple of 18 yr. old boys should do nicely. 2) Vancouver Rain: BAD Crammed on a stinkie bus, choking back fluid, trying to escape the Panama flu when no one will open a window makes you regret every sunny day you were too cracked-out to go in the sun. Every motherfucking umbrella could be the one that’s going to rip out your eyes. It’s coming up springtime in the city!

been sober for a while, and it was hard, but I never knew why I put the needle in my arm. But thanks to you, doctor, and thanks to art therapy, now I know. It was because of my mother. Bitch! Thank god for you, Doctor. Thank God!”

3) Babette La Fave: GOOD The lost art of burlesque. Vancouver might be known for it’s beautiful strippers, but these girls put on a real show. Check out the Burlesque show at the Russian Hall every second Wednesday. Leiderhosen, sequins, German cabaret, fire-eating, stand-up comedy, naughty marionettes, leather, feathers, you name it. It’s called your imagination, and if you use it right you can think of dirtier things than you could ever actually see. That’s burlesque. That’s class. And Babette is just about the sweetest girl you could ever meet.

Take it from me, readers. Get the check, get to the bank — you can have the money in less than an hour and be in the bar by lunchtime. In the final analysis, we can truly say that art therapy works.

4) Poverty: BAD The feeling of being so broke you’d suck dick for a pack of cigarettes. You have no idea what I’m talking about? Move on to #5. 5) Gordon Campbell: BAD (to infinity) Amount of welfare check for a single BC resident in 1995: $525/month Amount of welfare check for a single BC resident in 2002: $395/month Average rent for a bachelor apartment on the east side of Vancouver: $500/month Poverty line for a single person in Vancouver: $18, 371 Income of a disabled person receiving medical welfare: $9, 942 6) Winona Ryder: MILDLY DERANGED The phlegm-plagued actress gets busted shop lifting in Saks Fifth Avenue, cutting the tags off almost $5,000 worth of merchandise and shoving it in her bag, which contains (unprescribed) pharmaceutical drugs. This amuses

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FUCK

me on so many levels I can’t explain it. Saks says Winona is welcome to come back and shop, as long as she “remembers” to pay.

The Internet: GOOD I was afraid of the big white computer belly and the accompanying white chicken legs of hardcore computer geeks, but they made me see that for the first time the popularity of something did not mean its downfall. People are sharing passwords, cartoons, porn, codes, movies, news, ideas, and especially music. On one hand, there are people sending you pictures of men with giant frozen fish up their asses, and then there is all the great music you can download: Fabulous Disaster, the Distillers, Texas Terry and the Stiff Ones, Naked Raygun, The Accident, Killer Barbies. So many bands, so little clue. 8) Premier Ralph Klein: BAD Who? The rootin’ tootin’ redneck premier of Alberta for the past ten years. In December the legendary hammerhead makes a 1:00 a.m. stop at an Edmonton homeless shelter, completely off his tits, and begins throwing money on the ground. Klein shouts and swears at the destitute men, wanting to know why they don’t have jobs. The next day Klein apologizes and admits to a slight drinking problem (of thirty years’ standing). His popularity soars. 9) Lupus: DERANGED If you get the chance, do not miss this band. I saw their impromptu set at the Cobalt Feb. 9 with the Chafed, (another truly under-appreciated band.) There’s something about getting more than you expected that makes it better than you ever thought. When Lupus came on and the bass player took off his clothes for a nudie set, I was glad I hadn’t gone home. Their sick punk songs about fucking underage girls, crack whores, and lost love with an occasional country twang make me want to dance, slug someone in the nuts, and cry in my beer, all at the same time. They really do. 11) The Nerve Porn Issue: UNDECLARED Since this is the sex issue (T. Dawg is shootin’ premature here, the SEX ISSUE isn’t till July. Ed.) and I had to write something, here’s a sure-fire way to get someone to like you: go to a bar and pick them up (do this by walking over and saying hello. Keep standing there.) Take them home and have sex. As soon as they leave, call their place every fifteen minutes and say, “Where are you? I miss you!” Boys especially like this. 12) My Neighborhood: GOOD, BAD AND UGLY I live on the east side near a mall that has a dollar store, a liquor store, and a library. On the third Wednesday of every month, you see the relief on people’s faces who have waited a week to buy real food. Near the mall, there’s a school with a playground and a park. You’re pretty much safe in the park at night, but there are times when you won’t be. In the morning, you can hear kids yelling before school. Sometimes they find a needle. “Don’t touch it!” they scream and run, and that always makes me smile. Sources: 5) Canadian Council on Social Development (the poverty line figure is for 2000 — so it’s that much worse) 6) CNN.com 7) Canadian Press, Dec. 18/01 T. Dawg McWhirter


emember the old days, when freezing Street Fighter 2 with Guile was considered upper echelon? How about all the times you skipped school so you could hang out at the local 7-11 and play SF 2 Turbo against your friends? Well, finally Street Fighter is getting the attention it rightfully deserves in the new subculture documentary Bang the Machine, which follows a group of American players who train to take on the Japanese national SF team in a dramatic tournament finale in Tokyo.

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PUT YOUR QUARTER UP, DUDE! The Nerve recently had a chance to talk with executive producer Peter Kang and director/producer Tamara Katepoo about the film, currently being shown at the SXSW Film Festival in Austin, Texas. ADLER FLOYD: Which would you pick…Ken or Ryu? PETER: Hrmm...Ken is flashy, Ryu is humble...Ryu is usually the stronger one. I choose Ryu. A: There is that rivalry between those two characters. P: Yeah...plus I think they secretly like each other (laughs).

A: The Valle CC? P: In SF Alpha 2, there is a technique where when you activate a Custom Combo, if your opponent is standing, he cannot block a low hit for a split second, the technique is somewhat game breaking, but players have found ways around it. John managed to adapt to this technique in the tournament against Alex…amazing. A: As a first- time producer, what were some of the obstacles you had

to overcome? P: Funding was one...finding the proper team was another, then the icing on the cake was when Osama Bin Laden nuked our offices and we lost all of our master DV and sound files. A: I take it you had backups? P: No backups, the only master material we still have is our film negative...the film was salvaged from spare digital to VHS dubs...thank God for ANALOG! Oh, Tam is here...talk to her. A: Do you want to get a room and do three-way? P: Kinky, eh? A: How did you get involved with this project?

Funding was one...finding the proper team was another, then the icing on the cake was when Osama Bin Laden nuked our offices and we lost all of our master DV and sound files.

A: Heh...possibly. I remember when I used to play... we would always say that Ken fucked Chun Li and that’s why Ryu is so pissed off. Good times. P: Yeah, that was common mythology, very good times indeed. A: So where did you get the idea for this documentary?

P: I met my biz partner playing SF, and we have always wanted to show the rest of the world what we found so fascinating about arcade culture. We always knew the characters we had read about for so long would be very interesting. To look at...the community and the stories within were a complete surprise though. There is so much history that we didn’t know where to begin, there are the great rivalries of the older generation […] the N.Cali vs. S.Cali wars, the

whole Tomo Ohira vs. Thomas Osaki legends. Now it’s a west/east coast thing, as well as a USA vs Japan thing. How Alex and John Choi battled for the first time ever at B3...Battle By the Bay, that one tournament changed the face of the scene forever. Alex Valle beat John Choi in a dramatic battle to the end. Alex came with a never-before-seen technique now coined “Valle CC”.

TAMARA: Peter and I have a mutual friend. He had seen some of the documentary work I had done before and we got together. I wasn’t really a gamer but was interested in finding out about the culture. A: What was the most intriguing discovery for you? T: Well,...the importance that the game [has] in these kids’ lives. The friendships they form from hanging out at the arcade, how they communicate with each other, form their own language. Not to mention the aggression. A: What came first for these kids? Street Fighter or friendship? T: Well they had to have a general interest in the game in the first place, but there’s something else that differentiates a casual player from a hardcore player. We try to explore that in the film. A: How did you assemble the cast? T: Peter got in contact with John Choi, one of the top northern Cali SF players and he really helped introduce us to a lot of the weird and wonderful people in the SF world. We wanted to get a sense that this really is happening all over. A: Any bad blood between east vs west? Does it go beyond Street Fighter? T: You seem to have seen the movie already! A: I wish. T: It is a rivalry for sure, It gets pretty emotional.

A: Tell me more about the film, format, budget...etc. T: We shot in various mediums; super 16mm for the most part, digital video, and some super 8. We had a budget of about 600 grand. It was costly to travel to Japan and get a crew there. We shot all over the US though, mainly in California; Vegas and LA. A: How was Japan? Did you have any major problems there? T: Communication was a problem. And they just do things differently there. So that was a bit frustrating for me. But otherwise, the stuff came back looking great. They are very professional. It was so exciting to film the guys in this new environment. I don’t know if Peter told you about our whole World Trade disaster? A: He mentioned that you lost all the DV tapes. T: And a lot of our original sound. It’s been a nightmare since Sept.11th trying to piece the film back together. We were stuck with things we had used in the rough cut and not intending to use in the final piece. We had zero material to work with. But we do have some great music in the film, that we never would have been able to afford because it was already in the sound mix. The record companies have been very cooperative. A: What bands provided the music? T: Money Mark, Fatboy Slim, Ian Dury, and our fabulous composer Ian Gittler. A: There is a fellow named Ian Gittler who’s an adult photographer… he doesn’t compose music, does he? T: Ian Gittler is actually my uncle. And yeah, he wrote and photographed the book Porn Star. A: Really? T: He’s a jack of all trades. A: That’s fucking crazy. I’d have to say that he is a very talented man, and a great photographer. T: I think so. The music is really good.

A: Can we talk about pr0n more? T: That’s my next movie:) A: A pr0n doc? T: Yeah a pron doc. I don’t think I could hang out with Debi Diamond or John Stagliano too long. A: Heh. Back to BTM — what was the best part of the shoot for you? T: The showdown in Japan was very exciting. But I really liked doing the individual interviews with the guys, that’s where I felt I really got to understand why they loved SF so much, who they were as people. A: What do you want people to get out of this documentary when they see it? And do they need to be Street Fighter fans in order to enjoy this culture trip? T: No they don’t need to be SF fans in any way. I want people to see that this is a portrait of young men; the relationships they form and how they communicate with one another.… I hope people don’t come in with the expectation of “ hey let’s watch a film about how crazy, weird and nerdy these people are”. Because that’s not what the film is about in any way…. It’s just that the backdrop for this happens to be in the world of gaming. I think that the events that unfold in the film are universal and not specific to a subculture. A: Teen angst, anyone? T: Yes! Exactly. SF is not just a video game… it’s a state of mind (it’s also the motherfucking way!) Even though kids are becoming hermits and arcades are becoming more scarce due to the increase in home gaming consoles, the true gamers are still around to dish out the 20+ hit combos. We are a dying breed. The Man can take away the seedy, smelly arcades that we call homes, but we will always live for the fight! So for now, forget about 94’s Van Dammage, and concentrate on this look inside the American shoryuken legends in the making.

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HELLCAT PUNK ROCK PUZZLE PAGE! Solve this and win 3 cd’s and a Nerve T-Shirt!!!

Starwars Starfighter Developer: Lucasarts Publisher: Lucasarts Platform: PC Rating: Teen Web: Lucasarts.com

A

m I the only one who doesn’t give a shit about the episode 2 trailer which, in order to view, you must be a registered member on starwars.com? I mean why should I waste my time entering in bullshit info just so I could see some crap ass teaser? I can hold my excitement… I’m NORMAL like that. Anyway, Star Wars; Starfighter is a new shitty flight sim from the boys at Lucasarts. What were they thinking? Is this becoming a trend for Lucasarts, cuz recently they have been releasing generic Star Wars games that are not as kewl as the classics (Dark forces/Rouge squadron). Beyond the graphics being awesome, this game has nothing else to offer. Sound is mediocre and the controls are sluggish at times. The campaigns are pretty much the same old

The first person to send in BOTH completed puzzles wins a copy of Nekromantic Return of the Living Dead, Give ‘em the Boot #3 and The Distillers Sing Sing Death House (courtesy of Hellcat Records) ANDa Nerve T-Shirt. Send to The Nerve Mag: 88042 Chinatown PO, Vancouver, BC V6A 4A4

IRONMAIDEN CROSSWORD! by Dan Scum

ACROSS 1. MAIDEN Live album pt.3 6. AT&T Competitor 9. Discontinue 13. Place you might hear MAIDEN 14. Phrygian or Dorian, e.g. 16. Pot Plant Trophies 17. Debut LP Title 19. Native Colorado Indians 20. Lightman, Soundman, etc. 21. Italian Wine Region 23. Life imitates it 24. Place you might hear MAIDEN 28. Bide’s Service 30. A sash that’s MAIDEN JAPAN 31. Compass Dir. 32. Curtain 33. ______ Bear Shit in the Woods? 35. French lakes 37. Musical Keys of Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, Revelations and 2 Minutes to Midnight 39. Possible Eddy Feature 40. Sick 41. What she does to Shells 42. Musical Keys of Where Eagles Dare, Killers and Sun and Steel 44. Mistake Indicator 45. Hydro Bill Word 46. Rowed 48. Ludwig ___ Beethoven 50. Addict’s support group’s Support Group? 51. MIDEN Live Album pt.2 52. Person in the first song on The Number of the Beast 54. Male Pronoun 55. MAIDEN Live Album pt.1

58. MacDonalds’s Farm Ender 59. Roberts or The Red 61. 5th MAIDEN Album 66. Mike or Janet 67. Put Away 68. Logical Razor Owner 69. MAIDEN Mascot 70. Scrape by 71. Comparison DOWN 1. Texas Crossover Band 2. Eustatean Tube Location 3. Fuss 4.Hues 5. Canucks,e.g. 6. Last Year 7. Song Ender 8. 03/15 9. Disco or Hamm 10. MAIDEN Song Inspired by Dune 11. Phantom’s Home 12. Attention Getter 15. Come In 18. _____ High 22. ____ Pig’s Eye 24. Focal point 25. House 26. 4th MAIDEN Album 27. Depended on 29. Bruce’s foils 32. 666 34. Home Video Bob 36. Civic Politician 38. Pond Scum

Word Search! by Cowboy Zero and Cowboy Bob

shit. There is the tiresome escort rally, destroy all enemy fighters and save Naboo objectives. You know what? Fuck Naboo, and this shit. Why don’t you release a game that’s fun to fucking play like the old style Episode I racer or even Grim Fandago, which has nothing to do with the Star Crap universe. Lucasarts has done some great things with their Star Wars franchise, but unfortunately this game is not one of them. My favourite part of the game was when it said –do you want to completely uninstall this program? If you need your SW fix go check out SW: Galactic Battlegrounds, it’s very kewl. Eye Candy: 4.5 Tunes: 2 Gameplay: 3 Chill Factor: 2 Verdict: Unless you’re a fucking hardcore Star Wars geek, don’t bother.

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cocksmoker cocksucker cocked and loaded cockamamie cock-a-doodle-doo caulking half-cocked cocky cockmaster shuttlecock caucus cockalorum cochineal cochlea cock and bull cockatoo cockchafer cockerspaniel cockeyed cockfight cockloft cockney cockpit cockroach cocktail

cockring joe cocker courtney cox cockboat cock cocktease cockup john hancock cocksure cockspur cockle cockaleekie coccus coxswain coxcomb cockahoop cockcrow

41. Truckers’ Glare Reducer 42. Char 44. Tears Again 47. Kin 49. Oner 51. Broadcast 53. Internet Server 54. Cow Pack 56. Elect 57. Endor’s Inhabitants 60. Bashful 62. Lamb’s Mom 63. Pretend 64. Guitarist Sreve 65. Fugazi’s Genre

Last Issue’s answers (Jan/Feb)


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Slaughter and The Dogs The Beltones The Riffs Graceland, Seattle January 30,2002

The Beltones Pic by

T

he scheduled show time for this all ages event was 5:30 pm, with the doors opening at 5 — a somewhat unusual time for a show during the week to start. This was the kickoff gig for a month-long tour showcasing these acts all on TKO Records. There was no way that any of the handful of kids lined up were even born when Manchester based Slaughter and The Dogs were formed, let alone during their final days of existence. I hadn’t caught on to them until recently myself. A good hour later, after both areas of the club had opened, the Riffs from Portland took the stage. Singing for this five piece was Tony Megnis who previously fronted such Portland anarcho-Punk acts as The Deprived, Resist and Defiance. With Tony’s new rock ‘n’ roll attire, I wasn’t expecting anything similar to the aforementioned. The Riffs played a style of watered down Punk ‘n’ Roll, with influences of Johnny Thunder and the Dead Boys coming to mind. The music was mid-paced with very little in the way structure given to the long and monotonous songs they played. Attendance was poor, and the crowd didn’t seem all that enthusiastic – neither did the band. Perhaps some more alcohol consumption by both parties at a later event would’ve made things more interesting. I was informed that this act is usually better; however, I was left with no burning desire to see them again anytime soon. Up next were The Beltones, who had just come off of a lengthy drive from their home in Florida. They opened with “Better Then a Kick in the Head” from their brand new full-length, “Cheap Trinkets”. Not having been all that moved by their latest, I was pleased to hear some numbers from their debut, which came out a few years back. Sound-wise, this quartet’s brand of sped-up rockin’ Stiff Little Fingers style was delivered well, but when looking at the group I got a sense that they were all quite emotionally drained. Midway into the set a few technical problems occurred — one involving a broken string. This ordeal had all the band members gazing at each other with the question on their faces,“should we carry on?” Luckily, things got resumed quickly much to the appreciation of the crowd. The audience later insisted on an encore, which the band somewhat hesitantly delivered. After spending a brief time in the Venues bar area I returned to find Slaughter

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and The Dogs into their set. This latest incarnation of the group featured original members Wayne Barret on vocals and Mick Rossi on guitar. Completely unfazed by the poor attendance level, the group delivered a fresh and upbeat sound, with new numbers sounding better live then on record. Good classic rockers such as “I’m Mad” “Quick Joey Small”, “Situations”, “Hell in New York”, “You’re a Bore”, “Where have all The Bootboys Gone”and others were well received by the small crowd, which had suddenly broken out into a pogoing frenzy! After the show, I was left with the assurance that the new Slaughter lineup can deliver the goods a full 22 years later! Hopefully the boys will be able to make it back to the west coast in the near future. Aaronoid

Vue, Hot Hot Heat, 31 Knots, The Evening Piccadilly Pub, Vancouver February 8, 2002

“I left my long underwear on, and that was a mistake,” said Joe Haege, frontman of Portland’s 31 Knots, before launching into the second song of their set. February 8 at the Piccadilly was a indeed a hot, hot, sold out show, the likes of which I haven’t been to in Vancouver in a while. Haege and his two cohorts were the highlight of The Vue

Pic by Laura Currie

atmosphere that night was somewhere between the backroom of a Camden pub venue in London, and an underground LA bar scene, with a tightly-packed showing of the local rock stars and scenesters. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought you had stumbled into an indie rock hair show. Victoria’s latest up-and-comers Hot Hot Heat were on third, and lived up to their usual high-energy standard of 80’s inspired, danceable post-punk that has recently earned them a deal with Seattle’s Sub Pop label. At their last Starfish Room show, singer/keyboardist Steve Bays seemed disappointed that he couldn’t dance because of a sprained ankle, and I didn’t know what he was talking about. These guys put on a great, animated show, no matter what. When San Francisco-based headliners The Vue hit the stage at 12:15am, people were starting to clear out, but they still had a good crowd of diehards left to play for. Many people undoubtedly thought they put on a great performance. However, I already had the feeling, at that point, that they had been somewhat upstaged by the preceding two acts. 31 Knots came out like Portland’s best-kept crowd-pleasing secret, and there was strong local support for Hot Hot Heat. The Vue was a much more bluesy glam-rock band than anticipated, and my attention was spent after pleasantly reeling from the explosiveness of the opening acts. The first opener was an unexpected addition — psychedelic Suede-inspired glam-pop band The Evening, also hailing from San Francisco. They started things rolling nicely with a blend of atmospheric guitar, and great drumming. Overall, it was great to see so many people come out to such a diverse show, and to see four hard-working bands get the attention that all hard-working bands should. All the bands had an enthusiastic response, the drinks were flowing, and the cameras were snapping. The girls were using the boys’ bathroom because the lineup was so long. It may prove to be one of the most memorable shows I’ll see this year. Melanie Covey

Jello Biafra’s Spoken Word

SUB Theatre, UBC January 22, 2002

the evening for me. Having heard their tight, polished EP The Rehearsal Dinner, I was not prepared for just how frantic a live show these guys put on. “Oh wow,” escaped the lips of a breathless believer at the end of their second song, in that nanosecond of silence before the whole crowd cheered for them. The show was a bargain at $10, and the Pic was already packed when I got there at 10pm. The

They say your body is always replacing its cells with new ones — making a new you every few years. Which explains today’s Jello Biafra: he’s not the same guy that wrote all those Dead Kennedys songs. That guy was angry but articulate and made great political punk rock. This version runs a record label and does spoken-word tours. He hasn’t sold out by any means, but he’s not quite as cutting-edge. All of which hasn’t cost him a drop of fan support, judging from the rapturous crowd at his UBC gig. Jello’s speeches are now legendary for their intensity, wit and length. Material wasn’t a problem, obviously, with “America’s New War” providing the bulk of his subject matter. Given the dominance of narrow, mainstream points of view in the paper and on TV, it was nice to hear an authentically underground take on things. Where was he on 9/11? Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Stuck for three days. First thoughts: “so this is what people go through in other parts of the world.” Jello compared Osama to Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster, suggesting that he might be an imaginary villain. He backed this up with a history lesson on the falsifications that had been

See Live Wires on p.13

My friend Greg and I — he was sixt place called the Edge or something.

F

rom our neighborhood in South Burnaby we rode the bus to deepest, darkest downtown Vancouver. We had the address of the place — a number and a street name — and a problem. Neither of us had a clue where the street was. I was not intimately familiar with the area then as I am now. A bus driver gave us a bum steer — bad directions, maybe bad ears, maybe bad teenage brains, whatever. We looked and looked. Then gave up. I had no idea then how long it would be before I got another chance. Death Sentence broke up, Pete Cleaver — the harsh, gravelly voiced singer – died, and Greg got Born Again and married a nice Christian girl from Seattle. I finally got to see the band. A couple of times, tenplus years later. Then, on a cold, clear late-February evening, I met up with the reconstituted Death Sentence for a little chat.

Years prior to my failed first attempt to see them, Death Sentence came together in a small house in Burnaby. Blocks away from where Greg and I first heard Not a Pretty Sight, in 1985. Syd Savage: “It started in a little house in Burnaby on Canada Way near the 7-11. We used to go into the 7-11, open up the spaghetti boxes and stuff cat shit in them. Then glue them back together and put them back.”

Doug Donut: “Or you’d buy the noodles, then put rocks in the box, take them back and you have your noodles and our money for your smokes.”

Doug on joining up: “I went over to the house where they practiced, and the guy pulling out of the driveway is their drummer that Pete had just punched out. The door hadn’t even closed and I walk in. They’ve got Jimmy’s girlfriend at the time on drums. I said ‘I know all your stuff, you’re my favorite band’ and within a week we’re in California.” Jimmy Sigmund: “How I met Pete — someone said ‘ Let’s go over to this weird guy’s house and huff glue’. So we get there and they’re playing and we’re like, ‘this is cool — you wanna go huff some glue?’ So we’re hanging around in the basement there and the next thing you know, we’re playing in the same band.” From such auspicious beginnings, Death Sentence went on to enter the new battle of the bands called Shindig — now an institution — at the Savoy. They were there to win. They took second place. An irate punk lobbed a beer mug which clocked the MC in the head. Doug Donut: “We were up against a band called the Nerve Tubes with Steven Drake (now ex-Odds and husband to Kim Bingham)- we’re all buddies now, but back then it was pretty vicious. A riot ensued. But from that we got second place and with that we went into somebody’s basement and did those tracks ( Not a Pretty Sight) in less than four days. And it turned out to be a sixty thousand seller. That’s pretty good.” Things were different then. From there it was the Punk Rock version of the road to the palace of wisdom… Syd Savage: “On our first road trip we took four gallons of moonshine… across the border.” Jimmy Sigmund: “Our second trip we took clinical Valium


SENTENCE COMMUTED!

teen and I was fifteen — had gotten into punk rock at the same time. Back in those days there was an all ages I remember Death Sentence were playing there this one night and Greg and I very much wanted to see the show from UBC that our manager had. You think we’d learn….” Doug Donut: “Our singer, Pete, decides ‘yeah, clinical Valium’he’s all drunk- and he gets up on stage. We’re playing with DRI in Portland, Oregon. He’s basically a tweak case and I’m having to sing all the songs and freak out on the drums at the same time. He’s in the middle of the first song when we’re ending the set. He’s like ‘ Liiivvve to Diieeee. Aarrgh!’.” Jimmy Sigmund: “He’s ten songs behind us.” Doug Donut: “Literally falling asleep on the mike.” Syd Savage: “The guy from DRI wasn’t much better, falling off the stage all fucked up on heroin. And they’re like ‘how do we get our guns across the border?’ They stuffed them in the back of their Marshall cabs.” Doug Donut: “After the show we’re staring at him – ‘you bastard’ and he starts smashing himself in the face. To the point where he’s losing consciousness. And our roadie gets all mad at himself and starts bashing his head.” Jimmy Sigmund: “The cops showed up because they heard people were fighting. They show up and our singer and roadie are beating themselves up.” Stories such as this may go a ways toward explaining why the Death Sentence press kit we received included a Dayglo Abortions sticker…. But for every tale of Rock & Roll glory, there are many more tales of the Rock & Roll Shaft. The cumulative effect of which has lead many a band to disenchantment and dissolution. Gig money disappears, as do the master tapes of the records. Punk Rock exacted a heavy toll, and after nine years, two albums and countless shows, Death Sentence called it quits in 1991. In 1997, they lost their vocalist and friend Pete Cleaver. Fast forward to 2001, the survivors decide to re-establish Death Sentence. They play their first show at Naughty Camp with longtime friend actor Bernie Coulson as front man. Oddly, their first choice had been the man currently holding the job… Dan Scum. Unfortunately, Dan went off to Taiwan for a few months and missed out on the first time around. Dan Scum: “I met Syd last year at Naughty Camp. I saw the tattoo on his arm and said ‘I used to live with Pete Puke.’ ‘Hey, you’re Syd, aren’t you?’ And our conversation wasn’t about the band or anything, but afterward he said to his girlfriend: ‘I want that guy to sing for the reunion’. And he hadn’t even heard me sing. We had a meeting after that and started hanging out. It was almost as if he was auditioning me as a pal before he auditioned me as a singer. Then, on Halloween, I ran into Doug and I said ‘We’ve been sort of peers for years. Cheers, big ears… it looks like we’re going to be working together.’ And he goes: ‘What? You talked to Syd? Do you have his number?’ and ‘NO, you are not going to sing, cocksucker.’ So I’m thinking that maybe this reunion is just taking place in Syd’s mind.” It wasn’t. After Naughty Camp, the band got down to some rehearsing. So far, so good — the band likes Dan and Dan likes the band, even though he claims never to have been a Death Sentence fan. Dan Scum: “I’m from Regina, Sakatchewan — all the hippie

peace-punks listened to Death Sentence. The Dayglo Abortions changed my life. Then I’m learning the material and getting more and more stoked on what I’m going to be doing. And it’s been comfortable and I haven’t received any heckling about not being Pete.” Well… Dan Scum: “I actually almost got into a fist fight last year after telling someone I’m gonna be singing for the reunion of Death Sentence. The guy kind of squared off and said ‘ NO YOU’RE NOT!’” Jimmy Sigmund: “Yeah, and Billy Hopeless was dead against it.” Syd Savage: “That guy fuckin’… I wanna hit that guy. Actually, you can print this — that guy better watch his face around me.” Doug Donut: “You got to keep the band going… it feels really good and the energy’s still there. We just hit Victoria — we video taped it and it sounds pretty good.” From here, the band plans to re-release their back catalogue on CD – unbelievably, for the first time ever. Vinyl was still king the first time around, and the Record Guy — who shall apparently remain nameless — absconded with the masters and hasn’t been heard from since. Fortunately, the technology exists to master straight from the old vinyl. Just crack open one of the still-sealed copies, which Syd has in his possession, apply space age science, tweak and you’re ready to go to disc.

Ten years later and well-rested, they were able to think of a couple of reasons to carry on. Namely, for fun. That, and the fact that there were a lot of people who really wanted to see them again. Doug Donut: “It’s great to look out into the audience — we’re in Nanaimo, okay? — and I’m singing the middle of Nightmare and… I don’t have to sing it. That’s a cool feeling; we put out an album fifteen years ago and no one forgets the songs. People are digging it and because of the response, we all sat down and said ‘well fuck, let’s get this thing on the road!’.” Syd Savage: “Yeah, and the scene’s changed a lot as well. The state of the music world today is shit, is what it is. Garbage.” Doug Donut: “I wanna get doing all ages shows, because you see these bands like Blink Sum 14182, or whatever and they’re covering Green Day. With the same guitar in the same apartment. There’s no substance to ‘alternative’ music anymore. You couldn’t hold one of those songs up to a Stranglers’ number, y’know?” Syd Savage: “Punk Rock ain’t much different from Fifties Rock & Roll, right? Eddie Cochrane was a punk.”

Doug Donut: “We’re probably going to add new songs, some interesting stuff. So at least the CD will be out and we won’t be talking about albums anymore like we’re eighty. We are from the eighties…. So the CD will be out and if it happens it happens. Otherwise we’ll just be getting together and jamming around.” Syd Savage: “Just basically getting the CD out and seeing what happens. Because all of us still like playing, and we like playing with each other….” Dan Scum: “And we like playing with ourselves.” Doug Donut: “We don’t want to go out and get broke and do all that kind of thing. It’s got to be fairly cushy — we put the time in.” Syd Savage: “We’ve paid our dues. We don’t feel we got a fair shake the last time, so that’s why we’re doing it again. We got the shaft really badly, but we don’t need to get into that.” After banging their heads on the Punk Rock so hard and for so long, trying to make a go of it in a hostile world, a fatigued and debilitated Death Sentence called it quits.

Continued over


Death Sentence

continued from p.11

Death Sentence live at the Cobalt

Pics courtesy Death Sentence

Punk Rock has changed, naturally. Being a Punk used to literally be dangerous to your health. And we’re not talking ‘glue-and-cigarettes’ dangerous. It was a lot less ‘okay’ to be that kind of weird at a time when mentioning Rob Halford’s gayness could get your lights turned out. (This in spite of Mousse Metal power ballads ruling the charts. They were

strange days.) And twelve year-old MuchMusic contest winners weren’t likely to pick a band like Death Sentence or Black Flag when they won on ‘Gonna Meet a Rock Star!’ Jimmy Sigmund: “We’d get beat up all the time. Well, Syd wouldn’t, but I would. I was always running around

going ‘yeah — FUCK YOU!’” Syd Savage: “It was a lot more dangerous in the eighties.” Doug Donut: “We would get guns pulled on us on tour. All the time. Syd’s standing outside the Mabuhay Gardens in San Francisco — I’m crossing the street — and some guy’s got a gun pointing at him. We were total magnets for that stuff.” Syd Savage: “I used to have to carry a big, fat chain….” Doug & Jimmy: “MAX!” Syd Savage: “Yeah, ‘Max’. I used to belt greaseballs with it.” Jimmy Sigmund: “Nothing pissed off greaseballs more than being beat up by a punk. It was their worst nightmare. To them it was like getting beat up by a fag.” Dan Scum: “That was before Punk Rock was a fashion show.” Before Sum 41, Xfm and everything else compressed, formatted, focus-grouped and squeezed out of a sausage tube, Punk Rock wasn’t radio-friendly, corporate label-friendly, TV-friendly — it wasn’t friendly, period. That’s what the band misses — the attitude that the music originally sprang from. It was life, and it was not always a pretty sight. The average FM radio listener probably hasn’t even an inkling that the first guy in their city to bleach his hair and put his sister’s gel in it probably got thrown out of the house by his horrified parents then walked outside and got his ass kicked by a pack of hormonally supercharged pubescent boys with feathered hair and black Judas Priest t-shirts with white sleeves. It seems so quaint, but that was less than two decades ago. That’s why a band like Death Sentence rocks harder. It must have felt like the whole world was against them… the neighbors, the cops, the customs Gestapo, the music industry. Simply recording an album would have been a triumph. (If the master tapes don’t get stolen first...) Now it’s 2002, and what the fuck? Might as well write some songs, release some music, play some shows and see what becomes of it. Besides… Dan Scum: “Who’s Punk as Fuck these days and can still play circles around anybody? I don’t know. Death Sentence is back and we’re punker than you.” Syd Savage: “And if anyone’s got a problem with that — bring it on.” Dan Scum: “You can’t beat us, so you might as well join us.”

Death Sentence plays at the Grandview Auditorium May 18th with Insipid, Enemy Within, Victorian Pork, and Mr. Underhill

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continued from p. 10 used during the Gulf of Tonkin invasion and the Gulf War, not to mention the staged footage of dancing Palestinians on September 11. He was at his best at such moments, stirring shit up and convincing you that nothing you’ve seen or heard so far can be trusted. He kind of lost me elsewhere, when he shifted from court jester to politician. Switching from criticizing everything (funny) to suggesting how it might be changed (sketchy), he lost his real energy. At one point he said that airplanes should be replaced by a network of high-speed bullet trains to prevent future terrorism. This got him a smattering of applause but also a few perplexed looks.

Being a horny pig is one thing, but you’d better learn to be smooth and dirty if you want success at a pornofunk gig. Slow Nerve Action has given me a new groove to hump to. Drummer Mike Lunt has the stamina of a stallion. (If you can keep up with these beats… your ladies will never forget the time they left your room with a swollen canoe.) Dancing on the loin quivering baselines and guitar rifts are the smooth tricks of the keys. They reminded me of spooning a woman in the middle of the night. As she sleeps, you sensually reach under her shirt. Softly, yet firmly you tweak her nipples, she moans to let you know she’d appreciate a reach around. If you’re good… and she’s

Hot Hot Heat

Pic by Laura Currie

The problem with a living legend like Biafra is that people are willing to listen to everything he has to say without questioning it. Even while he slams every authority figure around him, he’s accepted as an authority. Which is why he can waste our time reading a list of funny George W. quotes that he (probably) downloaded off the Internet without any of us -— me included — standing up and saying “hey Jello, this is fucking lame!” Hero-worship like this is hardly a better alternative to the neo-con bullshit that surrounds us. Would Jello himself approve? Paul Crowley

Slow Nerve Action Purple Onion February 14th, 2002

From Whistler BC, one of the highest, best places in Canada to contract an STD, there comes a band. Not just any band, but a pornofunk band known as Slow Nerve Action. What exactly is pornofunk? Well, taking a break from my special magazines and the KY, I decided to find out. I ended up at the Onion early, and I will only say that the opening act was painful. Drinks were in order. At 11:30 the crisp sound of funk cracked the air. This is what I like. Upbeat, tight and smooth… like a young Spanish virgin. I tried to come on to a few virgins that night, but they weren’t interested in being sodomized by a Nerve writer. So, biding my time, I waited for the freestyling lyrics of Chris Berry to work their magic. With songs like ‘Astroglide’, ‘Bisexual’ and ‘Bunz’, the virgins jumped to the dance floor. If you want to see horny young women, go to a Slow Nerve Action show. Hang on Punks. Put away your squeegees, sell those outdated Doc Martins, shower up and get some clean clothes.

game… you’re in the scissors, thrusting steadily and tickling the little man. Speaking of which, Slow Nerve Action is bilingual and sings a beautiful love song in French about the little man in the pink canoe. There’s also a sweet reggae rift called ‘Chew Vagina’ – unfortunately, it’s not on their first CD, The Soap of Beautiful Women. The show was in the Onion’s larger room that night. I would have preferred seeing the band in the smaller jazz room though. It’s much more cozy and would have nurtured the vibe better. Especially when Chris dawned his chinstrap dildo, known as The Accommodator. If you’re wandering how to use it — buy the CD — Chris explains all. With a tee pee in my pants, I broke out on the dance floor. Amazingly, the virgins stayed and grooved my woody into a rager. Bent from the booze, I stumbled through Gastown to my car. Somehow I made it home, passed out on my bed and dreamt of accommodating young Spanish virgins. Check out: www.slownerveaction.com Billy Hayley

Speaking of Heroes W/ Guests Jan. 21. 2002 Mesaluna, Vancouver

Awright, so we’ve got a new rock venue in town. Excited at the prospect of partying somewhere new and close to work, I rushed on down to Mesaluna’s after my shift. It was just after ten, and the opening bands were already done. Rumour has it they were good, but I’ll ever know for sure. Headliners Speaking of Heroes gathered a good looking turnout at a bar

that most people haven’t heard of. Surrounded by a dance floor full of enthusiastic fans and groupies, these guys dished out their brand of melodic, slightly poppy rock. Front man Robbie thrashed madly at his guitar while the crowd sung along and everyone was having a good time… and then, it suddenly stopped — Mesaluna does early shows! It’s a goodsized room and the place has potential to be a decent spot, but they gotta have music past 10:45, for fuck’s sakes. Cowboy TexAss

STEREOPHONICS

Commodore Ballroom January 25, 2002

enough… and I’m only telling it like it is. Leather Twatson

The Dinks, Crystal Pistol & Mr. Underhill Thurs. Feb 28th ‘02 Royal Hotel, Vancouver

This was my first time at The Royal and I couldn’t believe how fucking posh it was inside. The large, rectangular room is super wide open with high ceilings, serious wood paneling and old school hotel carpeting, kinda like on The Shining. The stage is back centre with few objects blocking the view from virtually any point. I’m gushing simply because rock venues in Vancouver disappear faster than Liberal campaign promises and many other establishments I’ve frequented (Brickyard, Starfish, Cobalt, Columbia) showcase great talent but let’s face it-they’re pretty much dives. It was a real treat to be checking out dirty rock n roll somewhere clean! The Dinks had already started their set upon my arrival, sounding different than I’d remembered from seeing them @The Pic in December. They were heavy but much slower than I recalled, reminiscent of the now defunct Cows whom I miss a great deal. Unfortunately I wasn’t in the mood to

Goddamn early shows… I probably missed a couple of songs, but, appropriately, I made it in time for ‘Mr. Writer,’ the Welsh band’s plea to the sensationalistic journalist to “tell it like it really is.” A plea that, like everything ripping through singer / lead guitarist Kelly Jones, uncovers influences of CCR, The Kinks, Stevie Wonder and AC/DC. Metal hands were punching the air and the Commodorians down front were bouncing their little hearts out. Stereophonics’ last video (for ‘Have a Nice Day’) may be a little poppy for some tastes, but the live show had some hard-ass rock, big distortion, strobe light, as many as 5 chicks up on their Slow Nerve Action boyfriend’s shoulpic: Bill Hayley ders at one point, and, dare I say, even power ballads. Some highlights of the set were ‘Just Looking,’ ‘Step on My Old Size Nines,’ ‘Not Up to You,’ ‘Watch Them Fly Sundays,’ their cover of the 1971 Rod Stewart hit ‘Handbags and Gladrags,’ and the aching lament ‘Every Day I Think of Money,’ which hear that kind of sound and was about to served as the final encore. There have write them off when they switched gears. been two award-winning documentaries They remained heavy but sped up the made about this band in the UK, and June 3 they’re scheduled to play with Jagger, McCartney and Phil Collins for the Queen’s Golden Jubilee. Gathering popularity in Canada has its downside, as well, because a quieter, more intimate venue might have lent itself better to actually hearing Jones’ lyrics, which, in the early days, the British music mag NME said “might be the stuff of ancient murder ballads, deep and mysterious.” A quick tour around www.stereophonics.co.uk reveals the frontman was once a market trader, a boxer and continues to be an aspiring scriptwriter, bassist Richard Jones (no relation to Kelly) has been a scaffolder, a coal man and an electrician, and, similarly, drummer Stuart Cable did construction and once delivered school lunches for a living. Probably not too much irony went into the title of their latest album – their third since forming in 1996 – ‘Just Enough Education To Perform.’ A bloody understatement, I’d say. Sounded like plenty more than

tempo considerably, the crowd obviously enjoying this direction. It was their last song and a bit of a shock when they ended abruptly and hurried offstage. I felt manipulated, piquing our interest with this song so we’d show up at their next gig and this ploy may have worked on many. The belle of this ball was definitely Mick, singer of Crystal Pistol ‘cuz it was his birthday so he was in a particularly naughty mood. His exuberance was contagious and he was only too eager to share glimpses into the debauchery he’d dabbled in so far that evening. It’s near impossible to be original these days but these cats put a fun spin on mid 80’s type rock/metal raunch. Their sound was really appealing because of great musicianship and a casual attitude, seemingly into it for the fun of entertaining. Not surprisingly, most of their songs were about sex, drugs and/or rock n roll-perhaps this is why I enjoyed them? The space between the bands was filled by DJ Billy Hopeless’ tunes, continuing the sleazy rock theme of the evening. With plenty of seating despite a nearly full house, I took the opportunity to sit back with a cold drink, intending to get up when Mr. Underhill began. Suddenly I caught a raging case of blabbermouth, getting so engrossed in conversation that the next thing I knew they had finished! I kinda felt like a chump but I’ve seen them before and most others in attendance didn’t seem to be so self absorbed, showing them the enthusiasm I saved for chatting. They play around town a lot so I’m sure I’ll catch them again. All in all I as really pleased with my night out. I’ve been trying to behave this year, partially achieving this by staying home on weeknights but I’m glad I made an exception. It was worth it just to support a new venue with loads of potential. I encourage anyone out there dissatisfied with the state of rock in this town to contact the fine folks @The Royal and try to make live gigs a permanent fixture there. I got their card, here’s their email: info@theroyal.ca I hope they don’t mind I’m spreading it around! Cross your fingers and keep an eye on the gig listings.… Casey Cougar

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S traight 8 G ore

The VUFF

his trademark). The movie added a couple of new

(Definitely not the VIFF)

4th Annual Vancouver Underground Film Festival, Nov. 22-25, 2001

EURO WESTERN GUN DOWN

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s Oscar time nears and everyone concerns themselves with whether or not some butt fuck with cash is going to get another award, some of us can only sit back and laugh. What the fuck? Some people still have this idea that the Academy is made up of people that actually see every film in every genre, thus being masters of their own domain in the world of Hollywood movie fuck up. From LORD OF THE RINGS, BLACK HAWK DOWN to GHOST WORLD (to a lesser degree — I guess) and yes even to THE ROYAL TENNENFUCKS – Holyfuck butt crack. On the other side of the coin, it is just entertainment anyway. Hell, even all the films I rave about (most of them actually) are just films tampered with by entertainment slime balls like me. Only occasionally are we taught lessons in filmmaking and writing (watch anything by Fernando Di Leo — other than maybe VIOLENT WEEKEND), but mostly we are subjected to Eurotrash films that insult our intelligence but “entertain” us. It’s the same as the Hollywood entertainment industry in a lot of ways, but neater for us, since we can search out the films, beat off over the rare box art, cum all over the posters, and brag about how rad we think we are. Ahhhh, Eurotrash. There is one genre out of Europe that has yet to REALLY insult our fragile intelligence and actually compel us to watch again and again. That genre is the Euro Western… more commonly known as the ‘Spaghetti Western.’ I can picture it now, most of my readers reeling back in disgust and having crazy flashbacks of their fathers watching John Wayne kick a ‘redskin’s’ ass on screen — all the while having no idea how dad can watch this shit over and over. Was John Wayne that much of a man’s man to magnetize all men over 50 to the screen? Well, probably. He is pretty choice. Anyway (!), the Italian Western is a much different story. The films are dirty, gritty, violent, sleazy, and even gory in a lot of respects. Sergio Leone pops up in most film scholars’ minds (that’s all they’ve usually seen, yet they still manage to make never-ending speeches about how they have a firm grasp of the Italian politics of film since they’ve seen two Spaghetti Westerns) which is all fine and good. Leone was a damn fine director, the stories are gripping, and all of the films afterwards follow the patterns laid out (other than maybe Guilio Questi, director of DEATH LAID AN EGG, who is very weird), AND the fuckin’ films are easy to find since Easty Wood stars in three of them. My personal fave of Leone’s is FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE. Straight to the punch, grittier than his last efforts, there’s Klaus Kinski, and some very nicely drawn-out shootout scenes. The kind of the shootout scenes that have you speechless… the whole precision cut, eye-toeye stuff. Sergio Corbucci’s DJANGO stars the one and only Franco Nero as the darkly dressed mystery man, complete with casket carry-on, quick gun reflexes, and surprise Gattling gun (which plays kind of like

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fascinations to the genre: extreme dirt (mud is number one) and extreme violence. The shootout at the conclusion is jaw-dropping. Watch as Nero navigates through a shootout with two grossly mangled hands. Painful shit. Manly shit. The Django series continued on and on with MANY entries — my faves being Guilio Questi’s DJANGO KILL, starring ‘the Cop in Blue Jeans,’ Tomas Milian. The film is fucking weird / cool with gay bad guys, gold bullets scooped out of flesh, scalpings, and a horse that gets blown-up (big guts). It should come as no mystery that Dario Argento’s first foray into the Euro film genres was writing for Spaghetti Westerns. He penned most of ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST and was basically responsible the twisty, atmospheric masterpiece CEMETERY WITHOUT CROSSES. Other shit to definitely check out: KEOMA — The moody classic starring Nero as a ‘half-breed’ dealing with his half brothers and land issues. Choice soundtrack. Directed by one of the best — Enzo Castellari (HIGH CRIME, JAWS ripoff guy, and director of our childhood favourite post-apocalypse films). MASSACRE TIME — One of Lucio Fulci’s (yes, that Fulci) efforts in the Western genre. Bad ass and featuring Giallo mainstay George Hilton and Nero yet again. Very cool assholic rich bad son in this one. Very into whip torture. COMPANEROS – Again, Tomas Milian and Franco Nero with good ol’ Jack Palance. One of the films that has HEAVY political undertones. Epic ‘buddy’ film and seminal crowd fave. (Note: Many of the Spaghetti Westerns had a lot of anarchist political messages — for all you punks out there, see A BULLET FOR THE GENERAL). A BULLET FOR SANDOVAL — George Hilton again, but this time leading a pack of badasses after he was turned away from his family in laws (Ernest Borgnine). Harsh back at ya film with tragic results. A lot of cool plague going ons that cause the misunderstandings. Milk politics. THE GREAT SILENCE — Jean Louis Trintignant stars as the silent good guy up against bandits led by the very bad Klaus Kinski. Very cool, claustrophobic film set in the winter. THE CUTTHROATS NINE — A perennial fave, even among gore hounds. Spanish story of a bunch of fugitives that have to cross the country on foot. As the prisoners die, and they also get the upper hand on the sheriff — then the brutality begins. Harsh shit. Out of all my articles, this is the most “tip of the iceberg”. The Euro Western is not something to take lightly, with hundreds of entries. This is a good genre to try and tackle because of the many good books on the subject (some by fans and some by scholars) and the places to hook yourself up, but get ready to be involved. SINISTER SAM

With a successful fourth year under its belt, our own local subcultural/ alternate/ experimental film and video fest is well established as a creative and social happening. Thank Alex MacKenzie and his small army of Blinding Light!! cohorts for pulling it off — and getting enough booze donated so that the final, Sunday night ‘wind down’ could be as well lubricated as the opening party. There was such a stupefying range of events, installations, parties, performances, artists, etc... from across the US and Canada (with Vancouver the main source) that I will simply note that a comprehensive program is made freely available and so next year you should get one and dig through it like a rectal obsessive.

‘peggy anne’s beat super 8 soliloquies’ A special not-something occurred at the Saturday night performance by Toronto¹s Peggy Anne Berton and her old style DJ (no mixing or turntable-twisting) Richard Vermuelen. As Peggy Anne projected her unedited super 8 reels and told stories about them, I noticed something missing. There was no hype. None. And no attitude - and NO ‘irony’ How could that be? Art without smug humour - impossible! But Berton was in fact just’ showing her super 8 movies and telling about them as songs played in the background. And the disarmingly simple result of it all was radical - as in radix, roots - moving the audience back to a sense of basic human be-ing and connectedness. Berton pushes the sentimental home-movie quality of the medium with her technique of slowing down the projector and her homey, honest narration. That¹s the ‘beat’ of Peggy Anne’s soliloquies - the ‘sad and beautiful world’ she takes her audience to. ‘see me, feel me’ The Sunday night showcase of mostly local video selections was a proverbial mixed bag, bookended by Vancouver performances’ - local videomeister Flick Harrison’s documenting of two oddly kinky live and sort-of topless girls dubbed ‘KUNK!’ - and Brad Poulsen’s live mix of 16mm education films (‘Osmosis’). The volumes in between were a creative array of shorts that sometimes suffered from not enough Idea to justify running length. Two standouts were Jacob Gleeson’s happy accident’ footage of a Robert Dayton karaoke-attack, which also captured a drunk old man’s reaction to the camera. Titled ‘Showdown’, it is a genius of vid-

eography and will hopefully achieve a wider exposure. The other was Evan Ta p p e r ’s d o c u m e n t i n g o f p e o p l e ’s revealing comments as they sit for portraits sketched by a caricature artist. ‘Fleeting Intimacy’ is a wonderful, slice-of-life Idea, sadly hampered by the limitations of the in-camera mic. I was unable to screen the latest video compilation ‘Crushed’, by Vancouver video wonderboy Meesoo Lee, or the muchbuzzed ‘The Daddy of Rock’n’Roll’. Dmidtrui Otis

JESUS CHRIST VAMPIRE HUNTER Directed by Lee Gordon Demabres

Opens at The Blinding Light!! March 28th The ads scream “The Ultimate Action Hero”, and really, how can anyone possibly argue with that? Not even Sonny Chiba has anything on the Son of God. It seems that vampires are walking the earth in broad daylight, without fear of reprisal. Who better to stop the evil bloodsuckers than JC himself? But things are not what they seem, as Jesus and his followers are immediately ambushed. Battered, bruised and humbled, our saviour goes in for a makeover (including a shaved head), and prepares himself for the ultimate battle of good vs. evil. It’s hard to believe that no one’s ever cast Jesus as an action hero before; the man’s a natural! Here (in his corporeal vessel Phil Caracas), Jesus brings all of the humanistic naturalism missing from so many muscleheaded celluloid heroes. Jesus is a man of peace, conflicted inside about his powers of kick-assery, and lost at sea in the new millenium. He is beset on all sides by the forces of evil, yet is humble enough to ask for help (from, among others, Mexican wrestling legend El Santo). After a soul-stirring conversation with Dad (portrayed by an ice cream sundae), JC knows what he has to do. Equal parts camp, musical and bloodsoaked drive-in kung-fu classic, JCVH may be a little rough around the edges, and in need of less musical numbers and more lesbians, but it’s an altogether good time, and simply the best way to spend Easter. Bjorn Olson

PULL MY DAISY & FRIED SHOES, COOKED DIAMONDS

February 19th & 20th at The Blinding Light!! Ah, The Beat Generation. Those wacky, goatee-strokin’, coffee-lovin’, non-sequitur-spoutin’, poetry-scrawlin’ rebels. The ever-resourceful Blinding Light!!

Continued on next page


recently pulled out a pair of forgotten films featuring some wacky Beat Generation hijinks. PULL MY DAISY is at best, fascinating … and at worst, masturbatory. Seemingly shot one evening in 1959 because no one had anything else better to do, PULL MY DAISY stays true to the beat aesthetic. Prefiguring the American experimental film explosion of the sixties, the film is loose, rambling and anarchic. Beat Generation f i g u r e h e a d s A l l e n G i n s b e rg a n d Gregory Corso essentially play themselves, hanging out in the apartment of a friend, doing the things that beat writers do (except, um, actually writing). Ginsberg jumps up and suggests everyone play cowboys. Musical interludes featuring flutes, a pump organ, and several brass instruments bookend discussions of Buddhism. The sound is entirely non-sync, with Jack Kerouac providing narration and dialogue. Despite the obvious financial limitations here, I couldn’t help but pine for a more naturalistic depiction of the interaction taking place, rather than the poetic Kerouac interpretation. The actual dialogue exchanges would probably have seemed banal to the filmmakers at the time, but would have been invaluable to current Beat geeks, and made for a more enduring film. More than a curio though, PULL MY DAISY is an interesting, if not terribly enlightening moment out of time. FRIED SHOES, COOKED DIAMONDS

is a much more straightforward film. A 1979 documentary by Costanzo Allione chronicling a summer at the “Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics” in Boulder Colorado, FRIED SHOES features footage of readings from poets ranging from Ginsberg and Corso (looking like he’s hanging out to score some undergrad poontang, more than anything) to young turks like Miguel Piñero, as well as a host of other iconoclasts like Timothy Leary and Meredith Monk. While interesting in a time capsule sort of way, FRIED SHOES is an overall disappointment. A critical perspective, evident in the best docs, is missing here. How about interviewing some of the students, most of whom seem like ciphers ready to absorb the wisdom of whatever anyone who claims to be a writer says? The only time the film ever seems to be slightly acute is when legendary crank (and arguably the best writer to ever be associated with the Beat movement) William S. Burroughs shows up. The rest of the time the film feels like hagiography, naked Ginsberg or not. Bjorn Olson

akuma 100 Demons UNION LOCAL 2112 Great album! I fucking love Quebec. Ya wanna find something real? Go to Quebec: real punks, real activists, a really large artistic community, and really cheap beer. You get a little bit of all of the above (minus the beer unfortunately) on this here metal album. This is heavy shit with a good does of socially conscious punk to up the ante. It is sung in both English & French and I had no idea that this supposed language of love could sound so hard. As for stand out tracks - I can’t pick just one. Check out the punk anthems “Teenage Warhead” & “Consume” (my personal fave). I’m going to make a special dedication and a suggestion. I’d like to dedicate the song “You’re It” to a fella young of mind but not of age - George W. Bush. I don’t know who they had in mind, but he pops right up in mine every time I play this tune. Why? I’m not telling - go buy the disc. But here’s my suggestion - someone (maybe the akuma boys?...or you?) should strap that fucker down, pry his eyes open ‘clockwork orange’ style and blast this tune repeatedly full volume, accompanied by the video montage S-11 redux (care of guerilla news at www.gnn. tv) until he gets the message. frickinjordan And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead Relative Ways/ Homage ep Interscope The Trail of Dead give away this four song ep with chaos indie punkin’ tunes. They have a good sound with wit and anger. I didn’t care too much for the experimental pieces on this (2 of them). Too bad there is only four songs (really 2) on this because it will either leave you wanting more or make you want to trade it in feeling ripped off. I heard their live show is way better. 2 ripped asses out of 5 ripped asses DC Angelic Upstarts Live At the Justice League Double LP TKO Records This English act has been around for what seems like an eternity. The group released their debut on EMI records in the late 70’s when the first wave of English Punk hit. The album was considered to be a classic by many, containing raw but well produced material, influenced heavily by The Clash and Sex Pistols. When punk went back underground in the early 80’s the group got associated with the Oi! Movement that had sprung up. With the majority of the bands claiming to be apolitical at the time, The Upstarts took a very strong Socialist left wing viewpoint in their

songwriting. In the mid to late 80’s the group started to tread water releasing some pretty run-of-the-mill records. Over all I’ve never been that huge of an Upstarts fan, that is, until now. This live recording was done last year in San Francisco on the Angelic Upstarts first American tour in almost 20 years, just listening to it makes me want to kick myself for not being there! The crowd roars while the group delivers plays tight doing excellent versions of upbeat classics such as “Never had Nothing”, “Leave Me Alone”, “Machine Gun Kelley”, “Police Oppression”, “I’m an Upstart”, Teenage Warning”, among some covers. Slower reggae sounding numbers such as “Solidarity” and “I Understand” are also delivered well. What stands out on this excellent sounding release is singer Mensi’s well spoken explanations on certain songs. After all these years it’s good to see that his political stance has stayed the same, thus providing good leadership for both fans of young and old! Aaronoid Antidote Go Pogo! Charged Records Two thumbs up for New Jersey’s Charged records for bringing this European act to the surface. Hailing from somewhere in Holland, this band speaks good commentary in regards to scene unity and gig violence. Musically this stuff strays away from the anticipated street punk style sounding fast and thrashy and comparable to that of 80’s foreign Hardcore. 12 songs here with all but 2 sung in English done in less than 20 minutes. This fucker rips! Aaronoid Belvedere ‘twas hell said former child UNION LOCAL 2112 Yah for Canada! Not only are we kicking some major world Olympic-class ass but we’re also winning the punk rock games too! Thanks to bands like Belvedere and the likes, we can now be considered at least second string players instead of the half-witted bench warmer type. Formed in 1995, Belvedere released their first album through Hourglass and 206 Records. This, after an impressive 5 Western Canadian tours and 4 West Coast US tours. The band’s newest project twas hell said former child is a gross advance for the boys musically. Tight, sweet harmony with a heavy undertone and kind of AFIish … this album rocks. Fully supported by Montreal local The Union Label Group, I would not be surprised to see these guys all over this wide country of ours and off into the USofA. Whatch’em kick the proverbial ass of Uncle Sam and come out with a big smile on face. It’s nice to see bands that are willing to put the work in and enjoy the rewards. This band has obviously succeeded in this respect

More reviews on p. 17

15


Books and Zines Pop Culture Hits and Misses

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bit o’ bizness to start off with… a reminder to get your ink flowing for The Nerve’s first annual Punk Rock Short Story Contest. As announced in our tabloid issue, submissions must be under 3000 words and must contain the theme “it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Besides publication in the most banned magazine in Vancouver, the winner gets an ice cold keg of beer (or as the staff around here call it, ‘wages’). Get it to us by August 1st, 2002, and the boys and I will give ‘er a looksee and pick a winner for publication in our September issue. The citizens of No Fun City have called out for entertainment, so ask not what The Nerve can do for you, but what you can do for The Nerve! F A R G O ROCK CITY C h u c k Klosterman Scribner Press

Boy, it’s about time someone wrote a treatise on eighties’ hair metal. I was almost finished the Bible and needed something a little more serious. Part historical document, part memoir, part cumulative defensive spasm- a lifetime of being picked on for your steadfastly bad taste can’t be healthy- Fargo Rock City is one journalist’s tale of growing up in the Golden Age of Mousse Metal. Okay, so it’s not all Poofster Rock, as cultural heavyweights such as Judas Priest and Iron Maiden are mentioned on the same pages as travesties like Warrant, but that’s the slant. Giving spandex its due, putting crimpers and ludicrously pointy guitars in their proper historic context. It’s also the story of one Chuck Klosterman- small town nerdly rube with a forbidden passion. Chucky wanted to Shout at the Devil, to Rock and Roll All Night and Party Ev-er-y Day. Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be compared with Wyndmere, North Dakota for the budding young dissipated Dionysian. How

do you Live After Midnight where the sidewalks retract at dusk? What place is there for the Children of the Damned in a town where skinny dorks wearing their stripper-girlfriends stretch pants and make-up on an album cover are considered dangerous, deviant and subversive? Not to mention weird. Klosterman gives a portrait of the would-be rebel as an understandably and comically misguided young hick. To his credit, when he Ran From the Hills to become a “culture critic” for various big city publications he neither hid nor repudiated his grade eight shop class tastes. No, he wrote this celebration of malt liquor, thin and fuzzy guitars, Kip Winger, fast food, tough guy rebels in rouge, and everything else culturally significant to Western Civilization as it was before Nirvana and AltEverything. I know Chuck wasn’t alone, either. I saw you people and your tight, faded jeans, feathery hair and big stupid runners with the tongues hanging out before the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Pearl Jam brought high-falutin’, high fibre Cock Rock to the rabble. I can hear it in a lot of current punk rock bands’ guitar solos. How is it that Green Day can play a note-perfect version Rock You Like a Hurricane? Huh? Fess up. It’s all right now- some guy wrote a book about it. Mike O. Rosco Magazine Edited by Dan Fisher, Steve McKay and Mike Baker Volume 7, Number 1 - Winter 2002 www.roscomagazine.com Not all things from Toronto suck the horn. Rosco is good shit and you’ll just have to get over which part of the funarchist bowel produces it. 30 or so pages to love and share (or surf), and what’s this, they put on shows, too? (Hmmm… perhaps a little ‘rebel alliance’ might be in order!) Regular features like the ‘Roommate From Hell’ (submit your own!) sit elbow to elbow with music interviews, reviews and profiles of artists like More Plastic, Readymade, Nardwuar and the Rusty Nails, and funny features like the bit on club kid archetypes and the dictionary of Public Displays of Affection. There are a coupla pages of comics and it’s rounded out by a

bunch of crazy websites they found, including the hilarity-inducing “How Getting High Can Get You AIDS” ( www.health.org/ govpubs/ PHD573/ ). But it is ‘Dougy’ the Rosco PinUp who will steal your heart (or perhaps, by the looks of it, if left alone for more than a few minutes, your beer) – maybe it’s the arms-up metal pose he’s adopted (very slimming!), maybe it’s the drawstring pants or the 80’s motorcycle jacket sans a shirt, or maybe it’s the pelt of chest hair protecting his pasty white torso from the harsh winds of the suburban parking lot… what can I say… he stays with you. It all serves to remind you, as the bitchin’ clip n’ save bookmark on the back cover says, that reading is the dopest! The Family Suckass! Issue #3 (“I’ll Piss In That Rubber Boot for Five Bucks!”) Edited by Robin Bougie E-mail: mindseyecomics@shaw.ca The only family that could make the Flanderses look like the Ramones gets dipped in Bougie juice and comes out glistening (and with a few stray pubes stuck

on here and there). How I have hated Bil Keane’s saccharine little comic with a passion I’m sure has been felt by many during these last few centuries that his Family Circus has been a staple of syndication (staple in the side of the HEAD is more like it). Since it has shown itself to be the kind of wretched scourge, like the cockroach, that promises to survive even Armageddon, it’s about time somebody treated Jeffy, Dolly and the rest of the Cartoon Armies of Christ to the face-frosting they so richly deserve. For a paltry two bucks you get something for every sense of humour, providing they’re all totally sick.

CinemaSewer Issue #8 Edited by Robin Bougie

E-mail: mindseyecomics@shaw.ca

Worth the price for the first half alone, this issue starts off with eleven unbeereebaburu pages detailing the best of ‘Crazee Japanese TV.’ Back in the 90’s, in the Tokyo suburb of Funabashi (I swear, that was the name), I wasted countless Sunday afternoons lounging on my tatami watching B-list Japanese stars and starlets forcibly immerse themselves in a plexiglass tub of scalding water on Beat Takeshi’s variety game show ‘Super Jockey.’ For years since then, people have looked at me in horror when I described shows like this, so I feel hugely vindicated to see CinemaSewer’s impressively researched feature, which is beautifully complemented by the amazing-buttrue story of overnight celebrity Nasubi, whose Faustian bargain for fame became a consumer culture nightmare. Finish it all with a chaser of classic film articles and a splash of porn… this four dollar dandy is a fine example of Bougietude and celluloid mania. One quibble, however, with the review of October’s Return to PornoChic #2 at the Fox Theatre: not to be a nag, but it’s not just our pal Dmidtrui Otis who “deserves the credit” for bringing these jam-packed nights of classic 35 mm porn to the fun seekers of our fair city. From start to finish, The Nerve Magazine has been an integral partner in the local 70’s adult film renaissance that is Return To PornoChic, and I’m sure that when pressed, even our aforementioned pal would admit that we do a fuck of a lot more than just “sell cheap beer.” I don’t know about the rest of the Nervettes, but I’m not above a little topless public speaking to ensure that folks take notice of this magazine’s commitment to funarchy (and tits and ass), as those present at our recent Valentine’s Day edition of PornoChic can attest. Speaking of the fine people in attendance, a shoutout is definitely in order for our tricky comrades at Public Works zine, who have a new e-mail address which came to our attention right after we printed their old one in our last issue. Contact them at publicworks_ vancouver@hotmail.com … but don’t bug them about when their new issue is coming out… we’ve already done that, and they promised it would be sometime this summer. It’ll be worth the wait. Leather the Librarian

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continued from p. 15 with their knack for non-stop touring and opening themselves to other projects like sound for sport videos and shows. Check this disc out, check this band out, don’t be a loser. Terrible Flashlight Brown

s/t The Union Local 2112 Label Group

“Citing superstars Britney Spears and Christina Aguillera as roll-models, Flashlight Brown has made a strategic decision to begin using sex to climb the corporate ladder.” In the cutest of all pop-punk formulas, the four youngsters in Canada’s Flashlight Brown are whipping it out for a cause ­their own cause that is. We all acknowledge the hardships of being a Canadian musician. Long drives, small crowds and even smaller pay-offs are a tough toll to deal with. It’s a cold country but who says clothing isn’t optional? Nothing wrong with nudity especially when it’s mixed with some quick hooks and raspy vocals. (insert copious amounts of alcohol and the green/white/etc stuff here.) But seriously now. It’s nice to see a Warp tour-esque band doing something other than burning their equipment and spitting on kids. It makes me feel like we’re reaching a new level of waste within the music community. Nice one guys. It seems that with the slam dunk of Sum 41, more and more Canadian born punk rock bands are steering themselves out of the woodworks of their local community centres. Flashlight Brown are among the ranks. A little more melodic sounding then most straight up pop/punk bands, these guys weave audible lyrics with the typical high hat, double kick drum sound. For what it’s worth, not a bad record although the ten songs covered seem to end too fast for me. I swear I just threw it into my disc player. Taking the 30 second urban myth (wink, wink) that floated around my highschool a little too seriously, I think. Terrible Good Riddance Symptoms of a Leveling Spirit Fat Wreck Chords Good Riddance comes out fighting with their latest release Symptoms of a leveling spirit. Sticking to the basics of what’s worked in the past, GR present what punk melodic hardcore is all about. Strong lyrics and strong tempo’s make this one worthwhile. Hey they even give proceeds from the cd to charity. You don’t see that very often. 4 ripped asses out of 5 ripped asses. DC Limp s/t Honest Don’s The hand on the cover is almost giving us the finger. I could almost get into this band, but not quite. Don’t get me wrong - the album as a whole is fairly decent. Slap some of these tunes in-between Blink 182 and...whatever else it is they play on the radio & these boys could have some hits/cash. A little ska, lite punk & a little eighties on the vocals... I think track 5 is actually Blink 182 on a 45 inch record played at 33 rpms. ah well... good on ya boys... go find some radio play. frickinjordan Star 69 s/t Outlaw Entertainment I’m not sure if it’s still the booze in my system or maybe I’m just going crazy, but the 3 tunes on this

maxi cd are pure fucking FUN ANTHEMS! In a cross between Chixdiggit and old school Twisted Sister, these cock rockers showcase their “let’s have a good fucking time” attitude without holding back. “Call it heavy metal, call it rock and roll” perfectly describes this bubblegum-glam power rock troop from Vancouver. One thing that did not impress me was the really lame promo package that I was given, nuff said. Adler Floyd Stoke s/t Independent I’m kind of new to the Vancouver music scene so these cats are new to me. They shouldn’t be new to you. If they are, shame on you, but fear not redemption is close at hand. Their debut disc is available at all the finer local record stores for only 5 freakin’ dollars. Yeah, 5 bucks. Not only have the pressed a killer disc, they’ve got enough sense to not overcharge you for it. Brilliant - I could go on forever ranting about the over pricing of cds, but I won’t. I’ve got to review this disc. This is a rawk record. The real creeping dirty, facedown in the ditch with mud in yer mouth rawk. It crawls all over you at a slow dirge pace with a heaviness that threatens to suffocate. Mule, on the skins, hammers those coffin nails home while SMASH delivers sultry, dangerous bass lines and scorching guitar riffs attempt to take yer skin off one layer at a time. Slowly. I’ll tell you too, that in most cases the shit’s alright until the vocals kick in and ruin it forever. Not in this case. Not by far. Vocalist/guitarist Alec Macauly has one of those smokin’, gravelly voices that you can almost taste. I’m not sure if he sings to his playing or plays to his singing, but whatever he does it works. I had the feeling that this is a killer live band, so I checked the suggested website - www.mp3.com/stoke - and found out about 4 upcoming gigs. Mar. 16 at Blunt Bros. & Mar. 28 at the Railway Club - both with Roadbed (who I’m told are shit hot & well worth seeing), Apr. 12 at the Silvertone Tavern & Apr. 26 at Studebakers Cabaret. Each one for 5 dollars or less. And apparently they have a new drummer (Andy Roystita) who is a show all his own. So come on kids - no excuses. It’s new, it’s local, it’s cheap, and it’s fucking good! I’ll be at the railway on March 28. See ya there. Oh & there’s an E.P. slated for early spring & a full length one later in the year, so we can check out the new drummers chops. I’m sure it will only get better. Nice! frickinjordan Subb The Ultimate Highstep to Hell STOMP This is a re-issue (original was 1996) treated to the 3 R’s of re-issuing: The remaster, the remixed, and the rarities for bonus tracks and the ever-present one new song. Thus begging the question “was it worth it?” I think so; if you have yet to hear this Montreal 5-piece, ska-punk monsters, here’s your chance to virtually start from the beginning. I’ll be honest with you - this is my intro to a fine band. I’ve never really been a ska fan, not that I don’t like or listen to ska occasionally (Voodoo Chicken rawks & sqwaks!); I just went in the other direction musically. So what I see here or what I hear, see, is a good tight band with lots of stomp & bomp. The re-mastering gives it an almost too-clean sound and there is a whopping 30 tracks in all. They never miss a beat and they’ve got a new album on the way sometime around spring 2002. These fella’s are about due for some serious recognition. frickinjordan

The 4-Skins The Secret Life of the 4-Skins Captain Oi! It’s been over two decades since these four hooligans from East London accomplished putting the boot into the trendy art school scene in which Punk had become in the early 80’s. Sure there were many other groups around at the time worth paying attention to, but none that delivered quite as strong of a message as The 4-Skins. The band underwent many line up changes creating good results, but none could touch the ferocity of the original powerhouse incarnation of Gary Hodges on vocals, Hoxton Tom on bass, Rockabilly Steve on Guitar and John Jacobs on drums. This lineup left the masses with sing along hard hitting punk classics with lyrics still as relevant now as they were back then. This latest 4-Skins release is a compilation of tracks recorded back in the day that hadn’t seen the light until now. The first five songs are from a live radio session for the world-renowned John Peel show on Radio 1. The next three from a gig that happened at the Dueragon Pub in East London 1981 and the next four were recorded that year at The Brigdehouse in London’s Canning Town. The final two are re-recorded versions of “Wonderful World” and “Evil” done by the group’s final vocalist Roi Pierce and his new band. The sound quality on this disc varies. Since a lot of 4-Skins classics aren’t included here and the entirety being over 30 minutes, this release is impractical for a novice but for any die hard fan, this is a must! Aaronoid The Cleats Lost Voices, Broken Strings Longshot Records This Edmonton act has been going a few years now and this release is their first full length. The Cleats have their own style of tight Punk with good solid rhythm and melodic guitar sounds played tight and produced well. The vocals here sound like a cross between Fat Mike from NOFX and Mike Ness from Social Distortion, and I don’t mean that in a bad way either. Lyrically, a lot of these songs are the voice of someone dealing with the harsh realities life can deal. Good stuff here. Aaronoid The Frentics These Mistakes Took Years of Practice UNION LOCAL 2112 What can I say? Another fine group straight outta mutha fuckin’ Quebec y’all, Montreal to be anal about it. What a fun disc. Touching on ska, punk with an indie attitude. A three piece with Malcom Bauald providing solid ska puck vocals and tight choppy guitar licks, Phillippe Tremblay keeping it together with smart, funky bass lines and Anne Gauthiers stomping all over the kit. Another great disc courtesy of the label Union Local 2112, first I’ve heard of them but apparently they are a label to look out for. frickinjordan The Moldy Peaches s/t Rough Trade The Moldy Peaches are a two piece lo-fi acoustical maniacal masterpiece. Every single track has a different recording sound, which just adds to the fun on this disc. I must stress, though, that this disc isn’t for the weak at heart. But for everyone else who needs a little fun back in their stereo, I guarantee this is for you. With tracks like “Who’s got the crack?”, “Steak for chicken”, and ah hell the whole thing kicks ass. I give this 4.5 ripped asses out of 5 ripped asses.

DC The Nostrils Nostrophilia Black Rose Digital

time and the slick packaging, photos and colored vinyl do very little to compensate for that fact. Aaronoid. Variac

Unless you were part of the Winnipeg punk scene in the early ‘80’s you probably haven’t heard of the Nostrils until now. My friend Chris Walter, who toured as their roadie, told me that the band was formed in 1979, did a few small tours of Western Canada and then faded into obscurity around ‘83 or ‘84. Since recording and pressing albums in the prairies was especially expensive at the time, The Nostrils never made a studio album. This CD is one of the only documents of their existence, a lot of it is live and some recorded with one microphone. The sound fluctuates from “kind of crappy,” to “worse”. That doesn’t matter. This is a rock and roll record. Rock ‘n’ roll isn’t supposed to sound slick. It’s not supposed to massage the ear-drums or go down easy, like your sister. It’s supposed to kick you in the face and then stomp on your guts while you’re laying on the ground. The Nostrils do it well, sounding to my ears like a cross between early Clash or Jam with a liberal dose of Iggy. All 24-tracks are chock full of raw energy and tunes by the Saints, DOA and the aforementioned Clash blend seamlessly with their originals. Hearing the gusto these guys brought to their live performance makes you realize that, sadly, talent isn’t all it takes to make it big. Some of today’s best acts may end up pruning your shrubs or delivering your mail tomorrow ‘cause they didn’t shake the right hands or stab the right backs. Those lucky enough to track down un-heralded classics like this one can hear the real deal for themselves and realize what everyone else is missing, Rusty Haight Tilt Been Where? Did What? Fat Wreck Chords This compilation of Tilt’s past shows one of two things: either they were too lazy to write a new record, or they really think the world should hear all the stuff they didn’t want you to hear over the last ten years. B-sides and unreleased material compiled together are only for the true die hard fan who can’t find it on Napster. Covers are usually acceptable except when they’re t.v. theme songs. Just write some new material. 2 ripped asses out of 5 ripped asses. DC U.S. Bombs Lost in America/Live 2001 LP Disaster Records This band is fucking brilliant! After going strong for almost a decade, they still continue to rock like no one else playing their melodic but snotty assed beach Punk sound. I’ve heard some people refer to them as the American Sex Pistols, a statement I can’t fully disagree with. Toothless and tattooed singer Duanne Peters is a maniac, when not singing for The Bombs you can find him singing with his solo side project The Hunns, as well as running Disaster Records. Being a world class professional skateboarding legend, he’s lived the life, done it all, then some and has the scars to prove it. Long live the mighty Duanne Peters and U.S. Bombs! This first official live U.S. Bombs release was recorded at dive bars and gathering holes on the group’s “Back at the Laundromat” tour. Having seen the group on this tour myself can honestly say that these recordings here are too poorly recorded to do them justice. Maybe such a raw recording is supposed to be the aesthetic of it all, but surely a band so established could’ve come up with a better live album. This record is a complete waste of

Hard Starward Rustbelt Records

The lead singer sounds allot like Bono at times, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad thing. Dancing music it ain’t, this is the shit you weep too because you just broke up with your mate and need to heal like the little pussy that you are. This is a mellow post-alternative rock record in the tradition of Jeff Buckley and Coldplay. Very kool, but don’t keep this in your CD player when entertaining friends. Tracks 1,4,8 should stand out above the rest. theVariac.com Adler Floyd Vertical After Bloody Murdo Independent Why are the band members faces on the cover yellow? Is it a Simpsons thing? Vertical After are a Rock Band from Vancouver. Kick and his three ring circus of thrills and spills packed into a Winnebago and ready to roll. This is the band’s third release- not counting their official infomercial- and I still have no idea what the name means. Vertical After don’t seem to be making fun of Rock & Roll silliness, so much as they’ve accepted it, embraced it and continued on. Learned that just because you’ve gripped your inner Nigel Tufnel, doesn’t mean you can’t be sort of serious sometimes. And, conversely, a serious side should not necessarily preclude a messed-with cover of the Police’s Synchronicity. Musically, Vertical After are all over the map- from Metal to Murdo to whatever they feel like. Hard to categorize- a capital career offense in the twenty-first century- but what’s really wrong with that? No need to stick to one thing for the sake of airplay when you’re not likely to get it regardless. And with a press release laden with pictures taken with Lemmy and Alice Cooper, why should they give a damn what anybody thinks? Let there be Rock. Get yourself a copy. www.verticalafter.com Mike O. Your Funeral

s/t Independent

Local boys Your Funeral release a five song disc with pop punk flavoring. These guys cover the punk rock formula with effort and intensity. ‘Capture the flag’ and ‘Girl guide cookies’ are definite standouts. Remember that band Section 46? Kind of like that. Go see them play… did I say their local? 3.5 ripped asses out of 5 ripped asses. DC

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TOUR OF BOOTY (part1)

Hello folks, it’s been a while since I’ve ranted, so here ya go!

Living here in Vancouver used to be fun. And we all thought we had it bad before, with the NDP or the Social Credit! Sure, they all turned out to be criminals, but at least they were entertaining on the news… not like the schmucks in power now. These fucks are just plain jackasses! Fuck Gordon Campbell and all his cronies and a mighty eat my ass’ to all of you Liberals. I invite all in the Liberal caucus take a bus down to The Cobalt for a debate. Some of my band friends are teachers, so they can help out after school. C’mon… it’ll be fun. Then we can all maybe go for high tea on one of your yachts. We’ll put together a fund for gas, and don’t you worry if partying with us gets too intense, because we promise we’ll drop you at one of your finest hospitals. I’m sure the nurses will take great care of you shits… maybe you need a fucking beer enema. Hmmm… give The Nerve a call and we’ll set something up.

The GRAAAANDE re-opening of the Club Paradise Cabaret

(home of the supposed) LIVE CAT FIGHTS review by: Tex (boy) and Dex (girl) Dex: The Paradise is close to our house so when it closed down for about three weeks, we were sad. Needless to say when it re-opened we were stoked (yeah, naked ladies!). So we skipped the $2.99 roast beef dinner at the Fraser Arms, did a couple of shots and set off on a strip club adventure. Tex: For those of you who’ve never been to the Paradise, the experience is kind of like renting bad 80’s porn with your only Surrey friend and all his cousins, who are also from

Buried Alive Bukkake

A toXXXic Entertainment Production On a separate bitch, we all should bow our heads in a moment of silence for the loss of a good friend. On Feb. 15/02 The Marble Arch closed her doors for good. Apparently, some Mormons got ownership and shut her down. I personally spent a lot of time in her bosom… hell, where do you think most of us met our girlfriends in the 80’s and 90’s? My mom actually sent me my birthday card there one year. The Marble Arch was also the place to be to meet some pretty cool folks visiting town… just listen to Motley Crue’s, ‘Girls Girls Girls’ (they name it in one of the verses). Hanging out with other folks like Metallica, AC/DC, Guns-n-Roses, David Lee Roth, Marilyn Manson, Kelsey Grammer… anyway, a lot more than that as well. The Arch is gone now and there ain’t nothin’ we can do but salute the thousands of ladies that entertained and the staff who sometimes partied more than us. Here’s to all of you and the club itself… thanx for the memories.

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E

jaculation is a big deal in a porn video. Cumming outside has always been requisite and protocol now mandates ejaculation onto the face of the female. There has been alot of banter about sexism against women because of the cumshot - from complaints of non-realism to treatises on objectification and degradation. Former porn actress Candida Royalle started directing couples-oriented porn without exterior male

Surrey. Dex: But they aren’t your friends, so it’s ok Tex: No it’s not, but anyways... the decor is a little tacky - a very large neon Ferrari adorns the far wall, surrounded by neon palm trees, beach umbrellas. Kinda like a paradise for perverts. Dex: Kinda like an MC Hammer video. Tex: Yeah, MC Hammer lives on at the Paradise, they’re in a bit of a time warp, so to speak. Dex: Just kind of early nineties, that’s all. Tex: So, anyhow, the bar advertises ‘live cat fights’ right at the entrance, and on re-opening night, they had a wrestling ring set up in the middle of the bar... Dex: But its not usually there, usually there is a really short stage with an even shorter pole (about the size of two midgets). Tex: There were no midgets that night though. That would have been neat. They did have naked women though, of all shapes and sizes. Its kinda like a naked variety show. You get a real different calibre of women at the Paradise than you do at most peeler joints, y’know. It’s alot more like real life. I go for the realness, for the raw emotion.… Dex: I don’t know what sort of emotion

he’s talking about, I’m talking about sexy ladies taking their clothes off as I get progressively drunker. Tex: We tried coming here a few weeks earlier but they had been shut down. What a way to ruin my birthday! I wanted to get drunk and have a dirty 20 dollar lap dance. It was too late to go anywhere else. Its the only place around Main Street

orgasms, while on censorial fronts there have been directives against the ‘facial.’ The anti-cumshot factions don’t consider two key facts: male ejaculation is a fascinating visual image and men — completely aside from sexual fulfillment — are pretty interested in ejaculation at some primal guy-thing level that has little to do with women. 1973’s Behind The Green Door still stands as the ultimate exploitation of the visual potential of ejaculation and now, in the contemporary scene, the male meaning of ejaculation has found a genre. Bukkake is a Japanese word meaning “splash over”, and in recent years became appropriated by the Japanese sex industry fore fetish videos wherein numerous males line up and ejaculate onto a woman. The phenomenon hit our shores in 1998 with Ed Powers’ “American Bukkake” series (now up to #15). Buried Alive Bukkake is a variation on the theme, in which two women lay in the sand on a Mexican Resort beach to receive the ejaculations. Affably hosted by the venerable Ron Jeremy — who will hopefully soon make a trip to Vancouver to pro-

that you can drink past midnight, without going all the way down to the Cobalt.

Tex: Anyhow, their grand reopening was more of a dry run than a grand opening. It was alright, they had 15 dollar lap dances and cheap beer, no cat fights though, but the DJ promised me violence if we came back the next day. Dex: And we did, and the day after that too, and still no fighting! The bastards! Tex: We eventually got bored of going every night and curiosity overcame me as to why they closed in the first place. They didn’t renovate, that was for sure. We schmoozed one friendly staff member enough to spill it. Tex: Good party, so why’d you shut down, eh? Guy: Yeah, well, we sort of broke every single liquor law shy of urination and deification.… Dex: Did they forget to check the bathrooms? Tex: This place would be great for rawk shows. Guy: Man, this place was the heart of Rock n Roll once, there’s been 3 homicides here, and we had Steve Martin perform here. This place has been rocked man, now go get a dance before the roof caves in.” Dex: No more column. Sex sex sex! Me me me! Now now now!

mote the documentary on his life, PORN STAR — Buried Alive Bukkake is an entertaining and educational look at a new ritual of public masturbation. Fans of porn and deconstruction alike should find this vid of interest. It reveals that the woman is of only nominal significance to a malepride function of ejaculation unconnected with sex. Yes, despite the presence of some high class fluffers, including the female-ejaculating Mila ‘Queen of Nasty’, Buried Alive Bukkake amounts to a bunch of men standing around manipulating and milking their members. The women are there simply to confirm the heterosexuality of the event. The producers do include other footage of porn babes cavorting at the Resort and have brought in a few porn actors — including an uncredited Herschel Savage (who with roles dating back to 1970 is undoubtedly the Gordie Howe of porn) — to officially consummate matters. Buried Alive Bukkake is available at REEL HORROR., 11 East Broadway. Dmidtrui Otis


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The Nerve Magazine - March/April 2002