Showing posts with label Dead Kennedys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dead Kennedys. Show all posts

Monday, June 09, 2008

"Viva SeaTac, they've got the best computers and coffee and smack..."

WWSU Playlist
11 January 1989
Wednesday 9 p.m.-midnight

FIRST HOUR
K
Cabaret Voltaire – “I Want You”
H Laibach – “Get Back”
TOTW Easterhouse – “Come Out Fighting”
H Pailhead – “Don’t Stand In Line”
DC The Revolting Cocks – “Attack Ships”
H The Damned – “Fall”
H Sharkbait – “Furry Mounds”
PM LS Young Gods – “Face a Face”
H A.C. Temple – “Weekend”
PM REC Ministry – “Deity”
H Robert Wyatt – “Unmasked”
DC Frank French & Kevin Kinney – “Alice is my Ally”

SECOND HOUR
K
The Fall – “Victoria”
H Eclipse – ‘Slam Dancing Dog”
TOTW The Wonder Stuff – “Gimme More x3”
H The Wipers – “Time Marches On”
DC Happy Flowers – “Mom, I Gave the Cat Some Acid”
H Half Japanese – “Face Rake”
H Girl Trouble – “She No Rattle my Cage”
PM LS Karen Finley – “Lick it”
H KMFDM – “No News”
PM REC Time Zone – “World Destruction”
H Front 242 – “Work 01”
H Soundgarden – “Flower”
K Hunters & Collectors – “Throw Your Arms Around Me”
REQ The Jazz Butcher – “Chickentown”
REQ Sinead O’Connor – “Just Like U Said it Would B”

THIRD HOUR
K
Les Rita Mitsouko – “Cest Comme Ca”
H Tater Totz – “Give Peace a Chance”
TOTW The Fixx – “Driven Out”
H Demented R Go – “Shadow Crypt”
DC Siouxsie & the Banshees – “Hong Kong Garden” (request)
H Pussy Galore – “Yu Gung”
H Sonic Youth – “Teenage Riot”
PM LS Sigue Sigue Sputnik – “Frankenstein Cha Cha Cha”
H Dinosaur Jr. – “Freak Scene”
PM REC Scott Goddard – “Two Triple Cheese”
H Mudhoney – “No One Has”
DC Reverb Motherfuckers – “Highway to Hojos”
K This Mortal Coil – “Strength of Strings”
H Dead Can Dance – “Song to Sophia”

I’m really liking the second hour of this show – from The Fall’s excellent rendition of The Kinks’ classic “Victoria” to Irish chanteuse Sinead O’Connor, it’s a pretty good hour.

Much like Alice Donut’s “Lisa’s Father,” Karen Finley’s “Lick It” was another song with contentious content that I relished playing, just to see if I could “get away with it.” Finley is an artist who, a year of two after this song came out, was denied National Endowment for the Arts funding because of the controversial nature of her work. She wasn’t so much a musician as a performance artist, and her most successful work (music or otherwise) pushed the boundaries on topics of sexuality, power and abuse in the hopes of stimulating reflection and change. She and several other artists fought the NEA’s decision and won, but as a result the NEA stopped making grants to individual artists afterward to avoid similar messiness. Win one, lose one.

My good friend Rodney – an exceptional artist himself – once attended a dinner party thrown by Finley and was seated next to Jello Biafra of The Dead Kennedys. He phoned me up afterwards to dish, and what I remember most about the conversation is that Jello apparently didn’t believe in using deodorant and smelled so gamey that it put Rodney off eating. He held Karen personally responsible, since she had placed them next to each other, and I don’t think he ever quite forgave her.

Another great song this hour was Girl Trouble’s “She No Rattle My Cage.”
I LOVED Girl Trouble and championed their work every chance I got. Hailing from Tacoma, Washington and signed at the time to Calvin Johnson’s K Records out of Olympia, Girl Trouble played raw garage rock with blistering surf overtones. I had correspondences going with quite a few indie labels at the time, and of them all I enjoyed the insightful, funny and friendly letters and phone calls from Johnson, who turned me on to the burgeoning SeaTac scene. I was already well into the Sub-Pop phenomenon by 1989 but I felt that K Records artists were just as good and tried to give them as much airtime as I could.

Somewhere along the way I took up a spirited correspondence with Girl Trouble drummer Bon Von Wheelie, whose humorous letters I have kept all these years, stuffed away inside the Hit It Or Quit It LP. A quick Google search shows that she has a MySpace page but it doesn’t look as though there’s been any activity in months. It appears that GT is still slogging away, fighting the good fight. You GO, girl!

Thursday, June 29, 2006

"All this talk of getting old is getting me down..."

Today’s bus ride into work transported me back in time 21 years.

The guy who embarked at Sixth and Monmouth wore camouflage slam-dance pants laden with straps and zippers, black 10-eye steel-toe Doc Martins, a 5” Mohawk and a black leather jacket covered in steel rivets and a huge Dead Kennedys logo hand painted on the back.

Everyone on the bus stared-some openly, some stealing sidelong glances. Everyone stared but me. I was too busy waiting in line at The Jockey Club, one block to the west. I was standing once again on the grimy tiled floor; trying to steer clear of the mosh pit; attempting to stay cool despite the humid press of sweaty flesh surrounding me; chugging Foster’s Lager in oilcans. I was consumed with watching Jello Biafra pose and preen on stage, his green rubber surgeon gloves slick with sweat.

Snapping back to 2006 as the bus pulled up to my stop, I told the guy I’d seen the Dead Kennedys in Newport back in 1985. “Wow,” he mused, “I wasn’t even born yet!”

Sunday, April 16, 2006

"It's time to face what you most fear, Right Guard will not help you here..."

So Friday evening I rang Rodney to thank him for the huge parcel of FunMail, and as usually happens when the two of us get to gabbing, the evening ran well into the night--over four hours of non-stop laughter! We reminisced about our time together in college, and caught each other up on what we'd heard our peers had been up to since we all graduated.

And we reminisced about all the shows we saw together: Dementia Precox, The Highwaymen, Guided by Voices, True Believers, The Rainmakers, Skinny Puppy at Bogarts when the band was arrested and a cop hit Rodney with a billy club as we tried to exit the building...

But the one that stands out in our minds as the best, craziest show we ever saw together was the first one we went to together: The Dead Kennedys at The Jockey Club.

Rodney didn't know a lot about the band, other than what he heard being blasted in my car whenever we were buzzing around Dayton, but he was game for anything that might prove a spectacle. The pair of us coerced fellow art student Tom into riding along with us to the show. Tom was new to the area, having spent the past several years living in California, and we reckoned that if the concert got out of hand he'd be able to "protect us," since he was a veteran of the Cali metal scene and had attended countless Venom, Motorhead, Metallica and Slayer shows unscathed.

It's always good to bounce remembrances around with an old friend, because time lessens the vividity of memory after twenty years. Together however, we talked about the show as if it had only happened last week:

The glass-strewn parking lot near the club
the frightening array of humanity surging into the derelict building
the Nazi punks in the corner, trying unsuccessfully to burn an American flag
Tom fretting that he was going to get a shitkicking for wearing a Motorhead t-shirt
Rodney lamenting the fact that he wasn't the biggest freak there ("I've lost my Glow!" he kept telling us)
Jello emerging from stage left wearing a bright orange three-piece suit and rubber surgeon gloves
Jello stripping down to next to nothing within five minutes--and he had shaved his chest hair into stripes, which we all thought was really cool
the astonishment that the rest of the band looked really normal (I thought Klaus Flouride was HOT!)
Fosters lager in oilcans being lobbed all over the place
part of the ceiling crumbling onto a very stoned chick slumped against a wall
me in my black Chucks and thrift store army green, the right side of my head shaved into a checkerboard of hot pink and orange
the grimy tiled floor
the standoff between some white supremist skinheads and the crowd because of black drummer DH Peligro
a very violent moshpit that even Tom wasn't keen on venturing into, after seeing several battered and bloodied punks staggering out with broken noses, their clothing in shreds
the rumble of the bassline kicking off "Holiday In Cambodia"
the sea of bodies swirling as East Bay Ray's guitar screeched out wicked surf-punk...

By the time we exited the building that hot May night, we looked as though we'd been swimming with our clothes on.

My god, how could we ever forget?