Book Review: Adventures in Cuntopia – The Life of a Punk Rock Prom Queen; by Colleen Caffeine

Text and live photo © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2016

Book cover image from the Internet

                 

Adventures in Cuntopia: The Life of a Punk Rock Prom Queen

By Colleen Caffeine

Ellora’s Cave / EC For Real, 176 pages, 2016
Available HERE:

In the wake of the likes of Detroit icons like Iggy and the Stooges, Alice Cooper and the MC5, and in the shadow of the Grande Ballroom, came a punk prom queen named Colleen Caffeine. She soon would become a cult figure in the punk scene thanks to her band Choking Susan. Her dedication to the music goes even beyond her many tattoos and outrageous looks. While still in Choking Susan, Caffeine, who is a huge fan of the Ramones (she has a tat from the Rocket to Russia LP cover on her arm), joined an all-woman Ramones cover group brilliantly named the Whoremones. Problem was she didn’t play any instruments. Well, determination is a great teacher, and as she was filling in the Dee Dee role, she taught herself to play the bass to beyond a level of just competency.

When her bands play Europe, they sell out large clubs and her fan base is worldwide. Where she is least known, it seems, is in the good ol’ US of A, beyond the boundaries of Michigan. Here is a brief version of how I got to know Colleen, and to call her a friend:

In the mid-2000s, I learned that Choking Susan was going to play at CBGB, ground zero (along with the Grande) for the music they play. For some reason, and it’s nothing I’ve ever done before really, I contacted them and offered to show them around New York, including some “punk-centric” highlights of the Village. Perhaps it was because they weren’t kids, having been around a while, and from their MySpace page I could tell they were coming from a lot of the same music I enjoyed.

Reluctantly (I could tell from the tone of the response, the reasons for which she also indirectly discusses in the book), they agreed to meet the day before the show. Among the places I took them was Trash and Vaudeville, the old Fillmore East site, Gem Spa, where Manic Panic used to be (Caffeine is known for variant and vibrant hair colors), and the Joe Strummer mural. We also ate at DoJos, the one that used to be on St. Mark’s Place; it’s a vaping supply store now...

For the last place, I took them to Manitoba’s. I knew the band was fans of the Dictators, so I hoped to help them to meet the man, Handsome Dick, Sure enough, there was HMD behind the bar, but the band, being the bad-assed punk rockers that they are, were idol-shy. So I went over to him, and pointed out the band. Being the mensch that he is, HD grabbed a flashlight from under the bar and spent quite a bit of time with them, chatting and explaining a lot of the pictures that covered the walls. Choking Susan was agog, and it made me happy.

We said our farewells for the evening, and then I got to see them play a really fun show at CBs the next night with a local Brooklyn band I knew, Status Quo No Show (SQNS). I took tons of pix, including the lead singers of both bands in the infamous crappers (both sexes).

Wow, about 600 words in already so, since I’ve now given some background, I should probably start talking about the book…

First and most importantly, don’t let the title throw you. I’ve read quite a few musician autobiographies, and many of them – while enjoyable and not taking anything away from them – also have the formula of: I grew up in tough circumstances, I discovered music, practiced a lot, joined a bunch of bands, and despite competition, drugs, sex and band in-fighting, became a legend. Then it all became too much and the band broke up due to infighting. But Colleen don’t play that.

It is true, the Caucasian Colleen begins right off discussing her tough background by stating, “I was born a poor black child,” but she does it with humor and not necessarily focusing on a chronology-based telling of her life. More stream of consciousness, she jumps around from subject to subject with a self-depreciating candor while discussing her inner thoughts about life and what has happened to her. Rather than a sorrowful slog, even when she is discussing hard topics, like an emotionally hard breakup, it’s a pinball version with topics being the bumpers to bounce off of to fly to the next thing. For example, she discusses her demure grandma being a classy broad to going abroad and her love for the Dominican Republic.

It’s almost an ADHD model for the first half of the book, and yet it works well for her. It kind of reminds me of Ulysses S. Grant (bear with me here): the reason he was a great general is because he failed West Point, so he didn’t follow the expected order of things in the patterned way of war. This is kind of what this project is like, in that rather than just an autobiography, it’s more like musical riffs. During a guitar solo, one can just follow a I-IV-V Blues formula, or one can go off on tangents and just play. After listening to I-IV-V over and over, a streaming bowl of riff can be a nice change.

Along with the history of her life, we get to hear about friends, life and death, break-ups, hook-ups, touring, and general philosophical ways of looking at what is happening. There really is no rhyme or reason for the order, just whatever she is thinking at the moment, though some later chapters do follow through with the thought. That, and you know she will either brag about herself, or look at herself as incompetent. Honey, you’re you, and most of your fans are grateful. Period.

Most chapters have a theme title, which is usually a sexual pun on a song title or expression, such as “A-Dick-Shun,” “Thimble Tits,” or “Life is a Semi in the Middle of My Colon.” Plus, I kept wanting to talk to her throughout the book. For example, when she says, “If only I had a dime for the number of times I’ve been called strange, odd or weird. In love, I have only ever been treated as a burp and only afforded the smallest effort of a subconscious poof of air after one had been satiated with whatever had whetted their appetite.” Oh, honey, I’ve been called all of those things, too, and you know what, good, and so what? Punk Rawk! That’s what makes a rock and roll lifestyle. Also, you just haven’t met the right dude (or woman; I won’t assume about the future) yet. No, I’m not implying it’s me or anyone else, but the road is being traveled, that’s important.

She does address that somewhat with “I hear people say you need to find happiness and fulfillment within yourself, enjoy your own company. For some reason I’m not able to do that. I don’t know why either.” Yes, and neither does anyone else. I’m not wagging a finger, I’m sighing that answer.

Don’t get me wrong, the book isn’t a downer…well, maybe in certain sections she has some deeper, philosophical life queries, but Colleen also has an outstanding sense of humor, lyrical timing, and a keen sense of observation. If I quoted every line I underlined, this review would be many pages longer.

Colleen expresses her emotion in song lyrics, and there are many published here within the paragraphs that show how a particular incident is processed, transformed, and regurgitated and transformed into something meaningful, and often powerful.

This was an enjoyable read from beginning to end, and the numerous photos in the back (none of mine, so I’ve included one) just make it that much better.

The biggest drawback of the book is that I’m afraid it’s not going to be reviewed as much as it should, or be in many bookstores thanks to its title. But be sure to buy it in either its print or electronic form from Amazon.com at the link at the top. Meanwhile, I’m hoping there is a next book on the horizon.

An earlier version of Choking Susan at CBGB (photo by RBF)

Book Review: Bringing Metal to the Children: by Zakk Wylde, with Eric Hendrikx

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2013
Images from the Internet

Bringing Metal to the Children: The complete berzerker’s guide to world tour domination
By Zakk Wylde, with Eric Hendrikx
William Morrow (New York)
An imprint of Hal HarperCollins Publishers
293 pages; $14.99: 2012
ISBN: 978-0-06-200275-4
www.harpercollins.com

Bayonne, New Jersey’s Jeffrey Phillip Wielandt has made quite the name for himself in certain circles, such as Berzerker, The Ghost of Rock Past, and Chode, to mention just a few. But those into metal guitar will most likely recognize him by the moniker Zakk Wylde.

With his various guitars and their proprietary circular design, Wylde has been a major influence on the heavy world through his connections to Ozzy Osborne (solo stuff), his own band, the Black Label Society, his world-renowned home-based Black Vatican recording studio, and especially his ego. Now you can add author to the list…sorta.

This book is not exactly a standard autobiography for a number of reasons. For example, it does not follow any kind of chronological order. It’s more like whatever appears in the author’s head at the moment is what is discussed¸ though mostly it’s about schlongs (did you get the “chode” notation above?)¸ sex and metal mentality, though I’d be incorrect to say it is stream of conscious; I would be willing, however, to posit it as scream of consciousness. But more on that later.

We read through Jeffr… I mean Zakk’s life in soundbites, some coherent, some less so. There are equally questionable comments from other metal musicians, friends, and the likes of the murdered (d. 2004) guitarist of Pantera, Dimebag Darrell “Dimebag” Abbott’s partner, Rita Haney, who colloquially describes the truth-life deep friendship between the two musicians for a few pages. There are also some words from John “JD” DeServio, a life-long friend and partner who Wylde ridicules continuously throughout the book to the point of yeah, yeah, we get it.

Within the wide scope of the book, one section discusses the instruments and brands used by Zakk, which feels like more from the heart than just a commercial. Many musicians, especially guitarists (and drummers) are endorsers of a particular brand of instrumentation, significantly when the musician in question is one of the designers of that particular model, or series of models in the case of Wylde. For guitar affectionados and collectors, this is mucho grande importante informacion. It’s sort of the musician nerd version of baseball card stats, or what was the number on the “whoosing” door Spock went through in Episode #7.

But what makes this autobiography unique is that if the “with” of Eric Hendrikx is actually writing the book, there is somewhat of an upfrontness about it, though it technically makes this a biography rather than an auto. At various points, it seems like Wylde jumps in and makes corrections to the stories being told (or invented, apparently). Either this is merely a truly clever device, or it is the truth, but either way, it’s one of the ways that makes this readable.

Which leads me to one of the problems I have with the book: the information we are given is actually sparse within the framework of the, well, let’s call it a narrative for the sake of explanation. Most of what the reader gets is filled with is the equivalent of listening to a ‘70s or ‘80s wrestler ranting and raving at top volume. This book could have been in all caps and been appropriate. There’s boasting of manliness, like givin’ it to the wife, Barbaranne; though also some self-deprecation – for example, in some portions he discusses how huge his wanger is, and in others, how small it is (again, I bring up “Chode”). Somewhere in my head I keep hearing Handsome Dick of the Dictators’ screed at the beginning of “Two Tub Man” (“…They’re all goin’ under the thunda of Manitoba!”).

There is even a bit of philosophizing, on how to succeed in life, but I can hardly picture Machiavelli saying, “So, for all you have done for me, I am about to pay you back tenfold… and here it is: Work your fucking ass off, you lazy piece of shit!!!” Think I’ll go knit a pillow cover with that loving thought. Other advice is presented in a multiple choice quiz for how to be a rock star, with questions that include “What do you do when you’re onstage and you need to take a shit?”

Between talking about his religion (he is a devout Catholic, despite the vulgarity, alcohol use, and frank / rank sex talk) and either insulting everyone or calling them “Father” (e.g., Father Eric [Clapton] or “Pope” (e.g., Pope [Jimmy] Page) everything is in the extreme. And, as I said, suddenly Zakk will come out with a comment in a sidebar saying, “Well, that’s not true,” or “Here’s what really happened…” While this device is somewhat interesting, though occasionally the main writing is beyond childish and belligerent, then it becomes cumbersome and nearly oppressive.

Hey, I want to learn a little bit about a musician I don’t know too well, and by the time I finished this, well, yeah, I guess I did know more about the pretender-to-the-throne-of-Odin guitarist and wannabe Berzerker, but it’s the weeding through all the bullshit to find the nuggets that I found annoying.

There is a lot of humor in the book’s anecdotes that I also found funny, such as when William Shatner makes an appearance at the Black Vatican to record something or other. The Jewish Canadian and the non-Norwegian Viking seemed to have hit if off quite well. Speaking of which, check out Shatner’s plug on the back of the book’s cover. Had me sayin’ “No way” in a Wayne Campbell voice.

Now, there are going to be many fans of the man and the genre that are going to think this is a hoot an’a half, and that is great. If you’re into this guy, know about him enough to enjoy the ride rather than relying on the auto/bio to know the subject, go-at-‘er and have a blast. But for someone like me, who is more punk or folkie than metal (e.g., I learned “Paranoid” first by the Dickies, then by Black Sabbath), it’s like a very loud needle in an even more vague haystack.

In fact, there actually is a somewhat good nature to all the banter, cursing, posturing machismo, and adolescent boy mentality. Unfortunately, there is also a large share of misogyny, as well. Zakk (or Hendrikx) fills many pages with descriptors of wife Barbaranne like “Warden,” and that’s one of the nicer ones. There’s (I’m sure mock) descriptions of body parts (of both parties), and while I enjoy the good story about on the road and at home, even dismissedly, in this case I found it kinda…icky. Another example is that Rita, the girlfriend of his good friend, is referred to as “Dimebag’s Hag” in the section header of her comments.

For yet a further illustration, the book is full of really wonderful photographs, of the man, of the studio, band insignias, on the road, onstage, and of bandmates (in black and white throughout, and glossy color ones in a section), but try to find one of Barbaranne, his life partner. If I were her, I would be miffed more about that than anything said about her. Basically I had to look her up on the Internet to see what she looked like.

Much of this feels like the equivalent of cartoon violence or something like Jackass, but in the heavy metal world, there is a place for it, and I’m sure fans are going to relish this chance to join in the larger-than-life world.

And, may I say about the non-Norwegian guitar god of Asgard. Uff Da. Now pass the lefsa and let’s party.

Bonus videos: