The Nerve Magazine November/December 2000

The Halloween Issue Nov/Dec 2000 Vol. 1 #6

WE

’RE

Free!

1Y EA RO LD! !!

presents

the Street

a modern tragedy - by W. Ruth Kozak

Johnny: “You don’t understand what it’s like, do you? How I’ve craved it?

What it feels like to think about it all the time? I’ve been fighting it.”

Det. Lonnigan: There’s one thing I know though. Jail doesn’t cure drug addiction. There has to be another solution.”

Drawing by Atty Gell

Drawing by Robert Kinnard

a two-act play set in the 1950’s about drug abuse in the 1950’s

Nov. 22nd: Preview; Nov. 23rd: Pay what you can; Nov. 24th: Opening Night; Nov. 25th; Nov. 30th: 2 for 1 night; Dec 1, 2 & 3; Dec. 6th: Dollar / Welfare Night; Dec 7, 8, 9 & 10.

Curtain: 7:30 PM Sharp!

The Web Café @ The Vancouver Film School

390 West Hastings Street (@ Homer St.) Vancouver, BC

Tickets: $16, students and seniors: $10

Box Office: 708-5448

Note: A discussion about substance abuse will follow each performance

2

A Mag for Freedom’s Sake!

Editor’s Blurb

Welcome to The Nerve Magazine’s first anniversary issue. For all you lovely ladies and fine fellows who’ve followed us over the past year, you know, read the issues, punched up the site, came to the parties, gave me head and bought me drinks, I thank you. You really are our inspiration.

As for the contest in the last issue to cream pie the Mayor, I must apologise. I neglected to take into consideration that the sonofabitch is impossible to locate. A recent article in Vancouver Magazine (I know, but this one was actually good) about Phillip Owen asked the same question: Who and where the fuck is the Mayor of Vancouver? (paraphrase) The conclusion? He is a slimy bastard with a suspicious winter tan who has never publicly said anything halfway intelligent and has managed to stunt any chance of Vancouver actually becoming a culturally vibrant or even halfway fun city. The contest still stands, by the way: $100 to cream pie or, even better, dog pie the mayor. All I can say is… good luck.

Issue 6

Free Coke for Supermodels p.16

The Misfits p.11

For all you fans of the SICK LITTLE MONKEYS column, I have some tragic news. D.Cat. was last scene pulling PVC from her teeth while exiting through the back door of a burning building in Yaletown. D.Cat! If you are still in the country, call us! It just isn’t the same without you.

The Nerve Guide to Grow Op

What’s next for The Nerve you ask? Well, a shitload of parties, better drugs, faster women, the second annual Nerve ‘slick ‘em up with butter’ orgy and, get this, soon to be launched Nervewear, highly fashionable t’s and g’s brought to you by the twisted, drug-shrunk minds of Nerveland.

Naughty Camp 2000

I’m outta space! so all I got left to say for myself is: she TOLD me she was 18, I swear to god, and… well, from myself and all my precious Nerverts and Nervettes down here the Nerve Centre, see you all again in the new year, babies.

The Editor

p.15

p.8

livewires p.8 straight 8 p.22 core lore p.31 free energy p.19 off the record p.26

ERRATA

The Sub-TERRAIN ad in the last issue was manhandled by US and the typo should reflect harshly upon THE NERVE’S abilities and was by no means the fault of Sub-TERRAIN. The typos in the ROADBED ad in the last issue were the sole fault of one of our designers and by no way reflects the abilities of band ROADBED. (Said designer has since been removed from his post with surprisingly little blood loss.)

Last and definitely least, the Mayor has never been associated with any of the people involved in or personally connected to an alleged drug crazed fisting orgy in a cheap East End hotel room last month. All reference to this event are retracted by The Nerve Magazine and its editors.

Thank You. Ed.

UNCENSORED Viewer discretion advised The Nerve is published bi-monthly by the Nerve Magazine Ltd. (604)899-2406, (604)632-9654 (fax) Circulation: 5000 in Vancouver and via subscriptions. The opinions expressed by the writers and artists do not necessarily reflect those of the Nerve Magazine, its publisher or editor. 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 2000 The Nerve Magazine Ltd. Box 88042, China Town PO, Vancouver BC, V6A 4A4

The Nerve is: Publishers: Pierre Lortie, Bradley C. Damsgaard Editor-in-Chief: Bradley C. Damsgaard Music Editor: Paul Crowley Design and Graphics: Pierre Lortie, Bradley C. Damsgaard Staff Writers: Atomick Pete, A. D. MADGRAS, Liz Wakefield, D. Cat, Billy Tender Flake, Mike O, Brian Lindgreen, Mittens, Jeff Oliver, Matt Prendergast, Michael D. Dammitt, Paul Crowley,, Matt Burrows, Casey Bourque, Other Contributors: Lee Mcdonald, Caroline Manuel, Cameron Noyes, Steffani Cameron Illustration: Mike O, Alain Glomo, Photography: Casey Bourque, Tawnya Crowshoe Ad Sales: Bradley C. Damsgaard Copy Editing: Grace Chin Pre-Press and Printing: Horizon Binding: Horizon Distribution: The Nerve crew in the NerveMobile

cover artwork by Alain Glomo

The Nerve Hires Kick Ass People to work on developing our marketing, ad sales and fundraising ventures.

Commission based Starts Immediately

Please send Resumes to: P.O. Box 88042 Chinatown PO, Vancouver, BC Phone: 604-899-2406 Fax: 604-632-9654 e-mail: advertising@thenerveonline.com

4

Column

Jeff Oliver

Booked Solid:

Surviving The Anvil Press 3-Day Novel Writing Contest

Lying on my back, wrists in traction, nightmares of green monsters reverberate in my now vacant mind.

I hear evil voices. My room is filthy, a murky chamber of overturned chairs, cigarette stench, and rotting human flesh. I have been though hell – and yet, I am grinning. Even more curious, my pubic hair is neatly trimmed like a 19th Century English Garden.… Below is an account of the torturous journey that reduced me to this state, a crushing exorcism evoked by its very name: The Anvil Press Three-Day Novel Writing Contest. I survived, and offer the following warning for those bidden to follow their creative juices through literary purgatory and beyond….

Twenty minutes before start time, I got a nifty idea. Hirsute! I would shave my pubic hair. Call it a symbolic gesture; if the next seventy twohours were going to take me from amateur scribe to novelist, a journey equivalent in my mind to becoming a man, I wanted to begin it smooth as a baby. If I succeeded, if I finished the book, I would arise not just a real writer, but a writer grizzly with achievement – every chapter until the pinnacle, a trophy of burgeoning manhood.

Call it my literary puberty, but I really wanted to be a writer; I had even enrolled in an MFA program to prove it. But Anvil’s “literary marathon,” I knew, was the real test. Hard core. If I could do this, the road ahead would be a breeze. It was important to me. And so, like an athlete preparing for the Olympics, I trained; long nights improved my speed at the keyboard, my stamina, my prose style. The sacrifices I had made to ready myself … I even stopped jerking off! So when the clock stuck twelve, and I approached that computer, it was as a World Champion Lithuanian weight lifter: deadly serious, buffed up, and brimming with testosterone.

off… my mind let go… and I pounded at the keyboard madly. My fingers were electric spiders, words like lightening bolts coursed through my fingertips; The Muse wasn’t just on my side, she was pissed off! “This is a breeze,” I said to myself, increasing my speed. ”Look at me: I’m writing the Novel! And it’s going well! Oh God, yes! I am a writer. I AM GOD. I AM…” I opened my eyes to read my first delicious words: “Tommy Calhoon was in a chicken suit when the Puccini boys busted in and pumped him with enough bullets to make him lay a lead egg.” Oh, fuck. Delete.

Blank page. I set back to it again. This time on my own , and raging into the night….

It worked. By morning I had some forty pages.

My story was simple enough; Elliot Farb, an idealistic upper-class kid from Rosedale goes tree planting for a suspiciously pristine company called “Save The Planet Inc.” Out in the woods Elliot is confronted by a deep-seeded fear of life without comforts, he meets the woman of his dreams (a Tarzan-like character raised by wolves), and accidentally discovers the shady nature of the company he worships. Mix this with a bear that won’t leave him alone, a floating onion, and the uncovering of a plan to sell Save The Planet Inc. to a group of immoral corporate robber barons that include Elliot’s own father, and you’ve got a heartwrenching coming of age story with a dramatic twist. Practically writes itself!

The stinging sensation that I experienced when the sweat mingled with the skin of my freshly shaved genitalia makes the word ‘ablaze’ seem inexcusably light...

But first, the absolute necessities: phone ringer off, Internet connection disabled, coffee pot espresso-thick, and – just in case – a stash of enough booze, smokes and dope to make William Burroughs blush ….

Midnight.

I sat. Closed my eyes. Breathed. Breeeeeeathe…

Fingers in place. And. Just. Like. That. I went

I felt pretty good – this whole novel business wasn’t so bad. Just a go, go, go! Confident, I took a walk. It was a hot September day; the pavement cooked under the sweltering sun, and as I strutted the avenue, sweat quickly dampened my forehead. Then it dampened my neck. It dripped

down my upper torso, my stomach, and finally, into my nether-regions. The stinging sensation that I experienced when the sweat mingled with the skin of my freshly shaved genitalia makes the word ‘ablaze’ seem inexcusably light: the itch, like wildfire, spread in a peppery tempest of pins and needles. I groped, rubbed, scratched – it only got worse. Unstoppable! If it was a horror film, it might have been called ”When Short and Curlies become Short and Pricklies.” My kingdom for a pinch of talc! I’m tellin ya’, it was worse than the itch on your nose right now. Itchy nose, itchy nose, itchy, scratchy nose … Made you itch.

(Ha!!)

I scampered home like a crack addict on the jones; baby-carriage moms gasped in horror at this walking vampire tugging desperately at his scrotum. I burst through the door of my apartment, unloaded a full bottle of Gold Bond talcum powder onto myself, and let the icy medicine soothe me. But as soon as I got back to my writing table there was another distraction. In fact, a series of distractions that could only be called CONSPIRATORIAL. First, the doorbell: Jehovah’s witnesses, then Girl Scouts, a meter man, then a neighbor needing to use my phone for a dope deal. “Dude, you’ve got messages,” he said, afterwards – and stupidly, I checked them.

Five. Each more urgent than the last: my girlfriend, late on her period: “We have to talk.” My mother, at the hospital: “Grandpa’s, um, fine, he’s okay.…” And finally, concurrently, the electric, water and phone company all giving final notices….

continued over...

I

5

Booked ...from previous hung up, sat in lotus – clear mind, I said, concentrate. Breathe. I gazed at the screen relaxed, but a series of booming thuds, like a hundred sound barriers being broken outside my bedroom window, ripped me from my calm. Furious, I stuck my head out, already wagging my fist, when I saw it: hundreds of scantily clad black women, like a Lil’ Kim look-a-like-contest, parading through the street. A massive float blasted Shabba Ranks from Subaru-sized speakers, and the banner read: Celebrate Caribbean Pride 2000. So, I did. By four a.m., draped in the Jamaican flag, I finally returned, drunk, to my novel. Strangely, I wrote well, but mostly in Ebonics (I used the word ‘bamba-clad’ several times, and referred to the woman of my dreams as a ‘ragamuffin child’) ….

Beyond my colloquial quandary, though, I was having major problems with my story. A panic had seized me about the (rapidly approaching) last chapter. It would have to be an “Alone In The Forest” scene, where my protagonist finally confronts his fears of a life without comforts. It is the most important part of the book – crucial if the story is to make sense. But I couldn’t do it. My words were flat. I just couldn’t get myself into it.

There was a reason; as pretentious as it may or may not sound, I was bothered by technology. All the machinery around me, the computer, coffee machine, lights and music, made it impossible for

6

me to write like I was in the wilderness. I just couldn’t BE THERE where I had to be – with my protagonist, battling the elements of the unknown with only his wits to save him. I gazed at the Microsoft logo as the bottom of my screen and experienced serious writer’s block.

need to survive. I am Elliot Farb! I dash to my closet, busting toes on the way, and wrench out an antique typewriter I’d bought at a garage sale.

I set it up by the window, fed the paper, and, twilight my only lamp, pounded into the night….

It was getting dark out and the full weight of my deadline neared. I tried pacing, I snacked. Nothing worked. Four hours left. I stared at the screen, bereft of ideas. My protagonist was alone in the wilderness and I couldn’t help him.

Midnight struck. I collapsed into a heap on the floor … which is where I am now.

I paced again, drank, smoked, popped pills.

Nothing….

And then, the unimaginable happened. The lights went out. In fact, everything went out. My radio, my clock, my computer. Down. I checked the taps – no running water. I checked the phone – out. Just … darkness and silence.

I tried to laugh. But too much emotion came in a rush. All the stress, the paranoia, the sleep depravation – I broke down. Crying. Weeping in my hands. Down there on my hands and knees.

I cursed the gas company, I cursed the water company, I cursed any company!! “I’ve worked so hard for this,” I cried out, “been so good. And now. All is lost.” I wept.

But then, curled up in fetal position, drenched in darkness and a pool of my own tears, it dawned on me: I am Elliot Farb. A man on his own, no electricity, no phone, nothing but the desperate

It’s the morning after the contest, and I look like hell; I smell bad, my ribs are exposed, my fingers gnarled to the bone. But I did it. With no distractions and a feeling of helplessness in my hip pocket, the last chapter gushed forth like cool water. My three-day novel is complete. As I lay motionless in this morning sunlight, admiring the tidy rows of words on my last pages, I think about the great gift of the past three days: The Anvil Press Three-Day Novel Writing Contest may not be fun, it may not even make you a novelist, but it will give you the opportunity for seventy-two crazy hours to do nothing but what a writer loves most. Writing. And in a world of high-tech distractions, that may be good enough.

THE END Jeff Oliver If you really, really, want a copy of “The Slumming of Elliot Farb,” a (unedited) novel by Jeff Oliver – please send $6 to the Nerve Magazine: Box 88042, China Town PO, Vancouver, BC, V6A 4A4

Fat Bureaucrats in No Fun City

The BC Liquor Law Review has nothin’ for the live scene

J

ust as the Vancouver live scene starts showing signs of life, our good old Victorian era puritans and nostalgic commies in power all take aim at trashing it. The weapon they use is, of course, British Columbia’s internationally joked about, arcane and outdated booze laws. In Vancouver these rules get worse, thanks to the City’s ongoing opposition to the province’s slightest attempt to update and improve the laws.

to past infractions when the site was known as Minto’s. So, although the new owners have nothing to do with the way the bar was run back then, it remains crippled by the same restrictions. It appears that every liquor license is based on the way the licensee is forced to kiss and lick the bureaucrats’ collective ass.

We’d be idiots to think that the liquor law review will solve any of that. As Unlike almost everywhere else, each liquor license is issued and dealt with usual, the process was stuck in an endless bureaucratic battle between dozin Vancouver on a case by case basis through a lengthy bureaucratic process. ens of small interest groups which didn’t include the public. Will there be There are all kinds of conditions particular to each license, such as perks in more relaxed laws? Well, no! One result of the review is that on a mere exchange for concessions, etc. This explains, among other things, why the second offence, the liquor inspector may suspend the license for any amount bars close at all kinds of different hours. It also explains, most stupidly, why of time he feels like! In the past, they would deal with infractions through a process of several warnings, folhalf of the Cambie pub closes at 11 lowed by fines and finally license p.m. while the other half (it’s the same It appears that every liquor suspensions; Now, it’s two strikes, bar, no?) closes at 1 a.m., and why you can’t carry booze through the fence license is based on the way the you’re out! separating the two halves. licensee is forced to kiss and The Brickyard is now made to This type of licensing leads to all kinds lick the bureaucrats’ collective enforce an unviable capacity limit which eliminates it as a venue for of favouritism. Take for example what is ass. out of town acts with larger foloccurring in the new entertainment lowings. While some big shows district the City is pushing for on Granville Street downtown, which even its own police department ques- such as Fear, Danko Jones and The Murder City Devils move to bigger tions. Theatre Row is all about a small but powerful lobby group of wealthy venues, many are simply lost. One of Vancouver’s most talented booking club owners called the Granville Entertainment Group. Since the city lifted agents, Jason Lajeunesse, has quit to go work in Seattle; the live scene the 1992 ban on new licensed seats downtown, members of this group remains crippled, at least for now. obtained more than a fair share of the new downtown licenses. Meanwhile, clubs and venues outside this select group seem to get hit by the full extent The big picture in Vancouver will remain the same: big business, the wealthiest or those most influential with corrupt bureaucrats get all the of the outdated laws and rules. perks and the favors, while the rest, well … fuck ‘em! Live, original music One of the fucked up things about Vancouver is that liquor license capac- is mostly found in ”the rest”, in the character-rich, grassroots operations ity doesn’t always match fire capacity; in some cases it is less than half. such as The Sugar Refinery, the Pic or The Brickyard. The end result is a While The Brickyard has a fire capacity of 251, its license only allows for financially unviable live scene, a lack of venues and a lack of fun which 110. The Sugar Refinery, located on the new Granville entertainment row, sums up the world-class joke that is Vancouver, currently known as the is only allowed 44 people in a place that safely holds 99. I didn’t know that official No Fun City. drunk people doubled in size, nor was I aware that the clubs with a liqour capacity similar to their fire capacity cater to smaller people. According to statistics, one Gastown club has a liquor capacity of 312 while the fire capacity is only 306! Another non sequitor: older licenses bear the former owners’ history, including concessions to bureaucrats during past renewals or penalties for infractions, no matter how many times the license has changed hands.

The Brickyard license has a limited capacity due

Take Action Now!

Don’t let bored bureaucrats kill the scene. You can do something.

Sign the Petition to keep the scene and fun alive!

That petition will be submitted to municipal and provincial governments. You can currently sign it at the Brickyard, at the door (315 Carrall St. Vancouver).

It will soon become available for signatures at several other venues in Vancouver, on Vancouver Island and on the Internet. Stay tuned and check thenerveonline.com or citygigs.com for up to date information. For more details contact: nofuncity@thenerveonline.com 7

Naughty Camp Punk Rock, Shrooms and Cow Pies (in two parts) Pemberton/Mt. Currie, BC September 15-16

Friday Night

I

t was pitch black by the time us girls rolled into Naughty Camp. We swiftly set up the tents,

mixed the bevvies and made out towards the stage. The first band I actually watched was Power Clown – they do Iron Maiden songs decked out like clowns. It was rockin’ hilarious and terrifying all at the same time. The Dayglo Abortions were my favourites of the whole weekend. They’ve still got it in spades, not letting the kids down for a moment. There was this insane energy in the air for their whole set; perhaps their best I’ve seen yet. The Load Levelers were the ideal band to play Naughty Camp ‘cuz they’re so bad ass! I really dig the dirty, nasty, heavy music so, in my mind, they could really do no wrong.

I was extremely wasted at this point, as were the Felchers, who played last (I think?) No matter ‘cuz they sounded hot as ever, bouncing from punk

8

Dayglo Abortions rock and metal and back again. Their shows can get pretty out of hand at times but I think most folks were too wrecked to do serious damage. Yeah, so that’s what I remember from the first night of Naughty Camp. And it started off with a bang indeed.

Casey Bourque

Saturday Night

W

e were still over an hour’s drive

from the site when I started hallucinating.

Sleep deprivation - the shrooms were still in my pocket. It was pitch black. We were late. We’d stopped for a couple of steaks at the Day and Knight to help with the impending excessive alcohol ingestion, and were behind schedule. I was driving the car - an ’85 chevette hatchback, got good mileage and the tape deck worked but fucked if it’d go over 80 on any kind of hill. But we were happy. Why? Because we were getting the fuck out of the city and going to a punk rock party in the fucking woods with some crazy fucking Indians led by a guy named Creepy Simon. Perfect.

We arrived about 9:30 p.m. on day two, Saturday night, missed Friday -Power Clowns, Dayglo and shit because… well, you know… but my first impression, as we pulled onto the grounds, parked the car, fished out a bottle of wine, pushed the cork in with a screwdriver and lit a cigarette was: were the fuck is everybody?

THE SITE….

The camp site was huge. R.V.’s, campers, hearses, tents. The site was actually a cow field so there were these cow pies all over the place; some hard, some still slick. The people were there but everything was spread out over a vast field. The stage was huge and about seven feet off the ground. Half the time there were more people on it and back stage than in the front. But that’s where they had the band’s beer. We set up our tent in the light from the headlights to avoid sleeping on piles of cow shit. Tent erected, we headed to the stage.

THE DRUGS….

Alright. The moon rose fat between the mountains and lit the site. And the reefer burned. The bonfires warmed the people and then the Indians came down and flooded the place with fat bags of ‘shrooms. They were pretty good, so I heard. I’d brought my own pocketful. Everybody was on ‘em.

High. And the reefer burned….

Power Clown into the backseat of my car….

AFTERMATH….

I awoke to some deranged punks screaming at the gods. It was 11:00 a.m., and a good bunch of brain damaged punk motherfuckers were still going.

After minor damage control, we packed up camp and got the hell out of there. It was at this time that I actually got a good look at the site. The place looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Beer cans, garbage, shit, bodies, people sleeping under cars….

FINAL WORD....

Did Naughty Camp 2000 kick ass? Yeah, it kicked ass. But there’s just somethin’ about being out in the mountains, wide open air, cow shit filled field and everybody on mushrooms that fucked with the punk. What were people calling it? Punkstock? Weird. If they have one next year, for all of you who didn’t go, get your fucking ass up there. Great outdoor fun for the whole god damn family.

A.D. MADGRAS All photos: Casey Bourque

THE MUSIC….

As for the bands and the music, well, it just never fucking ended. The last band, The Rock and Roll Survivors went on at about 4:30 a.m.

Before them was a blur of chaos and eerie punk echoing off the mountains with about a 2 second delay. Add a gram an a half of mushrooms: very eerie. From what I could tell, according to the itinerary, the whole thing was about 5 hours behind schedule. JP5 cut probably the best set of the evening. Blem de la Blem was a mess but blazed off a set anyway. Lummox was drunk and pissed off but they still had me singing along, “Rock ‘em, Sock ‘em, in your bottom, stick my dick right up your ass and have a swill of beer!”. After that, for me, well, Naughty Camp became not just a hunt for beer, but a blurry endurance contest.

THE LAST THING I REMEMBER….

I made it back to my tent only find a Jason Leblanc of Blem in my fucking sleeping bag. I started shaking him, “Leblanc! Get the fuck out of my bed!” Without opening his eyes he just turned to me an said, “Slayer,” then rolled over. Comatose.

Fuck it. I grabbed my pillow from under his head, rolled up his cow shit crusted pants and tucked them under where the pillow had been. Last Naughty Camp memory? Crawling

The Felchers

9

Lot’s O Beer’n Fights with Fear

T

he Fear show was first scheduled to take place at the venerable Brickyard, but the new ’Dosjani’ liquor rules (believe it or not, the liquor laws in BC just got even worse) forced a move to the Starfish Room. The crowd comprised a lot of old school punk hardcore types and the level of energy was extremely high. The evening started with openers Blem de la Blem making their first appearance in a larger Vancouver venue. This East Vancouver three piece punk meets metal band played to an immobile but captive crowd. Most people were just standing there, watching and listening to what was happening. Lead singer guitarist Jason a. k. a. ‘Man of Death’ captivates your attention with his ‘in your face’ and honest stage presence. You’ll like Blem if you’re into well-written and tight kick ass hardcore that drives the point home with no detour.

Then Fear took on the stage to fierce appreciation. The Starfish was packed with many old school punks, in their 30s, including

10

@ the Starfish Room. Sunday, October 8th 2000

myself, willing to relive some good old rowdy times. Fear have been around since the early 80’s as LA punk icons. The driving force behind this beer themed band, singer Lee Ving is still in great shape, with longer hair now, always willing to offend. During second song, he got pissed off at the spitting going on, stopped the show and the band left the stage. Everybody in the audience got pissed off and we were seemingly on the threshold of a riot. While the crowd started shouting ‘refund, refund, refund, and throwing half full plastic beer cups at the stage, promoter Jason Lajeunesse got up there and said, “he’s pissed off and if the spitting doesn’t stop, the show won’t go on”.

Everyone calmed down a bit and a minute later Fear came back. “I’m from Pennsylvania,” warned Ving. “And there, spitting on someone is showing disrespect”.

Then: “kick!” Fear went on to perform what’s gotta be one of their best shows ever, playing a lot of old stuff to an intense mosh pit as well as material from their new record, An American Beer.

Early in the set, it was obvious that some bouncers simply didn’t know how to deal with old drunken punks. There were three of them on stage to control stage diving and one off them was definitely looking for shitr a fight, maybe a riot. He looked high. At one point he grabbed some guy by the neck, hauled him up the stage and held him there for awhile, until the audience got quite pissed off, and then let him go. From that point on, the bouncers got beer thrown at them non-stop, including my expensive beer. Then they seemed to smarten up a bit and got a lot less aggressive as the gig went on. Reportedly, someone in attendance got badly beaten up along with someone defending him. The fight started in the venue, got fairly large and continued onto the street. Ambulances were called in and the Police attended. Overall, a pretty memorable show.

Atomick Pete

The Misfits with Speedealer and Guy Smiley Richard’s on Richards, Vancouver October 3, 2000

WHO ELSE?

Gets wrestling tips from Jerry O of the Misfits I case you don’t know them, go get help. These guys are the Kiss of punk rock, pro wrestlers and, I think, the only punk band with their own action figures. And they still rock. Better than most even after 20 years.

Welcome to my new column in The Nerve. The following is a wrestling story clip from the video interview with that Misfit Jerry Only at Richard’s on Richards last time they were in town. (The video will be available for viewing at www.viavid.com soon. Check it out.

Jerry O: O.k., well I was lifting with Bill Goldberry and we were gonna be doing the Starcade, which was in Washington. The match that we were doing was the Misfits and Vampiro against Oklahoma and Dr. Death. So what happened was Oklahoma was one of the writers, he was one of the bosses for it. And they told me that, “Uh, well, you’re probably gonna have to hit the Boss with a chair.” I’ve never hit anybody with a chair before so I went to Goldberg and said, “Bill, I’ve got to hit the Boss with a chair and I’m a little concerned about hurtin’ him and getting thrown outta here. Can you show me how to hit him with a chair?” And he said, “Well, you know brother, I don’t use a chair. You’d better ask Bret.”

A

Later that afternoon I went over to the locker room and knocked on

fter a few songs into The Misfits’ set a thought the door. I looked in and there’s Goldberg sitting there with Bret

occurred to me: these guys look like a bunch of professional wrestlers who accidentally got their hands on guitars. For one thing, every member of the band is absolutely huge and for another, they treat all their songs like opponents that can be beaten into submission by sheer muscle-power.

Hart. Goldberg turns to me and says, “Here he is, talk to him.” So I says, “Hey Bret, you got a minute? Can you show me how to use a chair? I think I gotta hit the Boss with one and I’m a bit concerned about that.” “Sure,” he said. Then he gets me and lines me up. He sets my shoulders cause when you get hit you gotta have

I wasn’t until later that I learned from a friend that they your spine down and your shoulder blades outta the way. really do wrestle, in the washed-up WCW. Is there anything wrongseeming with the band that sang “TV Casualty” making a living by So it takes him a few minutes to line me up. Then he looks at wrestling on TV? If there was a washed-up league for bands, they’d Goldberg and gives him a wink. He grabs the chair and he whacks belong there too - this incarnation of the Misfits bears little resem- me with this thing and WHOOF, all the air came out of my body. blance to the original (bassist Jerry Only carries the flame), and I went (inhaling noise) o.k., thanks, see ya later and kind of stumbled actually had to legally fight the long-departed Danzig for the right out of the place. It was pretty funny and great to get my first shot to use the name. from Bret Hart.

The lead singer had apparently been held at the border, so Only was filling in on vocal duties. They ran through The Misfits shock-core classics with little inspiration and material from their newer albums was lost on most of the crowd. The most interesting part was watching the roadie who’s only duty was to wipe the sweat off Jerry Only’s back. The audience of devoted squeegee kids still ate it up. But at $25 a head, they must have felt at least some of the rip-off sting.

For more whacked stories form rock stars and a shit load of other madness visit: www.iamwhoelse.com Brian “WHO” Else hosts “Who Else” on www.viavid.com Fridays.

Check out the library of archived interviews.

“Six months ago they gave me a camera and some beer.

That’s when it all went bad”

The band that preceded them, Speedealer, did a much better job with their

See Misfits on p. 28 11

Vinyl

Some shots from the fetish ball and fashion show that took place September 27th @ The Rage. photos: Tawnya Crowshoe

Ani Kyd

@ The Java Joint, Surrey, BC Oct.13th

I

had never been to the Java Joint before. My mother works at the Surrey court house, and from what I can gather there have been a few “situations” there in the past, but on this particular evening everything was right as rain. For the most part it seems to be the local youth drop-in center, with a coffee shop in front and a small rec room in back where the bands play. And oh yeah-no swearing please; there are children present. I knew I was in Whalley when one of the mothers of one of the aforementioned children pointed across the room and exclaimed: “oh look, there’s your dad”.

Now the very first band was instantly forgettable; I don’t know, I think they were neighbourhood kids or something, everybody seemed to know each other (And just as an aside, I can’t believe I am seeing another generation of ‘’huge” mohawks. To me that’s just whipping a dead horse).

Anyway... next was.... oh to hell with it. When Ani Kyd finally hit the stage I must confess that I started movin’. In my opinion she gave that place a much needed kick in the ass. This is where I make the bold statement that Whalley kids could be a little stupid because the place suddenly got a little less crowded and a lot more mellow.

Doughty

Former Soul Coughing Leader does not disappoint at Sonar in Vancouver, Saturday, October 14, 2000

Say what you will about Frank Black’s egotistical megalomania and treatment of Kim Gordon during the Pixies’ heyday he was the reason the band was so huge. It was his flawed genius and sheer manic energy that propelled them along in an era when Bon Jovi and Motley Crue were still hogging scary amounts of public attention.

Enter M.Doughty and a similar scenario. With a slightly less overt ego than Black and a more balanced band, Doughty took New York-based Soul Coughing places that defied pigeonholing and categorisation in the anally retentive 94/95 post Nirvanamania. Their debut album Ruby Vroom must rate as one of the best albums ever. Despite little or no mainstream radio or press exposure, the album was and still is unconventional and hugely popular.

However, with a shooting-star brilliance like that of Janes Addiction, Soul Coughing reached the end of their creative tether in 1999. Now Doughty is touring North America with an amp and two acoustic guitars, promoting new solo offering Skittish. He epitomises the older, wiser intelligentsia and is still zany. The differences between this stripped-down ‘80s Billy Bragg on-stage minimalism and the complex and quirky Soul Coughing are both

I felt like yelling “what’s wrong with you guys, this is Ani fucking Kyd here!” Dumb kids. At any rate, the amazing thing (there are a couple) about Ani is that she has such a powerful voice. In fact there is something about her whole stage presence, it’s... I don’t know... it’s of a certain class quality. Although she is actually really nice, from afar she looks as though she may come and kick your ass at any moment.

She told me after the show that she would be getting a record out Ani Kyd soon. But until such time, I strongly urge you to go see her wherever she may be playing; you won’t be disappointed. And if you find that you like her so much (and why wouldn’t you?) that you can’t wait for any kind of musical offering, she has a few songs you can download at anikyd.com.

Lee McDonald photo: courtesy of Ani Kyd

aural and visceral. Gone are the rolling Sebastian Steinberg stand-up basslines, the hot-knife-on-butter ping snarethumps of Yuval Gabay and the weird and wonderful DAT files of samplemaster Mark Degliantoni. It’s goodbye unit, hello “total creative control” solo personality. As with Frank Black, a break from the ranks had to happen.

Doughty did not disappoint in front of the appreciative Sonar crowd. He’s slightly puffier than in the mid-90s, choosing the more conservative black suit and DM shoes over the white sneakers and b-boy attire of Starfish Room 1995 fame. His maturity as a singer/songwriter is reminiscent of Tom Waits, his abstract lyrics of David Bowie circa Hunky Dory. His finelycrafted Brooklyn intellect and dry humour translate well into this new format.

For a start there’s more dialogue. Verbal exchanges with the audience were lightning-fast and sarcastic, but Doughty won every round easily and showed he could read the crowd.

“Do you miss the band?” yelled one brave soul, a few songs in. “Why? Do you?” deadpanned Doughty, reaching into his trouser pocket. “Do you want your money back? ‘Cuz I got it. I GOT IT!” The 90-minute set was drawn evenly from all three SC albums and Skittish.

The romantic Looks (a cover) and the New York-centric Thank you, Lord, for sending me the F Train combined with older songs to great effect. The banter covered (amongst other things) Starbucks, espressos in Idaho, a flight with a female soccer team and his favourite word boobies (“I love the word boobies more than I love boobies themselves.”)

The one downer in the evening came during the performance of SC classics “St.Louise is listening” and “Circles,” both taken from 1998’s El Oso-SC’s

See Doughty on p. 28 13

Sensi Seeds of Canada

To receive a discreet catalogue, send S.A.S.E. to Box 88455 Chinatown PO, Vancouver, B.C. V6A 2T0

14

The Nerve Guide to Grow Op

T

How to set up your own hydroponic system. In your closet.

he other day, after finishing smoking yet another cannon

from my personal garden, I sat back in my fine recliner and thought to myself, “Christ, why the hell isn’t everybody growing?”

What I often hear is “Yeah, but I don’t have the space.” Bullshit. You got a closet?

To the few people out there that are still not with the program, stop making excuses and start growing hydroponics. It’s so simple your Grandma should be doing it. The drip system (described in this article) is just a sample of various systems that can be used. Below is a simple guide to setting up and maintaining your first closet hydro system.

NUTRIENTS Ready made nutrient mixes containing all of the necessary macro and trace elements are available from most nurseries and any specialty hydroponics gardening shop. When you are looking into fertilizers, make sure you settle on the highest quality and most complete mixtures you can find. Because marijuana plants are fast growing annuals, you should change the solution

See Grow Op on p. 28 Step by step set up of the drip system

The drip system works with a pump that delivers a nutrient rich solution slowly and regularly to the base of the plants through thin tubing or drip emitters. From there it trickles down through the medium and back to the reservoir beneath the grow trays. You can start your plants in hydroponics from seeds or you can use transplants. I recommend cuttings from bug free mother plants (if available), but the only way to guarantee clean The inside look at the closet grow cuts is by starting themfrom op in in all its beauty seed yourself.

Materials:

PH MONITORING

Diagram 1: Putting the holes and screens into the bottom of the grow tray

Monitoring the ph of your nutrient solution is an essential task that must come regularly with hydroponic gardening. Test paper and indicator solution can be found at any hydro or aquarium supply shop. The ph level simply refers to the relative acidity or alkalinity of a solution. A neutral ph level is 7, the middle of the 1-14 range. Ratings below 7 indicate acidity and above, alkaline. Marijuana plants do best at a slightly acidic range of 5.8 to 6.3. We recommend testing your ph level every 2-3 days. Also available at you hydro shop or aquarium supply store is ph up or down which can be used to adjust the ph level once your system is operational.

MEDIUM Perlite is very light, stable and has excellent water retention properties. And like most base mediums, they must be rinsed thoroughly to establish a neutral ph before you fill your system with it. The level of the reservoir should be checked everyday and replenished if necessary. Plants take in a lot more water than nutrients and some evaporation occurs, so you’re usually left with less water and almost the same amount of nutrients in your solution. As soon as the water level has noticeably dropped, you should add more (top it up) or change the solution completely.

TEMPERATURE Indoor strains of pot perform best within a temperature range of 60° to 80°.

You should strive to keep temperatures in your room between 72° to 75° in the day and 62° to 65° at night. This can be achieved by inserting a small oscillating fan into your closet with the door slightly ajar.

1 18-gallon stackable rubber storage bin (for the reservoir).

1 10-gallon stackable rubber storage bin (for the growing tray).

3 brass-screened filter-hose washers (for bottom drip holes).

1Submersible pump system with about five feet of ½” black-poly tubing (including elbows).

Drip emitter punch.

1 cubic foot of perlite.

Silicone rubber sealant.

And, of course, the necessary tools. Drills, ruler, etc.

Diagram 2: A typical water circulating set-up with figure eight end piece Diagram 3: Set the pump into the bottom of the tray but make the pipe whole high enough to be above your water line.

Diagram 4: Fill the grow tray with perlite up to about an inch from the top.

Diagram 5: Before you can start circulating the water and nutrients, you must, of course, punch one drip hole in the tubing for each plant. Space them evenly apart. (optional: to direct the drip flow more accurately, you can attach spaghetti tubing leading from each hole to each plant)

15

Free Coke For Supe

inset: Jerome Stickman left to right: Stickman, David Jacquest and Nathan Bird

16

ermodels This interview took place at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon in Jerome and Nathan’s loft in the Arc building. This was earliest interview I’ve ever done.

First thing we did was go buy 15 bottles of beer and find a comfortable place to sit. After about 3 bottles my hands stopped shaking and I felt ready to start.

The boys seemed excited. I was out of smokes.

A.D. MADGRAS: I need some background. Where do you guys come from and who are you? You know, for the people who don’t know.

Dave Jacquest: Who don’t know? Well, we’re friends of small furry animals everywhere and I’m a former daycare worker.

Jerome Stickman: You used to work in a daycare? (laughter) Dave: Yep. (laughs) Jerome: You’re fired.

Dave: I grew up on Saltspring island….

Nathan: Yeah, it’s a cheap publicity ploy but the name suits us well.

Dave: You mean, is there something more diabolical about it?

A.D.: Yeah.

Did it come to you in a vision?

Jerome: Shit.

Dave: Yeah, I woke up sweating one night, blood pouring from my nostrils… (laughs) Actually, it came from a friend of mine, Dave Knott, on one of our day trips down to Seattle he suggested that it would be the most ridiculous rock name ever…. People ask us about the name all the time. Personally, I just think that somewhere along the line if you get into a rock and roll band, that is the vision. You know, tons of free coke and supermodels and supermodels doing cocaine off your body and visa versa.

Nathan: I met Dave on Saltspring, six or seven years ago. Saw him playing in a rock band. Then I started playing music with him. Then we moved here….

Nathan: What I really like about the name is that it makes up for a lot of what’s missing working with these guys. These guys have the rock ‘n’ roll but they don’t have the drugs and they don’t have the chicks. So the name kind of makes up for it.

A.D.: Alright. So when did Free Coke happen?

Jerome: The way I look at it is it kind of takes the piss out of all the rock ‘n’ roll shit. We want our drugs and we want our women. You know, and it offends a lot of people.

A.D.: We can start this over if you want… (laughter) Dave: Yeah, that’s where I met Nate, when he was like, 15 and I was 25…

Jerome: In the daycare?

Nathan Bird: Why don’t we stick to the story we talked about guys? I’m not liking this new one.

A.D.: This is the official record, boys. What you say here you will have to hold as truth for the rest of your career.

Dave: About 2 and a half years ago. I was in a [band] that was fucking up and we needed another guitar player so I asked Nate to come over from Saltspring. And then when that whole thing fell apart…

Jerome: I was playing base in a shitty little punk band for awhile.… (the tape goes on for a few minutes as the guys try to figure out just how it all came together.)

A.D.: Hey! I want to ask another question. The name Free Coke For Supermodels.

Where did it come from? Is it just a cheap publicity ploy or is there more to it? (laughter) Dave: Cheap!? Do you know how fucking expensive that shit is?

Dave: It’s just good for a laugh really. I mean, the truth of the matter is that’s the whole heart of the band. If you get down and look at the lyrics and the kind of music we’re trying to play… we’re just trying to entertain ourselves and have a laugh.

Jerome: We’ve got underwear now, too. We’ve got Free Coke panties.

A.D.: Hey, can I get comped with some of that or what?

Jerome: Well, we’re out of them right now… but the underwear is a cool concept. You get into our shows free when you flash your Free Coke underwear.

A.D.: How do you guys see the live scene in Vancouver? A lot of clubs are going through a lot of trouble right now.

Jerome: It’s pretty limited. Yeah, it’s not a kick ass scene where you can play good shows all the time now…. House music is really big right now.

There’s a lot of people who like to just go out and dance and watch DJs spin.

Dave: Rock ‘n’ Roll seems to be on the decline right now as a musical art form…. The kids would rather go to a rave than go to a rock show. It’s

Continued over...

17

Free Coke ...from previous

just the way it is…. But everybody plays music now. It’s so easy to go out and start a group and play. There’s no taboos…. It’s like porn movies now. You know, like back in the day you had to be a pro porn star but now anyone can get together and make their own porn movies and sell them.

A.D.: Unfortunately, yeah.

Jerome: You going to ask us about animals now?

A.D.: No. That’s later on. Maybe one more beer.

Now you guys have been playing quite a bit around town.

Jerome: We go through spurts sometimes.

Then we get sick of playing all the time.

Nathan: I think right now we are concentrating on quality control. Not playing as many shows

Nathan: For better of for worse (laughs)

is that they only concentrate on one or the other.

You know, putting on a show when the music isn’t really there or they just concentrate on the music and ignore the show. I think if you can have both….

Dave: Lately we’ve been dressing up, wearing make-up and stuff like that because it makes it more fun for us, in a way, and I think for other people to watch. Rather than us just getting up there and being four Joes. (at this point the conversation wanders

I just think that somewhere along the line around for awhile then settles on how frusA.D.: You have been doing some record- if you get into a rock and roll band, that trating the current music scene is in ing at Mushroom studios. How’s that is the vision. You know, tons of free coke Vancouver ) and supermodels and supermodels doing Dave: What’s going to happen… as a been? cocaine off your body and visa versa. reaction to the bar scene is that shows are Jerome: It was awesome.

Nathan: We did some recording at the Columbia Academy before. But we didn’t really get much done. This time we worked with some really good guys….

Jerome: It was our first time going into a serious studio and working with people who really knew what they were doing…. and we’ve been playing with Malcolm Shoolbraid who is a real kick ass drummer. So we got a lot done in a short amount of time.

A.D.: When will this be available for the people?

Jerome: Just in time for Christmas shopping!

Dave: Yeah, just in time to be bought for all the kiddies. Well, that’s the goal, anyway.

but just playing really good ones.

Dave: The thing about the whole scene here is, for us, we can spent two months planning [a show] we can spend a lot of money and a lot of time on having, like, one kick ass show, or we could be out every two weeks playing. But the thing is, we don’t make any more money, and that’s cool… but people are happier to come out and see us once every six weeks than every week.

People have to watch t.v. too, you know.

A.D.: You guys are believers in the whole showmanship of Rock ‘n’ Roll….

Jerome: Yeah, that’s the whole thing. A big part of rock ‘n’ roll is the spectacle.

Nathan: I think the problem with a lot of bands

GARAGE, OI!, SKA, HIP HOP, HARDCORE, EMO, ANARCHO-PUNK LPs - 45s - CDs New & Used

Come visit us for New Vinyl TOP $ PAID FOR PUNK VINYL!

3296 Main St. @ 17th Vancouver (604) 876-9233 2219 2nd Ave. Seattle (206) 441-7396

www.singlesgoingsteady.com

18

going….

A.D.: To go underground?

Dave: Yeah, and that’s fucking cool. That could be the greatest thing to happen to the live scene in years.

A.D.: Do you feel that underground shows, shows being put on in places that aren’t necessarily ‘legal’ venues, like, booze cans, warehouses, house parties, whatever, is that something you guys are into doing?

ALL: Yeah, big time.

Dave: That’s something we’ve been talking about for a long time. You know, just doing our

More Free Coke on p. 28...

Why the Lack of Psychedelics Can Make You a Low Brow Knuckle Dragger

T

his is a very simple concept unless you are yourself a knuckle-dragger. All one has to do is look back into human history, when a lowbrow hairy motherfucker known as Neanderthal Man was sharing the land with another hairy homo, Homo Sapiens, that is. The current vibe among most anthropologists is that although low brow and hairy homo were definitely different species, they did coexist. A major difference however, was that low brow wasn’t much for travelling (rarely thought to venture far from home), while hairy homo couldn’t get enough; he followed the food, the weather and his curiosity, hunting and collecting on the road.

Expanding one’s horizons in the outer world leads to new experiences. This, in turn, can cause an expansion of horizons in ones inner world – the mind. Hairy homo, being nomadic, was very likely evolving ideas and methods to catch and eat different prey. But hairy homo wasn’t just a meat eater; (s)he was omnivorous ... back then, any plant, fungus or grub that didn’t kill you and didn’t taste like poo was fair game.

What if one day hairy, unaware, decides to eat something that causes a psychedelic experience?

Something that totally altered perception (my budgie ”Zoloft” did this last week)? What if the experience was so profound that it sparked a fire in the mind to grow into higher levels of assessing the total situation (s)he was in? Hmmm.

I wouldn’t be so ignorant as to try and single out a culprit from way back when. But for the sake of argument, lets take the mushroom.

Mushrooms grow worldwide and being neither plant nor animal, their origin is a mystery to science. Many species are edible, packed with B vitamins and such; many will turn your kidneys and liver into something that looks like doggy diarrhea, and then there are those which are hallucinogenic. Or magic. Folks, at some time in our history, somebody ate one or two or three ... in fact from their inception, terrestrial communities have been dependant on them (see footnote 1).

The point I’m trying to convey isn’t whether or not it was a mushroom, or even when it happened. The point is that a psychedelic experience happened, and it opened up a whole new window. Back to low brow. Like I said before, low brow’s life was fairly stable, but stability obviously had its disadvantages. Nothing new on the old menu for low brow, no overseas adventures ... same shit, different day. Basically, low brow became a boring and uncreative piece of shit. Where does that lead? To the death of personal relationships? Worse. The death of a species, my friends (except for the few that can be spotted at the Cambie).

As for hairy homos? Here we are

today, survivors on the brink of a globalized society. Thanks to our innovative technologies and our deep seeded nomadic drive, we as a species have been almost everywhere. It hasn’t been pretty and we may not understand everything, but like Neanderthal Man of many moons ago, we are beginning to see no reason to venture far from home. We seek out and prefer boring stability. But look what it did to low brow. Mass populations adventuring through space seems highly unlikely as we are finding out that our bodies have limits. Besides, as the governments of the world have control of where we go and what we do physically, I guess that leaves one other place to boldly go where only a few ancestors have gone before ... the landscape of the mind. Hyperspace.

The best part is that if we keep pushing to “outgrow” the Government, and keep the availability of organic hallucinogenic vehicles flowing, everyone will have the option of this exploration. We won’t need funding or permission. We’ll just need the will to strengthen the psychedelic (r)evolution.

Billy (footnote 1) Biology-Evolution of Fungi- Neil A. Campbell

19

Warning:

A

Possibility of “bad pills” lurking

ccording to my favourite bird cage liner, The Province, “police are warning patrons of dance clubs and rave

parties to watch for a deadly drug disguised as Ecstasy that has surfaced in Canada.” Yeah, right ... until Vancouver allows and funds a pill testing facility like they do in Amsterdam or San Francisco, it’s going to be a little fuckin’ hard to “watch” for disguised pills.

The culprit is PMA, or Para-methoxy-amphetamine, 4-MA. At high doses, blood pressure, heart beat and body temperature can increase to dangerous levels and literally cook internal organs. The question to ask is why dealers would switch to a dangerous and not so psychedelic drug. Nadia Van Derheyden of DanceSafe* believes “... there are so many lab busts happening that pure MDMA is becoming more and more scarce. Dealers are unfortunately forced to use other alternatives to cut with their pills.” Being a conspiracy theorist because it’s trendy and I think people will like me better, I suspect our “concerned” authority groups might be responsible for creating the negative scare hype. Pure speculation, of course.

However, a local patron of Vancouver’s’ lovely Pigeon Park, goes even further. ”Joe” accuses certain people in the provincial government of putting “shit” out on the street deliberately, as a sort of smear campaign against honest drug cartels: “They use us like pawns for politics; that’s what happened to me! Those fuckin’ bastards!”

There’s no doubt that if our AWOL mayor Phillip Owen and the RCMP

20

were actually serious about tackling the drug problem, they would push to increase funding for a more progressive form of drug education. They should also be the first students. According to studies in both Canada and in the U.S., programs such as D.A.R.E., with the archaic “just say no” campaign, fail miserably. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the negative impacts associated with drug abuse (booze and ciggys included) are increasing. The problem is that D.A.R.E. has a powerful lobby group and politicians risk getting their legs broken from jumping on and off the bandwagon.

The truth of the matter is that Vancouver has very little resources to offer for safe drug use. Unless we start voting for an alternative, it always will. As for the users who want the freedom to use a home test kits (available, by the way, through Etesters@hotmail.com)? RCMP meathead Scott Rintoul (pictured in Sunday’s edition of the bird cage liner) views them as a tool that condones drug use. Test kits are therefore not allowed at raves. Gee Mr. Policeman, how are WE supposed to “watch” for disguised Ecstasy if you won’t give us the freedom to? ”Use is not abuse.”

Tenderflake

*DanceSafe is a volunteer harm reduction society dedicated to educate young users of the risks involved with the use of ecstasy and other drugs.

Contact: dancesafe.org or dancesafe@hotmail.com

Canadian Embassy Hell

O

k readers, time for a Nerve magazine pop-quiz. Who out there hasn’t ever thought of the police as corrupt, unfair, ruthless, worthless, power tripping purveyors of paranoia?

During the process of aging and maturing, the police have become less of an issue (at least for me) Sure, it bugs me when they arrive in minutes while I’m trying to break into my own house and don’t bother showing up when someone I don’t know is doing the same, but heck, mostly we can ignore the creeps and carry on with our little daily crimes that don’t hurt other folks. Every now and again, though, you meet a border guard or bureaucrat that reminds you that the police are just happy little cogs by comparison to some of the ruthless suit - wearing mutants out there.

reason.

As mentioned earlier, Bulgarians have to travel to Romania for visa interviews and pay cash for them whether or not they are approved.

The Dimchevs’ had it in the bag, hired by reputable events, revered internationally as top quality artists, new CD ready to launch. And BOOM… they never even made it as far as meeting a Canadian at the embassy. They were interviewed by some Romanian speaking through a translator who demanded they prove that they are musicians.

Valeri produced his most recent CD and a bunch of press clippings from other countries. He was told that this proves nothing (???), the not Canadian not ambassador then took a copy of one of their Canadian contracts and, despite having contact numbers, names and such, stated that it was a fax and not an original and was therefore forged. Why someone didn’t just hit the festival’s web site or

Now we reach the gist of this article: what makes embassy workers (especially those in less fortunate countries) and border guys such complete and utter fuck-heads? From the ambassadors down to the foreign secretarial staff Valeri produced his most recent CD and a bunch of press clippings from other whose offices are countries.

He was told that this proves havens of the mean nothing... and lazy. I’d almost forgotten about the Canadian embassy horrors when I was presented phone the director for verification is beyond me with the plight of some brilliant, and unfortu- and, obviously, beyond them. The band was nate, Bulgarian musicians known as either denied a visa with the implication that their Acoustnicha Trio Bulgaria or the Valeri Dimchev press, CD and contracts were all an elaborate ruse for the couple to illegally emigrate to Trio.

Canada.

Although the group had performed in a lot of other countries without incident, the Canadian There was no dissuading the Romanian employembassy in Romania (we have yet to establish ee that was responsible for the interview. The fact one in Bulgaria) decided to (pick one) a) lay the that they own property in their home country, bureaucratic boots them or b) ignore them the fact that they had confirmed concerts and decent jobs to return to after the tour, their years completely. of going home after touring other countries…

The story goes something like this: the Dimchevs, nothing. a married couple of highly acclaimed composers, performers and teachers, had arranged to tour Letters, faxes and telephone calls of appeal were with another Bulgarian musician (hence, trio) in made by all involved on the Canadian end Canada. People here seemed interested in including the Canada Council for the Arts. Not Bulgarian music and they’d already toured one of these has been answered. This is where I Europe up, down and diagonal. With their profes- joined in. It looked like too much fun to ignore sional credentials and some seriously good work on and to get one of those elaborate, empty answers record, the band didn’t have much of a problem from a nervous ambassadors’ assistant is a pretty lining up a great tour mostly consisting of folk festi- tempting plum. However, they just don’t answer. val gigs, cultural events and seriously diabolical Not to the artists, not to the promoters, not to events of similar natures. The concerts were con- the Canada Council and not to the media. tracted, plane tickets purchased and all was ready Nothing. to roll. At least to any rational mind it looked good, but there was a catch. A little catch, but A fellow by the name of Stephen Heffe is supwith all sorts of potential to fuck up an otherwise posed to be running the department for visas and emigration with the help of a healthy staff. As far smooth, legitimate venture. as I can see Mr. Heffe is either a fictional characThe catch was this, Bulgarians have to apply for ter or the laziest son of a bitch ever to grace a a visa to travel or work in Canada. Acquiring a government office. His staff also seem to be out visa to perform in Canada is supposed to be no 24 hours a day, with the exception of Lucia the problem. You apply, show the cog a contract, pay easily rattled Romanian receptionist. Lucia a wee fee and yer off to the airport. This case appeared to barely have authority to answer the seems to have hit the bad end for no really good phone without a second opinion so her useful-

Acoustnicha Trio Bulgaria ness in discussing the case seemed, and was, completely non existent.

According to the third member of the trio (who has dual citizenship) Anton Apostolov, the group passed up offers to perform in China and Western Europe for the opportunity to play Canada. This means that refusing the visa not only cost them their set-up expenses, visa application fees, travel costs to Romania and plane fare deposits, but their livelihood for a good couple of months. If a Stephen Heffe does exist, and he does in fact represent our country in some official capacity or another, he has got to be one of the rudest, most inconsiderate unjudicial pricks we’ve got. Actually - and this really scares me - he may be one of the nice guys. It’s pretty bloody hard to tell when they won’t answer you.

The fact that someone who isn’t Canadian and may never even have set foot here having anything at all to do with our visa process is a tad suspect as well. If issuing visas is a matter of such dire importance that we have to stop musicians as potentially dangerous emigres we should probably give the job to someone with a genuine interest in protecting Canada from whatever it is that we’re scared of. Not a fictional office boy and a stressed - out local secretary.

So next time you wind up to lob a brick at an unsuspecting city flatfoot, think again and aim it in the direction of some arrogant office worker and wake him up before he gets posted at an overseas embassy. There’s the enemy for you; lazy, bigoted, pencil pushers who would prefer another bus load of American tourists to a couple of Bulgarians making music. Anybody who can rationalize something that stupid should be weaving baskets or delving into some other harmless occupation. Not dealing with the fate of other country’s artistic ambassadors.

If you want to have a little fun call the embassy by dialing 011 401 222 9845 Ask for the Immigration / Visa Program Manager. They’ll put you right through to Lucia and then you can ask for Stephen. If he does exist and actually picks up the phone (good gawdam luck) remind him that he is a mean little bastard with a dick like a pencil and a brain resembling a peanut. Tell him Lucia told you so.

Cameron Noyes

21

Straight 8 GRASS Director: Robert Mann

Robert Mann’s new movie Grass should leave you angry at your government, especially if you’re an American.

The movie’s point is pretty simple: anti-marijuana policies in the US over the last 85 years have been unjustly formulated by a government with ulterior motives. The war on drugs isn’t working. Since 1914, the US Government has spent a staggering $300 billion trying to convince you, me, and everyone who’ll listen that your average pot smoker is a hardened criminal deserving of little or no judicial sympathy. The notion they’ve foisted upon us is that marijuana will inevitably lead to the decay of Western society.

Anybody who has smoked pot knows what a joke this notion is. The irony is that those who are militantly anti-grass would see this movie and still believe the notoriously campy anti-marijuana propaganda the American government used to turn out, and which is a continuing thread in this film: if you smoke pot, it will drive you insane (insert image of deranged killer with a joint behind his ear HERE)!

Mann sifted through 400 hours of news stories, propaganda footage and the like to create an essentially seamless film portraying the history and complexity of marijuana’s legal escapades throughout the 20th century.

At times Mann eloquently implies the marijuana war began as a form of racial suppression (the 1914 case was in El Paso, Texas: the State vs. migrant Mexican farmhands), a tool to limit the happiness and effectiveness of blacks and Mexicans within American society. Where this went awry on the social scale was when white, middle class kids discovered HEY, smoking weed is actually FUN. What’s largely unknown is that for about 45 years, the war on drugs was run by Harry J. Anslinger, the drug czar of the DEA. Single-handedly, Anslinger managed to convince more than 100 countries to outlaw marijuana and to impose strict punishments.

The gist of Grass is the age-old problem most potheads have tried to illustrate: the government is telling us what’s right and wrong to do in our own homes regardless of the fact that one could argue we’re only hurting ourselves, if anyone. In 85 years the American government has taken one stance after another to convince the public that pot breeds murderers, slackers, criminals and degenerates. One after another, these arguments have fallen victim to the obvious — that this is propaganda, not truth.

Instead of admitting their erroneous ways, they’ve simply backed up and found a way to hit the wall from another angle.

See Grass on p. 28

www.blindinglight.com 22

Straight 8

FILMS FROM THE UNDERGROUND most North American rated films.

The names Dario Argento and Lucio Fulci are excellent places to start, as their films have the most accessible story lines and ample amounts of gore for the aficionado.

In the small world of Va n c o u v e r underground film collecting and viewing,

rumours often abound about where to get the rare stuff, and whether the stuff is copiable or not. The 8mm scenario is often believed to be the truth about ALL types of obscure film collecting, but if you can get the notorious Guinea Pig series at most Japanese video stores in Canada, Nicholas Cage didn’t really have to pay $1000 for FAKED snuff films!

I started gathering rare import horror films about ten years ago, have learned the do’s and don’ts of the genre and can hopefully pass them on. Other than frequenting film festivals (like Vancouver’s own excellent Cinemuerte fest), people like to start by renting (from courageous stores like Videomatica and Black Dog Video) or by buying Italian horror films. The latter tend to delve into the bloody stuff more regularly than

Companies like Anchor Bay, which I wish could have been around ten years ago, are doing wonders for the Eurotrash appreciation world. Over the last couple of years the company has been releasing all of the genre’s classics, from Fulci’s nasty New York Ripper to Sergio Martino’s slasher epic, Torso.

Thus the films are easily attained, with excellent quality to boot, at any video store. This is something that my friends couldn’t have even imagined five years ago.

Cannibal Ferox from the States which got confiscated and destroyed. Little did customs know that the film is now officially released and available at any store that sells VHS or DVD movies.

Thankfully I got over my extreme gore phase long ago, but customs officials still like to poke through my obscure Italian murder mysteries.

They must be bored of watching hour after hour of “boring” police dramas in Italian.

You can trust almost any distributor of public domain horror films down in the U.S. or here in Canada. Most of them are awesome guys who

The cowabunga orders of 20 tapes always get checked, which means some tapes may be siezed for seemingly no reason and the box will be held for at least a week.

When someone wants to start getting into rarities, like the over-the-top gore epics by Mario Landi or the sexy nun movies by Joe D’Amato, then he wonderful world of mail order comes into play. I still remember the day I found out customs officials didn’t want me to watch Pasolini’s Salo or Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust, both of which are now rentable and legal in B.C. The feeling you get when you find out that you wasted $45 US is great! Customs officials are bound by no rules, as we probably all know.

Recently, a friend of mine ordered a copy of

believe in spreading the word and in actually helping collectors out. When ordering from the U.S., a good rule of thumb is to only order two to three tapes at a time. The cowabunga orders of 20 tapes always get checked, which means some tapes may be siezed for seemingly no reason and the box will be held for at least a week.

Once you start, you can’t stop as you realize that the stuff made in Hollywood just doesn’t cut it.

And specialty video stores have just started to tap into the never-ending world of public domain horror, indie, and cult movies from all over the world!

Sam Mckinlay

LIVE ON THE DRIVE! @ El Cocal!!

Mexican, Brazilian & Salvadorian Cuisine Come dance and dine Saturday nights with Ginga Samba playing rhythms such as Samba, Samba-reggae and Batucada!

1 037 Commercial Dr., Vancouver 255-7920

23

24

Books & Zines Ratz Are Nice (PSP)

Lawrence Ytzhak Braithwaite Alyson Books, pp 192, $17.99 “This book contains extensive author notes beginning on page 155, which some readers may find helpful.” Helpful?

For this reader and I’m sure many others not acquainted with the SKA/rudeboy/punk/skinhead culture Lawrence Ytzhak Braithwaite’s author notes are essential. The notes arm the reader with the confidence to navigate the initially daunting poetry-prose, littered with backslashes punctuated by its deconstuctive grammatical style and unbelievable images. Ratz Are Nice (PSP) is definitely not an easy ride; it is an exhilarating one once you choose to get on and feet are firmly planted in the text.

Braithwaite exposes a generally little known and entirely misunderstood culture existing not in London or Toronto but in Victoria, B.C. Until now best known as the land of the newly wed and the nearly dead, one feels as though a rock has been overturned in the pristine rainforest; underneath, a seething, alarming and complex world draws one downward for a closer look, triggering feelings which range from dismay to utter fascination.

This is an intelligent, wild and at times unbelievable commentary on a sub-society deserving of attention and understanding. Cheers to Braithwaite for taking on such a monumental project and for completing it!

Caroline Manuel

The WORST-CASE SCENARIO Survival Handbook

by J. Priven and D. Borgenicht Chronicle Books, 176 pp., $22.95

This book truly is what it claims to be. And it has them all. For instance, under the chapter ADVENTURE SURVIVAL you can learn ‘How to Land a Plane’, ‘Survive If Your Parachute Fails to Open’, or ‘Survive an Avalanche’. Under the BEST DEFENSES category you will find: ‘How to Wrestle an Alligator’, ‘How to Fend off a Shark’ and ‘How to Escape from Killer Bees’. Personal favourites included How to Escape from Quicksand (I mean, come on, haven’t you ever wondered?), ‘How to Perform a Tracheotomy’ (looks quite simple, really) and ‘How to Escape from a Sinking Car’ (personal phobia). Sure, it also has the old standby’s like How to Deliver a Baby in a Taxi (don’t panic!) and ‘How to Hotwire a Car’ (hmm, handy) but do you really need to know ‘How to Win a Swordfight?’ Or ‘How to Maneuver on Top of a Moving Train and Get Inside’? Well, come to think of it, there was that one time in Mexico….

Although it definitely takes itself seriously, the book is not without a sense of humour (the back cover lists CAUTION: Book will explode if scanned). I mean, come on, if you can’t laugh a little at the worst-case scenario, what the hell’s the point?

A.D. MADGRAS

Beer

by Chris Walter.

Gofuckyerself Press, 182 pp., I decided that for once I’d write someting completely gonzo-style and not even edit it, except for typos like the “h” in “something” that I just missed. So here goes: “Beer” is a completely fantastic novel about two punks who hold up a credit union in East Van, killing a dude in the process, then proceed to steal a cab and head for Harrison Hot Springs. Vengeful bikers, drunk detectives, beer, punk rock and more beer all figure prominently in the plot. It’s 100% a home production, right down to the Kinko’s spiral-binding. No, it isn’t nominated for the Booker prize this year, but if the world had one less Margaret Atwood book and a couple more like “Beer” it would be a much more bearable place.

The formula is simple: think of a completely ridiculous, fully-entertaining and fun idea, write it down and publish it without giving the faintest shit who might end up reading it. It won’t make you rich but it will enrich someone’s day, and I hope that d o e s n’t just sound like an Oprah saying.

Paul Crowley

25

Choke [foreword] Smallman Choke play fast, and their nasal vocals may remind you of NOFX or other passé So-Cal punk bands. They are distinguished, though, by their lack of juvenile, intelligence-insulting humour or any covers of old tunes from the sixties. Their songs are filled with multiple changes and breakdowns where you least expect them, and I feel like I’m insulting Choke by even using NOFX as a reference point. The tight and consistent production makes the band sound as stripped down and businesslike as the (beautiful) black & white photo of a hydro pole that graces the album’s cover.

Paul Crowley Glucifer Tender is the Savage Subpop Glucifer hail from Norway. Instead of going the black metal route of so many of their countrymen, they are on that Rock ‘n’ Roll trip a la the Hellacopters & Murder City Devils. You know the deal: scummy guitar rock, heavy on the wanky guitar solos, and “oh yeah baby”’s. This is apparently the new direction for Sub Pop, but I don’t really see the point because the Hellacopters do it a hell of a lot better than these guys. Not that Glucifer is useless-they have some catchy songs and some sweet breakdowns-but they are reminiscent of the Soundgarden/Pearl jam/Limp Biscuit etc. clones of the last few years. I can accept that bands can sound almost identical without trying to, but it still seems kind of fishy just the same. Also included on this 2-disc package is an enhanced video, but I couldn’t get the damn thing to work, and I’m the resident computer nerd at the Nerve office. Perhaps it’s a mac thing….

Maybe if you haven’t heard the Hellacopters (not to be obsessed, but I really like the Hellacopters) before, or are just totally into this particular style of music you might like it more than I did.

Addict i am spoonbender teletwin Now when I first got this CD, I laid on the couch for about two hours with my headphones on and got real familiar with it. I think I initially spent such a long time with it because I wanted to try my best to define it well, but then I realized that that would be impossible as it is... undefinable. It has something for everyone. Right out of the gate it has a Stereolab sound. Next (and probably most noticeable throughout) is a

26

Kraftwork sound, followed by a Go-Gos-for-the-new-millenium sound, and even some heavy drum/bass work < la Jesus Lizard (god rest their souls). Half the fun of listening to this record comes from not knowing what you will hear next.

Lee Mcdonald

Layaway Plan Force of habit Small Man Records Layaway Plan sound like the basic sort of So-Cal punk that you might here on your local “hard rock” station. With anthemic 3-chord stuff featuring nice backup vocals and tempo changes, these guys would fit right in on the Fat Wreck Chords roster.

Some of the parts sound uncannily like Iron Maiden and Metalica... it’s actually quite unnerving. Lyrically, they touch on such time-honoured topics as “the scene sucks now” and “where did it all go wrong?”. These guys try pretty hard, but end up sounding quite generic.

I tried to like this disc, I really did. These guys can play alright, and they have some sweet vocal harmonies but the songs just zing by you and before you know it the disc is over and you can’t remember a single song.

They probably kick ass live, and if they come up with some better songs they could probably be contenders.

Addict Midtown Save the world, lose the girl Drive-thru Records After a preliminary listen, I kinda got that boy-band feeling. As though this were a boy-band made up of all the “bad-boys” from the other boys’ bands. So they play faster than the other boy-bands. Original lyrics by Gabe Saporta are, um, easy-to-learn, which is nice for their fan(s). Boyband, or not, there’ll be a place for Midtown on the AM and mixed soft rock stations across the nation. Predictable.

Mittens

Attention Bands!

Wanna get reviewed here? Send a copy of your material to: The Nerve, Box 88042 ChinaTown P.O. Vancouver, BC V6A 4A4

The Makers Rock Star God SubPop Note: Yeah, we are well aware of the fact that this album was released way back in April, officially, but we here at The Nerve are apparently not on everybody’s priority list and it took this long to get a copy. Not to worry- the bitches WILL learn.…

In the words of Jello Biafra in his cameo appearance on this album, “It looks like those troubadours of low-fi garage trash have changed their ways and become... ‘Born Again’”. Indeed. Nothing on their first album hinted at the possibility of this thing. For the uninitiated, The Makers were one of a few several dozen bands mining the 60’s garage rock vein for nuggets. Playing three chords, shouting out those snotty vocals. It was good. I liked it. I NEVER would have expected them to come up with something like Rock Star God.

It’s a concept album. Really. Imagine The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars with a healthy dose of post-modern irony and... well, quite frankly, you’d expect it to suck. But you would be mistaken. Story-wise, it does follow a similar arc to David Bowie’s old classicdescribing the rise and fall and rise and fall of a rock star god-with all the necessary strings, backing vocals and other slick production flourishes.

Similar themes are touched on, like depression, madness, suicide, ego, disappointment, too much too soon too late. Enough comparisons.

Rock Star God has great songs on it, without which none of it’s pretensions would be anything other than silly. That was the most surprising thingthat these guys could come up with such an overblown concept and really make it work. There’s real talent here, along with genuine intelligence and a willingness to take chances.

Lyrically, there are so many great lines. My new favourite song about suicide, “A Better Way Down,” has “Stick a fork into a socket if you dare/ Electricity messes up your hair”; and “You must never attempt to set yourself on fire/ You’ll most likely survive but just be bald and hideous.”

“When We Was Gods” contains “We were the bold red print on the Master Plan”. Poetry. And musically, the playing is world-class. I wish I knew who produced it but, alas, my promo copy didn’t have a whole lot of information on its plain cardboard sleeve. Oh well, whoever it was: nice work.

THEY say that Rock and Roll is dead. Not true-it’s just hard to find. I don’t know how difficult their search was, but The Makers found it.

Mike O. .moneen.

Smaller Chairs for the Early 1900s Smallman Toronto’s .moneen. take it to the next level grammatically-just check out the double period in their name!-and don’t fare too badly musically, either. Their ragged, shouted vocals place them firmly in the emo camp, while the instrumentation has some post-rock and jazz overtones. Highlights from this well-crafted four song EP include the blistering “Wrath of The Donkey Remix” and the more introspective and rhythmically-complex “This Year I’ve Had Enough.” A definite sense of humour present in the liner notes that thank “Lisa for

ruining my life so we could play songs,” helps to balance the serious and honest tone of the music.

Paul Crowley Punk Goes Metal Fearless Records Compilation The Music Gods have been kind today!

Everything that was remotely cool or interesting in the 80’s, (yes, there were a few things), is here… all smashed together in a loud, fast, fun way. Classic metal meets some young punks, with a lot of energy. I think I’m in love. Features: Divit (“Breakin’ the Law”), Strung Out (“Bark at the Moon”), Dynamite Boy (“TNT”) and Turnedown (“I Don’t Know”). You’ll be surprised at how many you do know.

Mittens Removal hello, my name is irrelevent Wrong Records Removal are a heavy, almost metal, band that, instead of having a singer, augment their sound with samples. Although this seems as pretentious as hell on paper, it actually sounds damn good on cd. Guitar-heavy and driving, it reminds me of earlier Metallica (before they turned to shit... remember?) and they make some nice dynamic changes from quiet to heavy. The absence of a human voice really lets it blend into the backround, making this a perfect soundtrack for driving or housecleaning. These guys can all sure play, as evidenced by the chops exhibited on this disc, and write some damn good songs, but lack that certain spark to take them from being a “good” to a “great” band. I’ve seen them live and they put on a good show, so do your scene a favor and buy the disc or catch a show.

Addict Ripcordz It’s never too late to annoy your parents Sudden Death You pretty much know what too expect from this disc from the time you open it. A big collage of pictures of old-school punks, and the silhouette of the dude with the mohawk watching the city burn around him, lead you to believe that this is good time beer punk with a smattering of anti-corporate sentiment. And of course that’s exactly what it is: uptempo punk to drink beer to. No punk/pop here, just good speedy stuff. The singer that has that classic “washed down a pound of powdered glass with a pitcher of liquid draino” voice that does actually grow on you on repeat listenings. Good sing-along choruses and songs that talk about having a sense of community, fucking the system, fucking the pigs, and above all, having fun.

Nothing earth-shatteringly original here, but except for that it’s a fun listen and I will definitely be at the show next time they come to town.

Addict

27

Doughty ...from p. 13 final album. Hopefully, if and when Doughty writes more solo material, he’ll leave these songs firmly in the back catalogue, as they sound stagnant and repetitive played acoustically. The encore classic “Is Chicago…Is not Chicago” suffered the same fate, because Steinberg’s killer bass and timely samples were crucial components of these songs that were left bare in their absence.

A.D.: Make a live show mean something again.

Doughty offset this somewhat by playing the romantic Janine-the acoustic final cut from Ruby Vroom. (“Janine I drink you up.”) The crowd gets involved as he alternately bastardises the above soliloquoy with an Axl Rose screech (Janiiiiiiiiiine…) and then delivers the heart-felt “if you were the Baltic Sea and I were a cup, uh-ha” normally. This was irony at its best and a good evening’s entertainment, and Doughty returned personally to sell Skittish for $20 a pop (“It’s going straight in my gas tank.”) Oh how things have changed since Warner Bros.

Jerome: We’re not what everybody else who’s cool is doing.

Aside from the danger of thinning down original SC tunes, Doughty has a stable platform on which to build a base of new songs. Londoner Paul Weller moved on from The Jam, as did Bob Mould from Husker Du and Sugar. Now there’s no reason why Doughty can’t join their ranks as a long-term songwriting lyricist of real quality.

One day he may even enlist more musicians, but not just yet. He’s enjoying sole control a little too much for that right now.

Matthew Burrows

Jerome: Yeah, make it an event. I want it to be different that just going out to the bar and seeing some music. We need to put on shows in this town. Put on cool events and make people want to get out of their houses.

Dave: … I think that’s what makes the whole band fun, we’re not going to be pigeon holed, I don’t think.

A.D.: Are you planning any kind of tour?

Jerome: Well, we’ve got a few steps ahead of us before we do that. We have to finish producing the stuff we’re doing at Mushroom, of course.

A.D.: Where have you guys played around the province anywhere?.

Jerome.: We haven’t played south of Broadway, to tell you the truth. (laughs) Dave: Going through a different drummer every four months its kind of hard. It has been the biggest set back. The word is out. Free Coke needs a new drummer who’s good enough to be on a major label act but who isn’t actually touring around with anybody.

Nathan: And he can’t be cuter than the rest of us.

Dave: Yeah, kind of a Ringo type.

A.D.: No one who’ll detract from the front boys.

Dave: If Pete Best is out there anywhere…. (laughs)

Free Coke ...from p. 18

A.D.: Alright. The animal question. Have you ever loved an animal. I mean, really loved an animal? Cause I hear it can get lonely out there.

A.D.: Do you think it’s going to be more of a trend? Bands taking the scene into there own hands?

Nathan: Well, like we said, Dave and I are from Saltspring Island.

own style of shows. Not doing it in bars.

Dave: Sure. That’s what Jane’s Addiction did.

The bar scene down in L.A. or whatever, they thought it sucked so they just their warehouse parties.

Nathan: Makes more sense that just standing around complaining about how there’s no places to play. Fucking go out and get yourself a space and put on a kick ass show every couple of months. There’s ways to work around it.

Jerome: I think that would be a really good thing to see start happening more. There’s some events, [The Nerve] puts on some really good events, you guys do a really good job. I would really like to do more of that. That’s what I would like to be more involved with. It’s more fun than playing the bar thing. Hanging out in a bar. If you can make an event out of it, make it something special. That’s what I hate about playing bars, you know, we always play and then we’re done and the lights come on. And there’s this big guy yelling, “Get the fuck out!” And

28

we’re like, “O.k., just let me just get 18 beers real fast.

Grass ...cont.d from p.22

Grass entertains you as a film, but its main goal is to provoke us, as viewers, to end the apathy that has riddled this generation. It’s time to “Just Say No” to the ridiculous powers that be — particularly in the US — that persist in propagating myths of destruction against North America’s 15 million pot smokers. See this movie. Change your perspective. Stand up for your rights.

And let’s go smoke some pot.

Steffani Cameron

Misfits ...from p. 11 loud punk-influenced metal. They are known for having a non-stop touring schedule and it shows.

Winnipeg’s Guy Smiley were the evening’s openers, putting on an energetic performance for a (then) half-filled house. Their short set hinted at exciting things to come. You could tell they have a great work ethic - the lead singer kept going out of his way to help the drummer and provide crash cymbal assists at opportune times. You just don’t see that kind of selflessness anymore!

Paul Crowley

Grow Op ...from p. 15 every one to two weeks. The tricky part about supplying nutrients to marijuana in a hydroponic system is that different strains sometimes have varying nutrient requirements. This knowledge will come through trial and error or a competent employee at you local hydroponics shop.

Many commercial hydroponic fertilizers consist of a two or even three part formula. It sounds confusing but don’t worry, their instructions are usually quite easy to follow.

A.D.: Say no more.

LIGHTING

Jerome: Well, Jen was kind of an animal

You will need to purchase a 400W high pressure sodium light. These are available at any wholesale lighting manufacturer or most hydroponic shops. You will also need a 24 hour timer (available at most hardware stores) We recommend a lighting schedule of 18-22 hours of light during the vegetative phase and about 12 hours of light (per 24 hour period) during flowering (budding).

Dave: Your last girlfriend?

Jerome: I had a cat I liked once. But I lost it in the custody battle. But I really didn’t want it much because it chewed on all my records so fuck that.

Nathan: Well, I’ve never actually really loved an animal, but, you know, if I had the opportunity to… if I could… I’ve always liked minks. I’m waiting for a reincarnation. Something small enough so I could get it on with the minks.

Yeah.

A.D. MADGRAS Live photos: Sean Lymworth Other photo: courtesy of Free Coke

This article was written solely for the novice gardener. To all you green thumb gardeners out there stop criticizing and go help a friend get started. To ask the grow team at The Nerve specific questions about your operation, simply e-mail us at growop@thenerveonline.com (questions and answers will most likely be printed in the magaazine).

P. Overdink and A.D. MADGRAS

Indymedia Launched in Vancouver

At last, a fresh alternative to corporate-biased news

...contn’d from p. 27 Crusty Comp 2 Don’t Eat The Crust!!!

Crusty Records Add this comp to your punk classics collection now! With The DayGlo Abortions, Sex in Sweden, and The Darkest of The Hillside Thickets, you’ve got more moshpit madness than even Fear could inspire. There are 32 tracks, including lots of local stuff and each short enough to make you sweat, then forget. Good noise for a thrashing afternoon. This is the second comp from Crusty Records and we impatiently await a third installment.

Mittens Moonshine Overamerica 2000 Artist: Various Moonshine This is the companion album for a touring rave that Moonshine puts on across the US every year. It’s got some nifty Dj’s with names like Top Kat and The Freshmaka on it. The label even threw in a video for us reviewers to see, with some party footage of teenagers with pacifiers and interviews featuring the dj’s alternately staring at the camera glassy-eyed and mumbling a few words about how “it’s all about the music.”

Whatever “it” is, I’m quite sure it isn’t about this particular music.

Paul Crowley The No WTO Combo Live From The Battle In Seattle Alternative Tentacles A superstar session - featuring Jello Biafra, Krist Novoselic and Kim Thayil - recorded live “surrounded by cops and tear gas.” You can sense a rarified electricity in the air, the feeling people had that Seattle marked a turning point in the fight against corporate rule. Jello is in fine form, delivering a spoken-word monologue so well-put that the chant of “No, No, W-T-O” he leads at the end doesn’t sound the least bit forced. The band rips through the Dead Kennedys’ “Let’s Lynch the Landlord” along with two new songs written specifically for the occasion. Canada’s DOA is represented with “Full Metal Jackoff ” from their Jello-collaboration album. The cd’s extensive liner notes include rather poignant essays by Biafra and (particularly) Novoselic, and some information about the WTO and globalism. This is, to cop a line from KRS-One, edutainment at its best.

Paul Crowley

The Independent Media Centre opened its doors in Vancouver on Saturday, October 14. Launched less than a year ago in the wake of the Seattle anti-WTO protests, Indymedia has grown at an incredible speed; it is now a global grassroots network, with offices in about 40 cities in the US, Canada, Mexico, Europe, India, Israel and Africa. Their main vehicle is the Internet where they host an extensive web site, www.indymedia.org.

Indymedia is an open, participatory organization involving hundreds of activist groups and thousands of freelance journalists from all walks of life who have in common the desire to question and challenge the way globalization is

Indymedia Vancouver wants to empower people from this mainstream, limited opinion situation.

They want to create community spaces, both cyber and physical, to foster discussion and the exchange of ideas. The Vancouver office, located on the third floor at 303 West Hastings Street (just above where Hemp BC used to be), offers a space for people to use its many computers to write, surf the Net, do research in the library or access video equipment.

The next piece of the corporate puzzle that Indymedia is targeting is the Pacific Rim Biotech Conference, coming to Vancouver

There is no real democracy when all the alternative political forces systematically get ignored, making most people passively believe that the only choice is between Gore and Bush, Chretien and Day. happening under the current corporate rule. The site acts as a noncorporate news forum that focuses on significant issues usually ignored or poorly covered in the mainstream media. When I accessed the site, you could check out over 180 stories. You can also directly submit your own material and view and download tons of pictures, video footage and sound bites of events from all over the world. There are hundreds of links to related sites and newsgroups, and the site caters to six different languages.

When you consider the power that big media outlets have to shape people’s perception of reality and their opinion, it is necessary to have access to different points of view to allow for debate, the basis of democracy. There is no real democracy when all the alternative political forces systematically get ignored, making most people passively believe that the only choice is between Gore and Bush, Chretien and Day.

November 12-16. Big Money Bad Science, a parallel conference November 10, will bring together scientists, activists and concerned people to discuss the implications of biotechnology and genetic engineering.

The rapid growth of Indymedia is a prime example of how both the radical and moderate resistance movements have come together as a significant force, to challenge or attempt to lessen the negative aspects of corporate globalization and to make an increasing amount of people aware of the issues. After attending Indymedia’s open house and visiting their web site, I admit to regaining a bit more hope in the future of humanity.

Indymedia seeks volunteers and accepts donations. It is currently in need of scanners and inkjet or laser printers, among other things.

You can contact Indymedia Vancouver at 255-2946.

Atomick Pete

Jesus, protect me from your followers

29

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, movies that is!

BLUE MOVIES

Welcome! Nice to see that you’ve all managed to find the back page of The Nerve once again. But enough formalities, on with smut!

SWEET LOADS 2 1999 75 min STP Productions, Sweet Entertainment Group Jade Distribution STARRING: Angie, Erica, Natalie, Betsy, Rebecca, Sarah, Cindy, Steve Sweet, and Guest Appearance by Z-Man. I wanted to review this series from the start, unfortunately I haven’t found #1anywhere and Jade Distribution hasn’t returned my call… yet.

This movie is shot entirely on P.O.V. (point of view) cameras, so it’s kind of like your looking through Steve Sweet’s eyes, which may or may not be a good thing depending on your P.O.V. Steve “interviews” a lineup of local ladies, and all are subjected to a rather derogatory running commentary, followed by a full on facial (which they’re made to beg for). Emphasis on the “full” because there’s definitely more than 10cc’s or a loving spoonful being dished out here. Stevie-boy has been eating his Wheaties, or his oysters, or something.

Angie’s Hungarian and barely speaks English. She’s tagged by Steve and

Z-Man and at the end is unsure who’s who. Steve, incidentally, overshoots his mark and gets his buddy in the leg. Erica and Rebecca, measure in at 6’and 5’10”. Erica’s breasts were noticeably lopsided and Steve’s parting shots were more than she could handle. Rebecca, on the other hand, was more aesthetically symmetrical, unfortunately covered in stretch marks.

She gets to lick ass for awhile and then gets hers reamed, giving us a nice close up of matching butt-cheek blemishes.

Throughout Steve’s “interviews” the telephone rings constantly, and the audio gets muffled at some points making everyone sound like an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon. Definitely worth a look for connoisseurs of local porn, I give this one two out of five yanks.

Sweet Loads 2 was courtesy of: Adults Only Video @ #508-2687 E. Hastings. (604) 254-6003.

RAIN WOMAN 1989 Coast To Coast Rasputin Productions Writer/Director: Patti Rhodes Director of Photography: Dino Llamas STARRING: Fallon (Susie), Jerry Butler (Martin Green), Randy West (Ben Whyters), Aja (Carrol), Bionca (Jennifer Templeton), Joey Silvera (Phil the bartender), Fefe (Interviewee).

Ben and Martin are researching a book on the female orgasm. Their book has no title, the advance money has run out and the only research Martin is doing is on secretaries that he meets at happy hour. In fact he’s so uninterested in anything else that he has Phil the bartender do research for him. Phil happily researches first Carrol then Susie. Now, being the barfly that I am, I appreciate the use of the barstools and the bar itself in both of these scenes. Aja is at her sultry best as Carrol, a friend of Phil’s that hears about the book and wants to be in it. She knows how to tip a bartender. Too bad there wasn’t more of her in this flick.

Fallon is also good as Susie, the squirter in question who ends up having the book named after her when her wellspring of talent is discovered. Joey Silvera, as Phil, plays the role of a fumbling shy guy well. He is the first to come face to face with Susie’s talent while doing a little diving on top of the bar. He tells Ben and Ben agrees to interview her with Martin. Jerry Butler is hilarious (unintentionally), as Martin. From the scene where he stumbles down the stairs with a wine cooler in one hand and a burrito in the other, to the one where he imitates a batter at the plate behind Fallon’s back, he’s at his overacting best. His facial expressions make me howl, and with that Wham haircut he’s like the Joey Lawrence of porn. Whoa! Playing opposite a rather wooden Randy West as Ben makes him seem that much more over the top. He’s not the only funny one in this movie. In her one brief appearance Fefe smacks her own head against the nightstand.

This movie is a great example of late 80’s porn and went on to be a series, at least 14 episodes last time I counted. I give this one three out of five whoa’s.

Michael D. Dammitt

30

CORE LORE:

Q

: I am 24 yrs old. I have been chatting online since I first got my computer two yrs ago. My friends are saying that I’m not functioning in the real world, because I am insecure. This really hurts me, because I’ve met some really great people online. Is there something wrong with what I’m doing? I’m getting uneasy, and find myself lying about what I did last night.

Any advice, Cor?

A

: I get what you’re saying, but it’s still difficult not to tell you that YOU ARE AN ASS. You see, there are two kinds of people: those who survive, and those who die in absolute, utter agony. I’m not talking about a car crash or electrocution. I’m talking about the inside of YOU. You have two choices. You can either have everyone else live your life and make your decisions (which is not fun because then you can’t even pick the colours for your BATHROOM). Or, you can explain who you are, and let them live with this horrible revelation. Either way you can’t be happy until you start deciding, because there will always be that one person who thinks your bathroom is disgusting painted green and orange, and will refuse to go in there. On the upside, you don’t have to clean up their mess. Hope this helps.

Core Lore 1:07 “Don’t make your world what others ’like’ to see or you’ll have to put up with them.”

I WILL BE ME, THANK YOU, SINCE YOU’RE ALREADY TAKEN

Q

: I am married. I had an affair that ended in tragedy two years ago. My lover killed himself in my home. It was our “anniversary”. I haven’t recovered yet. My husband suggested I see a therapist, as he knows nothing of the affair and is confused by the struggle to overcome the grief I feel over the loss of this “acquaintance”. I want to get things out in the open and maybe a therapist CAN help. I feel lost and responsible for his death.

A

: Oh my, this is a terrible mess! I too think his death was ALL YOUR FAULT! And your husband is the next one to go. Even I might be pushing up daisies soon just for answering your letter. As for your friends, notify their families that you have this incredible power.

Feeling lost is good! It indicates that you’re existing somewhere that you’re hopefully unfamiliar with. Probably that town I like to call Guiltville; you know, that little niche within Irresponsible City, located of course in the Fun Region.

HUGE POPULATION! Why, it’s home to the largest free standing structure of “ Me First” in the whole world!

With this now drawn on the map ... a THERAPIST?!!!

Sheesh! You’d get better life direction from a jar

of mayonnaise; “refrigerate after opening” can be utilized in everyone’s life (excuse the analogy, but I was making a sandwich when it hit me). It suggests that after exposure to the real world, as opposed to the controlled conditions of an airtight container, things can go bad. These “perishables” of your sanity, self-esteem and happiness may only remain intact as long as YOU provide the appropriate conditions. This means, close your lid, lock it up and keep your cool. Purging your own guilt onto someone else is rotten.

Expel your crap the appropriate and socially acceptable way: drink AND do drugs. Then, throw up all over YOURSELF and rehabilitate.

Seems to me you’ll get all the support you need AND have fun in the process.

Hope this helps and have a safe trip!

Core Lore 1:09 “Living a life consumed with yourself will quickly get sickening if you don’t like the view from up there.”

Core Lore will be a regular column in The Nerve from now on so send me your problems!

E-mail me at: corelore@thenerveonline.com, write to: Core Lore c/o The Nerve Magazine, 88042, China Town PO, Vancouver, B.C. V6A 4A4

31