DVD Reviews: Brick and Mortar and Love; Last Shop Standing

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2013

Images from the Internet

 

It is wonderful that independent record stores are getting more notice, especially with the fall of the majors, like Tower Records and Virgin Records. All we who love to browse through the record stores have our touchstone places where we gather(ed) and have the kinship of our passion. For me, there were a few, such as Sounds (St. Mark’s Place, NYC), the House of Guitars (Irondequoit, NY, a suburb of Rochester, especially during the Greg Prevost/Andy Bauilbk years), and Home of the Hits, aka Play It Again Sam, in Buffalo, NY; RIP). I used to joke that I couldn’t go to those stores because I couldn’t leave. But, of course, I went. These two documentaries are hardly the first on record stores and collecting, such as I Need That Record! [reviewed HERE], but are important nonetheless.

                            

 

 

Brick and Mortar and Love

Directed by Scott Shuffitt               

Trust Gang Films

70 minutes, 2012

www.Brickandmortarandlove.com

www.MVDvisual.com

 

Everything closes eventually. Max’s Kansas City, CBGB, nearly everything on St. Mark’s Place, the local video store (remember when they were everywhere?), and numerous record shops. Why? Some blame the ease of scoring free music online. Many people under 25 never owned a physical piece of music in their lives. But there is a connection to a record store that once experienced, can become a feeling you always want to recreate.

 

Such a place is the focus on this documentary, which is followed from 2010 through 2011. Located in Louisville, KY, ear X-stacy was such a gathering place. Run by John Timmons and a devoted staff, the store went through numerous permutations, such as having a second, unsuccessful location changing by moving the main store’s site more than once.

 

We follow the store’s progress – or, to be more accurate, its possible death thrashes – as they struggle to keep the doors open. These events are handled well, keeping the viewers’ suspense going, almost as if it were alive. This is almost as much a thriller as a documentary. We follow the bands that play in-store shows, both local and nationally-touring musicians that play there (such as My Morning Jacket), the management, the workers, and the buyers.

 

But this one store is not the entire scope of the film. They also cover various other stores in the mid-west that are struggling, talking to the owners who both praise ear X-stacy and shudder in their own boots. There’s also talking heads of some musicians, but none of it feels static.

 

This film is, on one hand, quite nostalgic about the store, showing it in a loving light most of the time, but they also show some who are quite calloused about the stores trouble, owing it up to bad management rather than the market. Considering that some of the majors have had to close over time, such as Tower, shows that the fact that some of these stores have managed to scrimp by actually shows just the opposite of that claim, in my opinion. There are also always going to be naysayers.

 

I also understand. When CBGB shuttered, it felt like a sentimental blow, but I also know that the CBGB I knew is not the same CBGB that closed. They had become a brand, a change something that turned us Blank Generation-ers off, considering branding is something we mostly abhorred (I remember going to shows in the 2000s and being shocked at the punks there dancing to rap and wearing Nike crap). The point is, after a store is open 25 years, is it the same store as when it opened?  The impression they give here, is that ear X-stacy was pretty close to its initial model, which could be either for the better good, or as one musician claims, the worse.

 

Shuffitt manages to keep the story moving and fluid, manages to hold off much of the sentimental mawkishness that is present in many of these an-institution-is-in-trouble-folks docs. Some of the people running the place touch the heart, and I would have liked a follow-up on a few, but that’s just me, Mr. Sentimentality.

 

 

 

 Last Shop Standing: The Rise, Fall and Rebirth of the Independent Record Shop (Deluxe Edition)

Directed by Pip Piper                   

Convexe Entertainment

124 minutes, 2012 / 2012  

www.Lastshopstanding.com

www.MVDvisual.com

 

Across the Pond, the UK equivalents of record stores are also having difficulties, to some extent, keeping up with the digi-world. Part of what is brought up here is the question of whether there Is a conspiracy against them.

 

Based on the book by Graham Jones with the same name, Graham also hosts this documentary, as we are shown the back end of a number of record shops across Britain. Apparently what has been hard for the North American indie (and majors, for that matter) shop(pe) is reflected there. The one owned by Jones may not actually be the literal last one, but as the film states, many across the country are closing their doors for business, and few new ones are replacing them. For this exercise, 27 music sale palaces are presented, including Rough Trade.

 

This tale is broken into three segments, with the first being “Act 1: The Rise.” As many of these stores have been opened for many generations (one over a century), and most of the owners shown are at least in their 60s if not 70s, they know what they are talking about as they discuss the decades.

 

Apparently, the record boom was started by Americans stationed over in Jolly Ole’ in the mid-1950s, as requests for Elvis and the like started to flood in. Rock’n’roll in 78 form foreshadowed the first big wave of record purchasing. It wasn’t stated here, but historically, before rock’n’roll, the big seller in these types of stores was sheet music rather than the sounds themselves.

 

The next big wave came with the Beatles (we see some archival footage, ironically from when the boys landed at JFK in NYC) and what we called the British Invasion; not sure what they called it there, come to think of it). That was followed by the punk movement and the flood of independent records.  Apparently, the period up to the mid-to-late 1980s was a great time to be selling vinyl.

 

This period, however, led to “Act 2: The Fall.” Even though CDs were still sold in stores, there was, according to the film (and I agree) a complicit conspiracy by the major labels to get rid of vinyl. The example they use is that the larger record companies made it harder to get LPs, and also made them thinner and less trustworthy (true) so they would skip easier, driving people into buying what they were told was a more reliable CD product (lies; early CDs tended to skip quite regularly at the beginning). In addition, and this is from me rather than this film, you had a choice between a record or a CD that generally had three or four more songs. Guess which one sold more?

 

CDs, being a digital medium, of course led way to digi-music, where the listener to buy it directly from the company or musician, bypassing the store altogether (though not any cheaper).  On a side note, again not stated in the film, is that before the early ‘60s, singles (i.e., 45s) were the biggest sellers. With the advent of the Beatles, albums became the most popular. With digit-music, the song rather than the collection became the top seller again.

 

Many stores had to develop a different model during the technological seismographic shifting phase. There were a large number that didn’t make it, but there were some who managed to hold on.  As Marshall McLuhan states correctly, when a technology becomes obsolete, it comes back as art. This has been true of vinyl, leading to “Act 3: The Rebirth.”  Stores also started to change their dynamics to include a wider variety of styles, adding extras like musical instruments and gear, and even having bands play at in-store shows.

 

The documentary has a wary tone about the future, and rightfully so. Who knows what will come around in the coming years. Who knew that Napster was the beginning of the happy days of music selling, as one store owner states here.

 

There are a lot of amazing good and intelligent musicians interviewed for this, such as Billy Bragg, Paul Weller, and Jo Good, to name a few. By giving a cross-section of stores over a wide area, we are given an overview of the condition the record store condition is in, as it were. On the other hand, as there is no central store at the heart of the story, it’s hard to garner much emotional attachment for any of them. Sure, as collectors, we (I am assuming and speaking for everyone, I know) care about our stores, the personalities of the people who run them (such as the Yankees-hating owner of Revolutionary Records on St. Mark’s Place; I would love to see a steel cage match with Yankees-loving Handsome Dick Manitoba… but I digress…)

 

 Lots of cool extras on board, such as the trailer, a bit that plays catch-up with some of the stores after the film’s release, and lots of extended interviews that go on for quite a while. In fact, the added interviews (including with Weller) together last longer than the film itself, which is a good deal!

My Zombie Walk Saskatoon 2013 photos

Can be found HERE.

DVD Review: Gold

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

                            

Gold

Directed and Organized by Bob Levis and Bill Desloge          
Wild Eye Releasing                        
90 minutes, 1968 / 1972 / 1996 / 2010    
www.WildEyeReleasing.com
www.MVDvisual.com

By 1968, when this film was shot, the Hays Office style of extreme film business gatekeeping was essentially toothless, after years of legislation ripping it of its power, such as proclaiming the studios must be separated from the means of distribution; in other words, the studios could no longer own the theaters. This broke their monopoly, opening up the chance for foreign and independent features. This started early in that decade, giving rise to the likes of the material of Roger Corman and Herschell Gordon Lewis. Yet, this film didn’t see any theaters until it was shown in England in 1972, and had its US premiere in New York in 1996, thanks in part to a minimal number of negatives leading to the film becoming lost.

Continuing with my geekology, social theory shows that trends start with the poor, get picked up by the rich who are trying to show how “cool” they are with the lower social strata, and then by the middle class who are trying to climb the social ladder. Langston Hughes was writing about this in the early part of the 20^th Century in stories like “Slave on the Block” (1933). In this case, the hippies were indigents who were praised and emulated by the Hollywood youth (such as the Fondas).

Put these two together, and you have a perfect storm of the idealistic having enough money to display their incompetence (a drugged version of the Peter Principle, perhaps?). This is not to say I do not respect what they were trying to do¸ because even the punk movement had its reflective moments (think of the British film Jubilee [1978], which has very similar vibes to this one, dealing with similar grand motifs of overbearing systems of control, anarchy, and both the differences and similarities).

That being said, this film was made for about $1000, most of which went to the insurance for the rental of an olde style train used for one day of shooting in the month-long filming, the rest going to equipment, food, and other mind-altering substances. Sure some of the cast and crew were either professionals in the industry already, and others wanted to be, but it is equally obvious that some were there to share in the chemical and herbal vibe. The end result may be considered, using a modern idiom, a hot mess. There is no writing credit for the film because much of it was improvised, and that is easy to figure out pretty quickly.

The stick of the premise is that a second gold rush gets a group of people – er – motivated to head to northern California. There, a small corrupt government springs up among the new town (whose members include Ramblin’ Jack Elliot and Dan Hicks!), and it takes the local loser to rise up and lead la revolución! Truly, for both sides, it is shown that violence is, indeed, inherent in any system, even the loving, herbal kind.

But this is mostly a comedy. Well, actually it is pan-genre, sometimes switching from scene to scene or character to character. When the film starts, it’s a western, and most are dressed accordingly as they board a train headed for the locus of supposed gold (that we never see a hint of other than a mine shaft door near the end). One exception is the villain of the piece, a cop called Harold Jinks (as in, “Jinx! It’s the cops!”), portrayed by Garry Goodrow, who dresses like a 1920s G-man and talks in the quick patter of Jimmy Cagney of that period, see? Yeah, that’s it, see? Jinks is obsessed with control and stopping nudity, something nearly everyone else is swaying and bouncing the other way. Meanwhile, a sexy woman (Caroline Parr) with big – er – hair gets on the same train definitely flashing some legs and belly in a cut-out dress, seemingly right out of Carnaby Street.

At the start of the film, we meet our hero, Hawk (Del Close, d. 1999), who is on crutches. We watch as he almost misses the train and ends up riding underneath it (Close foolishly did his own highly-dangerous stunts, surely empowered by some – er – altered state of mind).

Through much nudity (lots of full frontal of all genders) and multiple trysts, with some nearly prescience to the mud-caked denizens of the Woodstock Festival in the coming year, Jinks goes to the dark(er) side and starts arresting people left and right and puts them into a barbed wired corral (either a pig sty or cow pasture of the commune on which it was filmed). More of the town ends up there than on the outside, of course. Finally, the mayor, not such a wonderful person himself, starts to object, but you’ll see where that leads.

With power corrupting absolutely, in a comment on the war in Vietnam and the then-current Democratic Convention in Chicago that ended in disaster, a hero must arise, with that being Close’s Hawk character (again, a reference to being pro-war).  Easily no longer a western and certainly more an allegory to the then-modern Marxist-influenced groups like the SDS and the Weathermen, you know which way the wind is going to blow when Hawk starts reading Mao’s Little Red Book and quoting Che Guevara, even coming to physically resemble him. With his drunken buddy, LeRoy Acorn (Orville Schell) they start planning a violent coup via a homemade arsenal (including bazooka!). Note that all the main characters are men…I’m just sayin’.

While I won’t give away what happens – and even though I’ve told quite a bit of the story, yet not enough to diminish the fun of the flick – perhaps it’s worth noting how religion plays a background role in the whole mishegoss. There are lots of songs on the soundtrack about Jesus, and Christianity is mentioned or referred to as a recurring motif in the dialog. I am not certain if this was a commentary about church and state, the hypocrisy of how the state sometimes uses religion (e.g., “opiate of the masses”), or it was so imbedded in the filmmakers that it came naturally without regard to its exclusivity of the rest of the culture (and much of the business end of Hollywood at the time).

Speaking of soundtracks, the reissue is very proud of the fact – and rightfully so – of their use of songs by the then-unknown Motor City Five (aka, the MC5), which ups the films credibility among more modern hopelessly obscure nostalgia collectors. You just know there is a whole contingent of First Wave punkers who are going to see this for that reason alone.

Extras include two somewhat interesting full-length commentaries, an hour-long access cable interview with the director, trailers, and more.

Whatever your motivation, or mind-altering substance intake, the sheer insanity of this film makes it worth seeing. There is so much happening, and it takes a vivid snapshot of a counterculture that is the remnant of the original Beat hipsters of its period, much in the way the Ken Kesey Merry Pranksters group did with the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test road trip. Gold is both a throwback and ahead of its time, concurrently. What’s more, it’s groovin’ in these equally harsh times.

 

A Thought on Dylan Going Electric in 1965

© Text by Robert Barry Francos / FFanzen.blogspot.com
Images from the Internet

 

 

It was inevitable that Bob Dylan would go electric, sending the folk masses either running towards or away from the electronic medium.  It wasn’t as much a rebellion when he showed up and plugged in his Strat during the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, shocking and rocking the status quo with “Maggie’s Farm,” as a growth spurt.

Dylan’s previous albums started out professing their loyalty to what preceded, nodding a head to Woody Guthrie, Delta Blues, and his upbringing in small city Minnesota.  When he hit the folk circuit in New York, his retro sound and vocal meanderings were as shocking to that audience used to the more subdued folk sounds of the Weavers, the Kingston Trio, and Peter Paul & Mary, as his hard hitting excursion in 1965. However, the first time was a revivalism to the hootenanny crowd who grasped his sincerity and bravery, putting him at the head of the pack. This became especially true when he started producing original numbers that were not about sea shanties (“Greenland Fisheries”), lost loves (“Barbara Allen”) and murder (“Down By the River”, “Willow Garden”), but of current events (“Blowin’ in the Wind”) and the changes in society (“The Times They are A-Changin’”); he even wrote nasty ditties about people he didn’t like (“It Ain’t Me Babe”).

Much like the beginning of rock and roll, where the smaller songwriters were copied and homogenized by the larger, and more mainstream sounding artists, this also followed in the folk milieu, with many artists such as Peter, Paul and Mary covering Dylan, or even Judy Collins having a hit with “Suzanne” before its creator, Leonard Cohen. But as with the examples for both folk and rock, having the smoothed out versions led the way for the lesser known artists, especially Dylan, whose voice was hardly AM radio friendly.

Dylan was in a constant mode of expanding and stretching, each album being more progressive and far reaching, with fame and ego pushing him ever forward. By the time he played England in spring of 1965, it was obvious he was bored. As much as he was influencing the whole folk genre, spurring on new sounds from the likes of Phil Ochs and Simon & Garfunkel, he was also, in turn, tuned into the newer, relatively harder and updated eclectic electric sounds of the British Invasion, as well as the more harsh music that was coming out of the Pacific Northwest, with bands like the Kingsmen and the Wailers. Most likely drugs were also spurring him on, as evidenced by the classic footage of Dylan and John Lennon completely in an outer range of mind alteration in the back of a limo, as they mumble and burble along; it’s as painful as it is unintentionally funny.

If Dylan had not plugged in, surely someone else would have eventually, as technology manages to eventually change everything, but it was the combination of Dylan’s stature as a folk artist and being in the bailiwick of the traditional celebration of the genre that broke the folk rock sound barrier. If Dylan had played somewhere else, even Folk City on Bleecker St., or it was someone else who had electrified Newport, the shock wave would not have been as big and certainly not as electrically instantaneous at that moment. It was all the elements forming into a perfect time-binding flash that changed not just one genre, but many, and forming a completely new sound that would spark the likes of the Byrds and Buffalo Springfield. This kind of moment would not occur again until the Beatles would release Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in 1967.

Side note: Music historian Tom Bingham states that “Some of us would argue that the release of Pet Sounds a year earlier was a far more groundbreaking moment (and current historical perspective seems to corroborate that).” While I agree with him on some level, I believe the effect of Pet Sounds was more on a music industry level, and Sgt. Pepper’s was more on a mass cultural one, i.e., everyone had the Beatles record, but the Beach Boys’ excellent release was less populous.

Catching Up With Some FFanzeen Contributors 1

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

In the years I was publishing FFanzeen as a print ‘zine, from 1977 through 1988, I was incredibly fortunate to have so many talented writers and photographers come through my pages. Here, in no particular order, are some of the wonder women of FFanzeen.

* * *

When I first met Mary Anne Cassata, she was already writing for a number of other higher-end magazines, including a New York-based Music Paper, but she would rise way above that. Even when she was writing for me in 1984, she was interviewing some of the top artists of the time, including those who did not fit into the concept of my ‘zine, such as Elton John, Cher, Boy George, Cyndi Lauper, Alice Cooper, and just about every hair band you can think of that was popular at the time, including Iron Maiden and Ratt. These were published worldwide in so many different glossies, that I know I could never keep track, such as Tiger Beat, Hit Parader, Variety, Hollywood Reporter, USA Today, Goldmine, American Songwriter, People Weekly, and even Rolling Stone. For FFanzeen, she used her magic touch to bring in interviews like the Animals (I went with her for that one), Mike Love of the Beach Boys, Spanky McFarlane of Spanky and Our Gang, Gary Glitter (went to that one, too), Patti Smith, and Iggy Pop (who had originally refused unless he was on the cover).

After the hard print version of FFanzeen was put to bed, Mary Anne has kept going, interviewing and writing, as well as being Editorial Director of Faces and Popstar! Publications for a number of teen-based magazines, and some special projects including whoever was big at the moment, and even one on Elvis. She is also known for the numerous of books she has written about artists of many genres, such as Michael J. Fox: The Year of the Fox (1986), Hey, Hey It’s the Monkees (2002), The Cher Scrapbook (2002), The Essential Jim Carrey (2010), and The Elton John Scrapbook (2002). Other books she has authored include biographies of Britney Spears, 'NSync, Kirk Cameron and Alicia Silverstone. And her star still rises.

macassata.com
themacwire.com
ontheteenbeat.com

* * *

Mary Anne also brought photographer Cathy Miller into FFanzeen’s domain, when they were working on joint projects, and I am incredibly grateful. Cathy's work is stunning for capturing musicians at their best, both onstage and off. At some point, she must have a book published of her work (she has had a number of gallery shows). Why she was so willing to have me use her output, I do not know, but I’m not going to look a gift photo in the flash. Even though I was taking pictures myself, I happily gave her the covers and photo posters of the last few issues, including The Blasters, Jerry Lee Lewis, Gary Glitter, the Cramps, BowWowWow, and Dave Edmunds. She also supplied snaps for articles about Divine and the Vipers, among others. I also remember enjoying hanging out with her, and how excited she was when she saw Prince back in the ‘80s.

She quickly graduated to bigger mags, like Spin and Rolling Stone. She’s even done album/CD covers for Johnny Thunders’ Gang War, The Rockats, The Fast, Dirt Club Compilations, and Quimby Mountain Band.

These days she still covers live events, but also does headshots and lots of corporate work for different agencies in New Jersey, including Planned Parenthood of Greater Northern New Jersey, and for publications like Inside Jersey Magazine, The Express-Times, The Arc, and The Aquarian Weekly. Be sure to check out her link below to see some of her stellar work.
cathymillerphotography.com

* * *



Nancy Foster is known by many names: currently it’s Nancy Neon, but she was also Suzy Q, and when I met her via letter in the late 1970s, she was going by Nancy New Age (New Age was the name of her fanzine out in North Carolina). I knew of her way before I met her, and when she moved to NYC, we became instant great friends, frequently hanging out at CBGBs, but especially Max’s Kansas City. I saw countless Heartbreakers / Heroes / Waldos shows with her, with her powerful voice repeatedly shouting out “Wal-tah!”(that’s Walter Lure, in case you didn’t get it) in a Greensboro twang.

Nancy introduced me to a new level of pop writing, using terms such as “gr-8” to punctuate her excitement. That high intensity love of music always came through as a baseline to whatever she wrote, and she did that often for the mag. Some of Nancy’s pieces include in-depth interviews with Walter Lure (of course; it was in the infamous back room at Max’s night they closed that section down for good), Leee Black Childers, Nico, and other pieces on Nikki and the Corvettes, the Rockats (we sold our tickets to see the Clash at Bonds to go to the recording of the Rockats’ live album at the Ritz; she sang Chuck Berry’s “Round and Round” with them during their finale, which is not on the recording), comedian Dave Street, Levi Dexter, and the late ‘60s songwriting icon Tommy Boyce (I met him in her living room at 111 Third Ave, NYC).

These days, Nancy lives in Boston, married to ex-Real Kids guitarist Billy Borgioli, who now fronts the Varmints, that Nancy manages. For about a decade, she booked shows for the Kirkland and Cantab. She is the associate editor for the music mag, The Noise, as well as working on her memoirs. In the works is a Borgioli painting exhibit and a new Varmints EP, and if that isn't enough, Nancy is currently working on interviews with members of the Lyres, which may grow into a book.
www.facebook.com/nancy.neon

* * *

Julia Masi is a Brooklyn girl, through and through. And behind that unassuming “how you doin’?” outer shell lurks quite a, well, brilliant mind, as well as an honest, deep blast of a laugh you can hear from blocks away (actually, come to think of it, volume is something that many of FFanzeen women writers share). She has earned many academic degrees, and works in high charitable social stratas, such as being a Board Member at Children of the City and volunteering at several non-profits that help those living with HIV/.AIDS; she even learned Mandarin.

But even back when she was writing for the ‘zine, she had a razor sharp sense of humor that got a rise out of whomever she was in contact, I’m sure a reflection of the eccentric Italian family from which she was raised. Her dad was a big, gruff, intimidating guy who liked to scare her boyfriends, but also made the most delicious and delicate cheesecakes you could imagine; her mom was sweet from one end to the other, always making sure the was food and drink to be offered, and occasionally was baffled by the whole punk crew that would occasionally show up at her door (our interview with Würm and Powertrip guitarist, the late Ed Dankey, was priceless as he tried to understand the full frontal assault of Julia, myself, and her parents). After my first managing editor left because I didn’t want to print an article about a local talented-but-dull band, Julia quickly rose to the occasion and remained in the post for the run of the ‘zine.

She probably wrote more articles than anyone else, including a raucous one with Joan Jett, Jim Carroll,Cheetah Chrome’s Skels (a rare piece on the band; I was there for that one), R.E.M. (one of – if not the – first articles on them outside of Athens, GA), Urban Verbs, the Stimulators (one of the first hardcore pieces we published), the Undead (even getting Bobby Steele’s then girlfriend, Lori Wedding, to pose for the cover of one issue), The Blasters, Tav Falco’s Panther Burns (I was present then, too), Annabella Lwin of BowWowWow,Jeffrey Lee Pierce of Gun Club, quirky violinist Walter Steding, Divine, Diamanda Galas, Clint Ruin of Foetus on the Wheel, Salem 66, Hoboken’s own The Cucumbers, the Mad Orphans, and even some fashions pieces, including one about the infamous Natasha Adonzio, and that’s not even the full list.
juliamasiwrites.blogspot.com

She definitely helped make FFanzeen what it was, and I am grateful to her, and everyone else on this list. Thank you all.

Waiting for the Diodes: A Pig Paper Reprint from 1978

Image copied with permission from the Pig Paper, printed in Mississauga, Ontario, 1978.

Though I remember the incident well, I had forgotten I'd even written this until the publisher and pal, Gary Pig Gold, reminded me by sending me this image of a page of his excellent fanzine, The Pig Paper No. 8. Here is the Internet Archive's description of that issue:

Issue 8 of the Pig Paper came out in April 1978 and featured pieces on Elvis Costello, the Viletones, The Forgotten Rebels, The Dishes, Teenage Head, the Diodes, a show review of the Runaways and the Heartbreakers, some photos of Elvis Costello, Mickey Skin, Margeretta Passion, Frankie Venom, Carole Pope, Robert Gordon, and loads of gossip.

Free reprints of the entire fanzine's releases can be found here:
http://archive.org/details/ThePigPaper08
www.garypiggold.com

The page can be made bigger (and is easier to read) by clicking on it.

 

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: