Feelin' the Heat

I don’t know about where you live, but things have been H-O-T hot in my backyard lately. Yeah, it’s July, but this has been clothes-soaked-in-sweat-just-sitting-in-the-shade heat, not your average summertime warm up. According to an article I saw on CNN, if you’re reading this, you just lived through the hottest June ever recorded. Congratulations…? That’s kind of terrifying to me, but hey, any excuse to celebrate, I guess.

In honor of our having made it through the heat I thought it would be appropriate to chronicle some of the hottest records and/or recording artists I’ve come across over the years. I don’t just mean aesthetics, either. I’m talking about music that’ll sex the pants right off ya. I don’t have a set number in mind, so we’ll see where this list takes us.

First up: Brenda Boykin


Information on Ms. Boykin is surprisingly scant, so I can’t tell you much about her history or personal life. There’s a nice little bio here, but that’s about all I could find (I could never get the Myspace page to load). That’s okay though. Mystery is sexy, right? What I can tell you is that her first solo album, Chocolate & Chili, is quite possibly the sexiest record I’ve ever heard, and I don’t say that lightly. The music on the album is a mix of nu-jazz, swing, blues, and electronics, but it doesn’t fall prey to the trap of becoming scattered. There’s a definite mood to this album and each of those genres serves to enhance it. One of the first things that jumped out at me is how bass heavy the music is. If you’re one of those people that crank the bass you might want to dial it back a bit before putting this album on, lest you risk your speakers. It’s heavy. The second thing that jumped out at me was Ms. Boykin’s amazingly sultry voice. She’s one of the few vocalists that can manage soft, rough, sexy and mournful all at the same time. Listening to tracks like Talk With Your Hands, Chocolate and Chili, or Moaning, it’s hard to decide what to do. Cry? Drink? Hook up with a stranger? A mix of the three? Any of those choices would be a good fit.


Though facts are few, I discovered that Ms. Boykin has done a lot of vocal work for other bands. One of them was Home Cookin’, who released a fantastic pair of blues albums, one in the mid 90s and one in 2000. I only have their second, Afrobilly Soul Stew, but after listening to it I am very eager to get the first. It’s a testament to Ms. Boykin’s skill that her voice sounds equally at home with a traditional blues backing as it does with an electronic jazz outfit behind it. The blues don’t take away from the sexiness either. Just listen to Chains or her cover of Crying Time and you’ll see that feeling so bad never felt so good. I’m going to come right out and say it: Brenda Boykin is a strong contender for the Etta James throne. If that means anything to you, then you need to get this album.

It borders on criminal that Brenda Boykin doesn’t receive the attention her talent deserves. Chocolate & Chili is available on iTunes (look it up on Amazon and you’ll see that the iTunes price is a steal) as is Home Cookin’s Afrobilly Soul Stew. You can also find her work with Club des Belugas there. If you’ve got eight or nine bucks to spare you really can’t go wrong here. What else are you going to spend that money on? Food? It’s too hot out to eat anyway. Utilities? Lights just make things hotter. Do yourself a favor and go for one (or both) of these albums instead. And if anyone has recommendations for their own sexy music lists feel free to leave them in the comments!

Here you go:



I couldn't find any Home Cookin' samples, so here's something else from her solo album (and no, that's not her in the picture):

Discussion Time

It’s not often that I find myself in the position of not knowing what to make of a situation, but this has certainly done it. Wow. I’ve literally spent the past hour arguing with myself, but since I haven’t made any headway I’m bringing the argument to you so we can talk it out. What do you think? There’s a part of me that says, yes, this was totally and completely unethical, but I’m not convinced that means it was the wrong thing to do.

The folks at Stinky Journalism have a point about the need for privacy in 12 step groups in order for them to be effective. Yes, AA and NA and all the other __A’s out there have helped countless numbers of people, but I’m not sold that just because you model yourself after AA that you’re a legit, helpful program deserving of respectful anonymity. If there was a 12 step program out there for combating non-racist thoughts would that make it okay? Or if there was a 12 step program for helping you to beat your spouse? You can read the 12 steps here, though all they did was repeat AA’s 12 steps pretty much verbatim but replaced “alcohol” with “homosexual.” A much more interesting (and nauseating) read is the FAQ.

Did you read that? Are you fucking kidding me? There’s so much bullshit on that page I’m surprised you couldn’t smell it through your monitor. Pardon the coarse language, but that was a lot to swallow. Dropping the word “philosophical” and “psychological” over and over again doesn’t cover up the fact that the purpose of your group is for people to feel bad about themselves because of how they were born. And while we’re talking about their take on psychology, I haven’t found any information on the group facilitator’s credentials. Unless he’s got a Ph.D., or LPCC after his name he has no business helping anyone with anything remotely related to mental health, ESPECIALLY not kids, as was ominously mentioned under the first question.

Getting back to the issue…were these meetings supposedly confidential? Yes, but here’s my take on that. If you spend all day preaching hate about a group of people to which you actually belong, you don’t deserve confidentiality or respect. Where’s your respect for the people you’re harming with your hateful rhetoric? I’m not going to go into the politics of self-loathing, but this is one instance where LGBT gets separated out from other minorities. Unless you’re this guy -



(That's Uncle Ruckus from the Boondocks for those unfamiliar)

-I doubt there are many African American people who would attend a 12-step program designed to help them fight their African American-ness. Which just makes the topic stickier. It says in the Stinky Journalism piece that Mr. Brock was going there “to be held accountable,” but again, I have to disagree. So you spend all day preaching hateful things about the LGBT community, of which you are a member, but then cap your week by going to a support group that says “well, you’re okay as long as you don’t act on it.” It seems to me like that’s more of a pass than an attempt at being held accountable.

Which brings up another issue I had with the Stinky Journalism piece. They point out that:

Also important to note is that Lavender didn't prove that Brock never said he was gay – just that he “fell into temptation.”

Here’s the thing. If you read the Lavender piece, Mr. Brock mentions that by “falling into temptation” he meant he was out bangin’ Slovakian dudes on a church trip. As far as I’m concerned that’s gay enough to get you an invite to the big LGBT block party. No, they didn't catch him claiming to be straight, but he's not exactly qualifying his hateful public statements with "by the way, I'm gay but I'm totally not okay with it, so it's cool."

I guess what I keep coming back to is that if you’re a public figure, who publicly puts yourself out there as a hatemonger, you don’t get to hide behind some half-assed 12 Step program’s supposed confidentiality when you get caught as a hypocrite. Do I think what Lavender did was unethical? Technically, yes. Does that make it the wrong thing to do in this instance? Not in my book. It’s a cliché, but I’m a believer in that sometimes you’ve gotta do bad to do good.

It sounds like I’ve finally made up my mind, but I’d be very interested in hearing what other people think about this, so feel free to leave your thoughts in the comment section.

I Was Sayin' Let Me Outta Here...

Hey, punk fans, did you know Lou Reed liked asking people to shit in his mouth? Or that Nico gave Iggy Pop his first case of the clap? Or that Patti Smith tried to steal band members from Blondie? Do you know what a Twat Vibe Eye is? If you didn’t know any of that, but are intrigued and/or titillated nonetheless, you need to read Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk as soon as humanly possible. This book has everything you ever wanted to know (and some things you probably didn’t) about the early east-coast punk scene in the states. The farthest west the authors go is Detroit, so you’re not going to find any Black Flag or Adolescents in here. But if CBGBs is where it begins and ends for you, this is your bible.

For those of us who weren’t around back then, Please Kill Me… is a play-by-play of the who, the what, and the why, straight from the people who actually were there. This isn’t your standard history book either (that wouldn't be very punk, now would it?); the entire narrative is constructed from snippets of interviews that were conducted over several decades, all ordered chronologically. Iggy Pop, The Stooges, Nico, Lou Reed, Patti Smith, The Ramones, The Dead Boys, The New York Dolls, Richard Hell, The MC5, Malcolm McLaren…these are just some of the people included. And the title’s not kidding. This really is the uncensored history of the early scene. It’s like going back in time and reading Star or US Weekly of the punk world 'cause people don’t hold anything back in these interviews. They talk shit about each other constantly and once you’ve got one version of a story, the authors bring in the other people involved and you get their side of the story, leaving it up to the reader to decipher what actually happened. Not that it really matters. The stories are endlessly entertaining regardless of how true they are.

You’ll need something to listen to while you’re reading, so why not pick this up as well?


Seriously, if Please Kill Me… makes you want to cover your walls in spray painted anarchy symbols, this is pretty much essential listening. You get 100 tracks of the best early punk ever recorded, all in one convenient package. If you’re like me, this music doesn’t just get under your skin, it makes you want to crawl out of it. Let these guys stick with the heroin though - you can put on some headphones and mainline this without the nasty side effects (withdrawal will set in if you go too long between listens). It also comes with a nice book giving you a few essays and bios on the bands involved. Rhino doesn’t skimp on their box sets to begin with, which means this is totally worth the price, but it’s been out for several years now so chances are you can score a used copy on the cheap if money’s tight.

Just set aside a few extra bucks for a new studded belt. You’re going to need one by the time you’re done.

To whet your appetite:



And:



Can't wrap it up any better than this (volume is crazy low, so turn your speakers all the way up...it's worth hearing, I promise):

It's That Time

If you didn’t attend one yourself, you probably heard on the news/read on the internet that this past weekend was the annual Gay Pride Parade season.

Inevitably, whenever anyone mentions a pride parade, the first thing I always hear people ask is, “Why pride parades? Why flaunt yourselves and throw your lifestyle in everyone’s face like that?” If you don’t feel like reading this whole thing I’ll give you the short answer: Because our Pride is in direct opposition to the Shame you want us to feel. Let me clarify right from the start that I don’t necessarily mean “you” as in the person reading this, so don’t get all defensive on me. When I say “you” what I’m referring to is our current culture at large. The culture where it’s okay to have a gay best friend as long as said friend doesn’t get married. Or adopt kids. Or kiss her girlfriend in front of you. When you stop and think about it, our “flaunting” is the same thing you take for granted every second of every day. You ask why we have these parades? Let me ask you how many times you’ve kissed your significant other in public? How many times have you held hands or snuggled on a park bench? For a big chunk of the LGBT community, these gatherings are the ONE DAY of the year they get to do the same thing without fear of some asshole gunning for them. All that stuff you get to do for 365 days? They get one. How would that make you feel?

So, “Why pride parades?” I don’t want to sound trite, but if you have to ask then chances are you’ll never know. People can tell you about the harassment, the being alienated from your family, the fear of losing their job, the paying the same taxes but not having the same rights, the being assaulted, or the watching friends die (by their own hand or someone else’s), but unless you’ve experienced something similar firsthand those are just words. It’s an over simplification, but if you’re a member of Straight White Middle Class America, chances are you’ve never had to deal with any of that stuff. Which is unfortunate because it gives you a whole new perspective on how the world really works and just how much you take for granted. To give you a point of comparison, you know that sense of indignation you get when someone cuts in front of you in line? Picture that, only all day. Every day.

Even from within the gay community I hear a lot of people saying that these parades/rallies are outdated and don’t serve a purpose anymore. They claim that the leather guys and Dykes on Bikes just reinforce negative stereotypes and hurt our fight for inclusion. I honestly used to think that same thing but I’ve since realized that I couldn’t have been more wrong. To those that say it hurts our fight for inclusion - I say fuck inclusion. This is the one day we get to totally be ourselves. What’s the point of fighting for acceptance if we have to lie about who we are? So what if it reinforces negative stereotypes? That guy walking down the street wearing nothing but a jock strap and stilts deserves just as much respect as you do, and if you don’t think so maybe you should take a step back and get your priorities straight. These parades are an important reminder that in our push for acceptance we have to make sure we’re not sacrificing who we are along the way.

I mentioned the issue of stigma a few posts back, and events like these are one way of mitigating that. Depending on where a person lives, a pride parade could be the only threadbare lifeline in that sea of constant negative images. This is especially true if that person is young.

If you’ll tolerate a little nostalgia here, we can take a journey together back to the 90s. Buffy was in her first season of slaying vampires, trip hop was all the rage, those huge parachute jeans were everywhere, and I attended my first gay pride parade. I was still in high school and I’d been out of the closet since the 9th grade, but at the time I was one of the few, if not the only, openly gay kids at my school. Even though I was the butt of a lot of verbal harassment and flying objects in the hallways, I didn’t have it that bad compared to a lot of other LGBT kids. I had a strong group of supportive friends and we didn’t hesitate in telling everyone to fuck off if they had a problem, but I still looked forward to that parade like you wouldn’t believe. Here was a whole day devoted to people like me. For once, here was a place where I wouldn’t be the only one. Plus, the Murmurs were playing.

I will never forget the feeling of walking through those gates. It sounds dramatic and clichéd but a weight was lifted. I knew the second I walked back out at the end of the day that weight would be back, but for those few precious hours it was gone. That’s the tricky thing about stigma: even if you’re aware of what’s going on you’re still constantly fighting and pushing against the messages. You’re trying to hold your head above the water and it’s exhausting. So these events are like water wings. While you’re there you can just kind of float for a while and relax. If these events served no other purpose, they would still be worth every penny and every second of time they took to plan.

While these events help a person relax, they also help energize. You can look around and see not only what you’re fighting for but also who you’re fighting for. It’s not just about you and your struggle anymore; it’s about a whole community standing side by side. Maybe it won’t last beyond that day, but that sense of solidarity is very real and very powerful. It may look like “flaunting” from the outside, but this is our chance to say, “Guess what world? Despite your best efforts we’re not going anywhere without a fight.” There are also tons of political groups and petitions and campaigns, which is a great way to learn about other causes worth fighting for. So yeah, when you leave for the day that weight falls back in place, but it might not seem so heavy because you’re not carrying it alone anymore. I know it made a difference for me.

So, “Why pride parades?” Because we’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore? Because we’re just trying to show the world how we live our lives? Because we just want the same rights and respect as everyone else? Because we’re here, we’re queer, and you should get used to it? The parade’s my day off, so you’ll have to figure it out. But when you do, feel free to join the fun.

I couldn't help myself:

A Few Quick Things

After that angry rant, I thought it would be appropriate to provide you with some soothing music this time around. There’s been a lot of hype surrounding it this week, but after listening to it several times I can say Karen Elson’s The Ghost Who Walks (pictured above) deserves every bit of it. This album is fantastic. The music styles range from lo-fi rockers, to folk, to country, and combinations thereof, and Karen Elson’s voice is perfect for the mournful, often murderous tales she spins. I don’t like to compare artists against other artists, but if you enjoy the Murder Ballads side of Nick Cave and the vocals of Mazzy Star or the Cowboy Junkies, you’ll certainly find something to love in this album. And did you see the cover? That cover is awesome.

Here’s an acoustic version of the title track:



Since Ms. Elson is also a model, I thought it’d be appropriate to include another model-turned-singer in this post:



Switching gears entirely, if you live near a Barnes and Noble you should head over to their clearance section and pick up Voodoo: Strange and Fascinating Tales and Lore, edited by John Richard Stephens. I tried to find a picture of the cover or a link to it on Amazon, but they apparently don't have it, which is all the more reason you should go get it while you can.

You probably won’t be surprised to hear that I’m a huge fan of kitschy tiki stuff, and that includes its voodoo cousin. If you enjoy the same this book is a gold mine. It’s a compilation of short stories and old newspaper stories/first hand accounts of voodoo and its related “rituals.” I put that in quotes because I don’t want anyone to confuse this for an authentic look at the actual religion. This is Hollywood voodoo through and through, and with articles like “Voodoo Axe Murders” (reprinted from the March 3rd, 1912 edition of the New York Times) and “Mojoing Jezebel Huckleback” you really can’t go wrong. It was only $8 at the B&N by my house and from what I’ve read so far it’s well worth it.

Warning: Angry Waters Ahead

This is a really interesting article, and by “really interesting” I mean a combination of “crushingly depressing” and “blind fury inducing.” It’s a quick read so I encourage everyone to go check it out and come back. I’ll be sitting here breathing deeply counting to 10 until you get back.

Deliverance: The True Story of a Gay Exorcism Critical Eye: Details.com

Okay, the counting to 10 didn’t work. I honestly don’t even know where to start in this situation. The author had me going at the end there, thinking maybe there was going to be a happy ending for one of the kids in this story, but then they drop this:

“I ask Kevin whether he would make himself straight if he could. "Yeah, I would," he says without hesitation. "I'm not going to lie—I would love to just fit in and be accepted."”

Aaaaannnnnddddddd we’re back to square one. Fuck. This article was full of heartbreaking quotes like the one above but at the root of them all was the issue of stigma and what happens when that stigma is internalized.

Stigma (defined as a “mark of discredit or shame” by our friends at Merriam Webster) is a powerful, powerful tool, especially when used against kids. As this article showed, drilling a sense of shame into someone’s head while they’re still developing cognitively and socially can have dramatic, life long consequences. Take the quote above as an example. He’d gotten away from his family, he’d been to treatment, he’d found others like himself that accepted him, but at the end of the day what’s left? He still wants to change himself because obviously, in his mind, there’s something wrong with him that prevents others from accepting him. The flipside, the actual reality of the situation, that there’s something deeply wrong with the disturbed individuals around him, doesn’t even compute. After so many years of internalizing that stigma, not to mention the physical assaults of the “exorcisms,” Kevin sounds like he’s still stuck in the clutches of shame.

I said it before, but let me say it again: stigma is a powerful, powerful tool. If you’re a member of a stigmatized group you are assaulted on all fronts with messages that you are wrong, dirty, and worth less than everyone else. If you haven’t read it, you should pick up a copy of Erving Goffman’s “Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity.” It was written in 1963 (that’s 47 years ago for the mathematically disinclined) but the only things that have changed are the groups being stigmatized, and in some cases even those are the same. It’s a short book and well worth your time, but if you don’t feel like reading that, at least take a look at this brief Wikipedia entry on internalized homophobia.

The most quoted statistic regarding suicide amongst gay youth is that they are 30% more likely to attempt it. This statistic has come under some scrutiny lately, but even if that’s an overestimation it doesn’t take a sociologist or a statistician to link internalized stigma with suicidal ideation. As far as I’m concerned, whatever the actual number is doesn’t really matter anyway. The bottom line is that these are real people in real pain. Your brother, sister, classmate, friend, neighbor, teammate, niece, nephew, coworker…any of these people in your life could be suffering and seriously contemplating some drastic action. And all over what? Other people can’t handle the way they were born? We can’t just leave people alone? It’s 2010 and we’re still judging people on genetics? Fuck. You. You want to talk about genetics? Fine. Let’s talk about atavism. When I read articles like this one they don’t make me angry. Anger implies rationality and conscious decision-making. No, when I read articles like this the only thing I want to do is leap howling onto one of the assholes doing this to their kid and bite their face off, throwback style. Fortunately for everyone involved, there are groups that take a more productive approach.

This blog isn’t exactly drowning in readers, but if you’re reading this and find yourself in a similar situation, let me stress that THERE. IS. NOTHING. WRONG. WITH. YOU. Did you read that? Read it again. And again. And again. Now keep reading it. Now say it with me: “There is nothing wrong with me.” Now write it down and keep it with you as a reminder. Hell, even if you’re not in a similar situation it never hurts to hear that from time to time. So take a second to remind yourself and those close to you that you love yourself and them for who you/they ARE, not who other people want you/them to be.

Since you most likely came here for Camp and not a rant, I'll leave you with this:

TKO

If you live near a Big Lots and have three dollars to spare, I’d recommend heading over and picking up a copy of Deadly Friend ASAP. This little Wes Craven gem is ridiculously awesome and stars Kristy “the Vampire Slayer” Swanson as an abused girl who lives next door to a teenage brain surgeon (Spike Jones, anyone?) who just happens to have an awesome pet robot named BB.

I don’t know what’s happened in the intervening years, but one thing the 80s excelled at was having awesomely cheesy robots in nearly EVERY movie. If your only exposure to the decade is through its films, you probably think everyone had a nifty little robot running around. As a child of the 80s, I can tell you that’s bullshit. I never even scored one of those awesome Nintendo robots they used to sell, let alone one that could beat up bullies for me.



In BB’s case, our teenage genius, of which there also seemed to be a surplus of in the 80s, has equipped him with the latest in artificial intelligence. He follows his creator around like a puppy and the little guy generally wants to be everyone’s friend, but god help you if you piss him off. The dude holds grudges like you wouldn’t believe and doesn’t seem so cute when he’s got your junk in a vice grip (which is about to happen in the above picture).

While I was watching BB do his thing, it occurred to me that he wasn’t being used to his full potential. As much as I enjoyed Deadly Friend, it could’ve been improved on in a big way. Instead of moving to an upper class neighborhood and going to some fancy college, it would’ve been waaaayyyy more interesting if our teen genius took BB over to the Park Plaza Mall to square off against some Killbots.

If you’ve never seen one in action, Killbots are the best the 80s have to offer in terms of bloodthirsty mall security gone wrong. In Chopping Mall, a trio of them kills their way through a group of drunk, horny teens before finally meeting their match in Kelli Maroney.

BB and Killbots have several basics in common: Both feature tank tread legs, both end up killing people, and both have an aversion to shotguns. Both also star in movies that feature amazing head exploding scenes.

Deadly Friend (though it looks like Kristy Swanson, BB's brain is behind the wheel)



Chopping Mall



If it came to blows, though, who’d come out on top? Killbots are armed to the teeth with lasers, tazers, saw blades, darts…you name it, they’ve got it. They’re certainly impressive on paper, and if you’re a janitor or a teenage mall employee you should really watch your back. On paper, they make BB look like a pacifist by comparison. He doesn’t have any onboard lasers or saw blades. He doesn’t have any tazers or darts. But he does have working arms, artificial intelligence and a thirst for revenge, which is why I’m putting my money on the Beeb.

Even without the Kristy Swanson upgrade, which would easily put him on top, he’s got the two essential capacities of being able to learn and being able to get pissed. For all their weaponry, the Killbots are programmed to do one thing and only one thing, while BB can do whatever the hell he feels like. (Also, “whatever the hell he feels like” may or may not include summoning elder gods to destroy his enemies. For the most part BB rolls around saying his name over and over, but if you listen to the other babbling noises he makes they sound eerily similar to some Lovecraftian incantations.) Plus, he doesn’t need built in weapons. Everything he gets his hands on is a weapon. Did you watch the clip above? A basketball? That was a first. I’ve never seen a basketball explode someone’s head before. Not even LeBron could pull that off. And before you say it, yes, he could’ve made that happen while he still had his robo chassis.

The Killbots wouldn’t stand a chance. Seriously. Go watch both movies and decide for yourself. If nothing else you’ll get to watch two incredibly fun movies. And let’s face it, if you’re reading this you’ve obviously got time to be doing something else.

Just remember to be extra nice to any yellow robots you run across. Or at least make sure you keep your crotch out of arm’s length.

One More Wild Guitar

Let’s take a break from movies for a second and talk about a record that not nearly enough of you are listening to: David Werner’s Whizz Kid. I started to write up a whole entry when I discovered that someone else already did a pretty good one, so I’m just going to link you there (there’s some interesting stuff in the comments too, so read those while you’re there). If you like music at all, you’ll love this guy. If you don’t like music, you should go get yourself checked out. You might be coming down with something. Here’s the link where you can find it so go there and come back when you’re done. I’ll wait.

See? It’s fantastic. As with most people, my first thoughts when listening to the album were “how have I never heard of this guy before?” and “where can I get more?” A quick Google search later left me floored that not only has he not released an album since ’79, the ones he did release have never even come close to a CD. What the hell? I can’t think of a single reason why his albums are still out of print. Someone needs to give them the attention they deserve because they’re too good to be relegated to $2.00 bins at the used record store. Maybe some re-mastered editions and bonus tracks? I’d buy those in a heartbeat.

Like the other blog said, if this was released today the hipster kids would be ruining their tight pants by shitting themselves over it. On the bright side you can count yourself lucky that you got a copy, which totally makes you cooler than them.

You Are What You Eat

Not exactly Gymsploitation, but close.



Back in March a few friends and I made our way to the Indiana HorrorHound convention for a gore-filled weekend of movies, drinking, Clive Barker, drinking, old and new friends, and more drinking. If any of you were there you most likely remember what a clusterfuck it was. At one point on Saturday there was a two-hour wait just to get in the dealer room, with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds waiting for you once you managed to force your way inside. It may have been poorly organized, but it was still a blast.

On Saturday afternoon, after finally making my way back inside the chaotic dealer room, I was helplessly swept along with the crowd. Picture a slow, nerdy running of the bulls and you’ll be close. I’m not claustrophobic but I’m also not overly fond of teeming masses, so this was a little much. I saw an opening as we approached a turn at the back of the room and I went for it. I managed to disentangle from the horde but now I was stranded in a distant corner with a solid wall of people between me and the front doors. I stood there for a second eyeing the emergency exit, weighing the pros and cons of setting off a fire alarm, when a poster caught my eye. The image was of a shirtless, flexing body builder’s upper back, with a banner reading “Beef.” It’s not often that you see some male skin at these conventions so I was officially curious. With nothing else to do while I waited for the crowd to die down, I pulled up IMDB on my phone and discovered Beef was a low budget slasher where bodybuilders are cannibalized in a young man’s quest to get buff. Wow. Sold. Do I like low budget slashers? Yes. Do I like low budget slashers with a cannibal twist? Uh-huh. Do I like buff, nearly naked men? Oh yeah. Do I like all of these things put together? You bet I do. At least in theory, but we’ll get to that.

Once the crowd cleared out I made my way over to the booth and asked about the poster. The guy working didn’t know anything about it but told me to come back in a few minutes when “Marv” would be back. I’d just fought through a sea of people and now I was waiting for a guy named Marv. This was turning in to an adventure. It turns out the Marv in question was Marv Blauvelt, who was actually in the movie. He was a nice guy but he seemed surprised and slightly embarrassed that I was asking about Beef, which only increased my curiosity. Marv sheepishly described the film as “campy” and quickly changed the subject to Sculpture, an upcoming film he was promoting. He didn’t have any copies of Beef with him, but he gave me a Sculpture poster and directed me to the Screamkings website. Foiled in my quest, I met up with my friends and forgot about it until I got back to the hotel room.

When I followed up on the Screamkings website I was torn. I really like the idea behind the company. Screamkings makes and markets low budget horror films that turn one of horror’s major conventions on its head by featuring lots of (nearly) naked men as opposed to women. Thumbs up for that - it’s about time someone other than David DeCoteau played that card. Where I ran in to problems was the price. $29.99 for a single movie? Really? Look, I understand that this is a niche market within a niche market, but that’s asking a lot. Fortunately for me, it turns out I was with someone who appreciates naked muscle men nearly as much as I do. With a borrowed copy secured, I was ready to sit down and watch some sexy, man-eat-man action.



Describing this movie as “campy” may not be entirely accurate. It’s certainly ultra low budget (think subterranean, then go lower), and the premise is entirely ridiculous, but it feels more cheap than campy. I don’t mean that as an insult. I like cheap. But with its lackluster settings and uninspired gore, Beef is missing that extra something that would’ve pushed it over the camp edge. The story is a pretty original twist on the classic “eat your enemy and gain their strength” idea, and the acting is what you’d expect from a low budget cannibal skin flick. Not that the acting or story are all that important anyway. The centerpiece of this film is definitely the, um, beef. Our skinny, picked on protagonist works his way through a parade of bodybuilders who he lures to his apartment to “photograph.” “Photograph” in this case means the guys come over, strip down to their underwear and pose for a few minutes before being murdered and eaten. Did you catch that? If not it’s okay because it, and nothing else, happens over and over and over again until the end of the movie. I mentioned the lackluster settings earlier, and by the end I felt like I was trapped in the bland apartment where we spent most of the film. Maybe that’s what they were going for, but I doubt it. It didn’t feel like atmosphere, it just felt lazy. If you want to film a movie in an apartment, let me direct you to Vegas in Space for inspiration. Those ladies turned an apartment in to an alien planet. I think the Screamkings could stand to do better.

Don’t get the wrong impression. I didn’t dislike the film and I wouldn’t regret spending $10 bucks on it, but I’d have been pissed if I’d dropped $30 on it. They obviously didn’t spend ANY money making this thing, so the price tag just feels like a total rip off. Which makes me question if they’re actually behind what they’re doing, or if they’re just pandering to make a buck. I’d like to throw my support behind them but cautious optimism is the best I can manage at the moment. If I can come across some cheap copies somewhere I’d gladly check out more of their collection, but seeing as how they didn’t even have any at a sizeable horror convention I’m not holding my breath for that.

If you're curious about Screamkings, you can catch trailers for their other films here.

Gymsploitation

Not long ago I took my first dip into the glorious, wallet-killing world of iOffer. I was after something specific (Mutant Hunt by Tim Kincaid of Breeders fame, which is another post entirely) but I made the mistake of browsing. Two things were evident right off the bat: 1) I have a problem when it comes to buying horrible 80s movies, and 2) someone needs to get off their ass and start giving some of these films an official release.

One of the gems I stumbled on was a double feature of Death Spa (1988) and Aerobicide (1986). I was immediately intrigued by the notion of slashers that take place in high-end health clubs because I’ve seen people murdered just about everywhere in the course of my movie watching, but I can honestly say that I’ve never seen an entirely gym-oriented horror film. Plus, a double feature of 1980’s exercise-based mayhem? Sign me up!



First in was Death Spa, and before we even begin to talk about the actual story I feel it’s important to note that this film is alternately titled Witch Bitch. Seriously. If that fact alone doesn’t sell you on this movie…you might be spending time at the wrong website. If you still need convinced, how about this: the plot is a detective-slasher-romance-supernatural-revenge hybrid with a gender bending twist. All set in a gym. All set in the 80s. If you STILL need convinced, there’s also this:



Could that possibly be the BEST INSULT EVER? I’m leaning towards the yes category. You also get the obligatory 80's odd-couple detective duo, death by frozen fish, and Ken Foree as a guy named Marvin. Awesome.

I’m not going to give you every detail, but cheesiness aside, the movie was much more original than I expected. The pace sags a bit in the middle while they try and build the back-story, but the story they’re building is actually interesting so it’s forgivable. There’s not a ton of gore, so if you come into the film expecting that you’ll probably be disappointed. However, if you come into the film expecting lots and lots of spandex you’ll be thrilled.




If spandex is your thing, you might want to hold off on Death Spa and jazzercise your way straight into Aerobicide. Bust out your pocket mirrors and roll up some bills, ‘cause what you’re about to witness is pure, uncut, 80’s goodness:



If you’re still coherent after that, then congratulations, you’ll probably make it through the rest of this film. Aside from the fact that it’s focused on a gym this movie is nothing like Death Spa. Even its alternate title, Killer Workout, is more mundane. This is a straight-up slasher (or poker…watch it and you’ll find out why) without any of the supernatural or science-gone-crazy elements of its higher budgeted cousin. Which isn’t meant to discredit Aerobicide in any way. What the film lacks in demonic possession and super computers it makes up for with fight scenes that leave both parties unscathed, people with mysterious clotting disorders that allow them to be stabbed several times but not bleed, a former Playgirl model, and amazing acting. The film also boasts an impressive body count. People get murdered like it’s their job in this film. See that person doing crunches? Murdered. See that person doing lat-pulls? Murdered. See that other nondescript character you know nothing about? Murdered. The filmmakers don’t come anywhere close to generating sympathy for any of the characters so it doesn’t really mean anything when you see them shuffled off one after the other, but it’s fun to count.

I don’t know if two movies make a genre, but Gymsploitation is something I’d love to see more of. These movies are way too much fun to leave stuck in the limbo of forgotten 80s films. Death Spa apparently saw a DVD release in Germany, and Aerobicide was released on DVD in the UK, but the likelihood of either film seeing a DVD release in the states is about the same as my ass suddenly becoming a particle accelerator. Fortunately, until the day my rear end starts spewing strangelets, both films are pretty easily obtainable online. Death Spa can be watched in its entirety on YouTube, but Aerobicide might take some more searching.

Just remember to break out the leg warmers and copious amounts of your favorite booze, ‘cause you’re going to need both. But be warned: a beer belly won’t look good in all that spandex.

Rock Your Baby

I’m sure by now everyone’s aware of the unfortunate news regarding Mr. Ronnie James Dio, and I’m sure you’ve all listened to “Holy Diver” or “Rainbow in the Dark” at least once (if not…are you serious? What’s wrong with you?). As sad as his passing is, what really bums me out is the thought that the “Old Guard” in music – the Iggy Pops, the David Bowies, the Siouxsie Siouxs – aren’t getting any younger. It’s only a matter of time before news like this becomes more commonplace. If that thought didn’t make you at least a little sad, then think about what we’ll have left. Who’ll take over? Sure, you’ve got some artists who can work the look and drive everyone Gaga, but musically they just regurgitate the status quo, while on the flipside you’ve got artists who push every musical boundary, but have the presence of an autistic possum playing dead on stage. Now, before we start arguing, the point of this post isn’t to bum anyone out or start a discussion about whether or not any of the previously mentioned artists still maintains any cultural relevance. The point is to stress that we all need to enjoy and appreciate the “Founders” we have left while there’s still time.

I had the pleasure of seeing one of rock’s founding mothers last week when Wanda Jackson graced the Beachland Ballroom in Cleveland. For those of you unfamiliar with it, the Beachland is a former Croatian social club turned music venue, and possibly one of the best places in the world to see a rockabilly show. The inside of the Ballroom, with its hardwood floors and dated architecture, feels like it never left the 1950s.

I’m out of touch with Ms. Jackson’s (Wanda if you’re nasty. [Oh come on, you all just thought that same terrible joke. Don’t lie to me.]) popularity level, but I was a little disappointed with the turnout. The show was on a Thursday night so I wasn’t expecting a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, but the room was pretty empty. They had chairs set up in the middle of the ballroom, and while I didn’t count the exact number, there were still plenty available after she took the stage.

For those of you that didn’t attend, now would be an appropriate time to start regretting a good chunk of your existence.

The show got right down to business with the Lustre Kings opening. I’d never heard of these guys but they were fan-tas-tic. Hailing from Albany, New York, they played old-school, rabble-rousing rockabilly in the best way possible: Fast and loud. They even had a standup bass and a table steel, so you know they’re authentic. The Kings plowed through their set and it was all too soon before I was sad to see them go. With the post-Kings glow fading, I was getting antsy. I’ve been a Wanda Jackson fan since I was young but this was my first time seeing her live. I got a Schlitz from the bar (what would you drink at a rockabilly show?) and waited, taking the opportunity to scope the crowd and verifying that I was one of the youngest people there. A few hipster kids and young rockabilly throwbacks had wandered in during the Lustre Kings set, but the number of people our parents’ age still outnumbered us by a large margin. I’d barely dented the Schlitz when, to my delight, the Lustre Kings took the stage again. It turns out they’re not only the opening act, but also Wanda’s backing band, and I can officially say that a more perfect pairing could not be made. Once they had the crowd sufficiently riled up Wanda took the stage, complete with a shirt covered in fringe, big poofy black hair and a sassy attitude.

In case you’ve read this far about a person you know nothing about, let me give you a brief history lesson. Wanda Jackson dated and toured with Elvis from ’55-’57. That’s Elvis Presley. The King. Elvis “Velvet-Painting-Graceland-Pink Cadillac” Presley. I’m not actually a huge Elvis fan; I’m just mentioning that to give you some insight into Wanda’s street cred. He’s the King. She’s the Queen. You can look the rest up on wikipedia.

The other point behind that lesson is to give you some idea bout her age. She turns 73 this year. She’s been singing since she was a teenager, and her voice, while slightly rougher around the edges, has barely changed from when she began her career. This was evident in her set list, which consisted mostly of her classics. An unexpected bonus was that between songs, she would tell stories about her past, giving the show more of “An Evening With Wanda Jackson” vibe than a typical concert. She also sang the two songs from her collaboration with Jack White, “You Know That I’m No Good,” an Amy Winehouse cover, and “Shakin’ All Over,” a Johnny Kid & the Pirates cover. Both of which were a huge hit with the crowd.

It’s also probably worth mentioning that Wanda had a pretty significant gospel career. She became a born again back in the 70s and only released gospel albums for a while before getting back to her roots in the 80s. This really isn’t a big deal as far as I’m concerned. As long as you’re not a dick about it you can believe in whatever you feel like. The problem was that I’d forgotten to warn my friends about it and I could hear their mental tires screeching when Wanda paused to express her love for Jesus before breaking into a gospel tune. The non-religious in the audience didn’t have to wait long though as this side of the show was short lived. She just did the one churchy song before charging full on into her finale and encore.

She’s still touring, so for those of you who haven’t seen Wanda Jackson live I can’t recommend it enough. I didn’t even mention the double entendre, the pink guitar, her suggestive banter, or her dance moves. She’s just as tough, raunchy and talented as she’s always been, but now she has the added Betty White benefit of being a cool old lady who says dirty things.

The previously mentioned collaboration with Jack White is available on iTunes, as are many of her early albums. They’re also pretty cheap on iTunes. If videos are more your thing, here you go:



This isn't the best video, but it'll give you a then-and-now comparison:

Do You Understand? Do You Understand?

First post! Congratulations on stumbling into my little corner of the internet. There’s beer in the fridge and booze in the basement. Won't you make yourself at home? Feel free to put on a movie, or we can listen to some records, whichever you prefer. I’m not going to lie and say I’ve got anything groundbreaking to offer, but I never get tired of forcing my love of cultural garbage on others, so tag - you’re it. If we take an occasional detour through current events (and we will) just bear with me and we’ll get back to the good stuff before you know it. So kick back and settle in...but leave the heels on.