Book Review – “Rusted Metal – A Guide to Heavy Metal and Hard Rock Music in the Pacific Northwest (1970 – 1995)”

How long have I been waiting for Rusted Metal to come out? I pre-ordered a copy as soon as I learned about it, and that was close to two years ago. But truth be told I’ve been waiting for a book like Rusted Metal for my entire life. If something like it had existed back when I was a teenager I probably would have spent even more time in my room than I already did, reading, re-reading, and digesting it, only stepping out into the daylight to foray out to used record stores in search of Iron Cross demo tapes.

In the 1980s it was the norm as a teen to define yourself by some kind of label. Jock. Prep. Stoner. Skater. If you were unfortunate you had such a label forced upon you against your will, like Dweeb or Nerd back when Nerd was not a badge of honor. I strove to apply one of these labels to myself back in those days. Rocker.

I wasn’t a rocker though. Not really. Yes, I loved the music – hard rock and heavy metal were the soundtrack to my high school years in the second half of the 80s, with grunge sneaking its way into the mix as Sub Pop 7″ singles started popping up at places like Bellevue’s Cellophane Square Records. And sure, I had a leather jacket, though one with faux sheepskin lining, which hardly screamed rock let alone metal. I had the mullet, but hadn’t truly embraced the full-on rocker long hair look. The bottom line is I aspired to be a rocker, but I wasn’t one.

So what does all this have to do with Rusted Metal? Well, this was the scene I wanted to be part of, and indeed some of the music I listened to is here. And I’m not talking about the obvious stuff like Soundgarden or Mudhoney or Nirvana, though certainly they’re included. I’m talking about bands like Fifth Angel and TKO and Wild Dogs. Bands like Wehrmacht, who were often blasting out of my buddy’s brother’s bedroom window when I pulled up, a speaker perched on the sill and pointing out at the neighborhood and blasting “Suck My Dick”.

James Beach and friends have created the ultimate Northwest rock and metal guide with Rusted Metal, the definitive textbook on those genres in the region, a 902-page slab that’s as heavy as the music it covers. The interviews alone would make the book worth the price, somewhere around a hundred of them spread throughout the tome. Musicians, promoters, studio engineers and producers all share their stories and memories, both of the music and about the characters who were part of the scene (“This is the guy who went to prison for putting a bomb in his girlfriend’s mailbox.”). And have no fear, friends, this isn’t just text. We’re treated to hundreds of photos, flyers, album covers, and other visual treats to help tell the stories.

The cornerstone of Rusted Metal is the section devoted to bands and musicians, over 600 pages of entries in an encyclopedia-like format providing basic info like location, years active, and members, followed by as much narrative as the guys could uncover. For a band like Portland’s High Flight the bio may only run a few sentence, but Beach still manages to connect its members to at least four other bands while also touching on their management and the venues they played. Well-known local acts like the previously mentioned Wehrmacht, on the other hand, earn a page or more, often with an accompanying interview such as the eight-pager with frontman Tito Matos, who later went on to become a very successful club DJ (a fact I definitely did not know).

The final third of the book is broken down into sections devoted to concert dates, venues, record labels, studios, and of course a discography, which given the obscurity of many of these bands is probably the most comprehensive you’ll find anywhere, particularly when it comes to documenting demos. You’ll also find some of the guys’ own releases listed, because they’re partners in the NW Metalworx Music label that has been re-release some NW classics from bands like TKO, Heir Apparent, and Whiskey Stik, as well as a couple of great comps, most notably NW Metalworx Volume 2: Lake Hills Revisited. I’ve actually run into them a few times set up at record shows where they not only sell NW Metalworx releases but also tons of great NW classics. It’s an all-encompassing passion for this crew.

I’ve been reading an advance copy of Rusted Metal on my iPad and can’t wait for the print version to finally arrive in my mailbox in a few weeks. James and the guys did a terrific job on what is obviously a labor of love, and I applaud them for it because I know how taxing and all-consuming projects like this are. Rusted Metal will hold a place of honor on any music fan’s bookshelf, and I know I’ll be referencing it constantly. You can order your copy direct from NW Metalworx HERE, with a format and price for every music fan from the $9.95 e-book to the $34.95 trade paperback to the $125 limited edition and signed hardcover edition, so get your copy today.

Book Review – “Sing Backwards And Weep – A Memoir” by Mark Lanegan

I kind of went back-and-forth when considering writing about Mark Lanegan’s new memoir, Sing Backwards And Weep. I’m not entirely sure why, but I think it was trying to find some balance between the book’s stark and direct portrayal of addiction and generally bad behavior (by a whole lot of of people) and, well, the fact that Lanegan comes across as a pretty unlikeable human being. There are points in Sing Backwards And Weep when you pretty much stop rooting for Lanegan, finding yourself hoping he gets what he has coming to him for the way he treated someone. And to be fair, sometimes he does, whether it’s getting ripped off by Amsterdam drug dealers twice in the same night while desperately fighting heroin withdrawal or the perceived betrayal this friend Slayer “steal” one of Lanegan’s best customers when the singer was dealing to support his habit (something Lanegan does to someone else in an example of role reversal later in the book). Ultimately Lanegan’s seeming honesty wins out. I say “seeming” because we only get Mark’s side of the story, though more often than not he comes away looking much worse than anyone else involved so it feels like at the very least we’re getting his honest recollections and perceptions of events, even if others might have different takes. Plus at times he’s brutally self-aware, clearly recognizing not only his role in events but also that, to be blunt, often he was the asshole.

Those moments of acknowledgement, while sprinkled throughout the book, are often not in the places you’d expect, sometimes leaving the reader wondering, “so if he doesn’t acknowledge how bad this particular thing is, but he does acknowledge how bad other things are, how does he really feel about this event?” And that was certainly part of my struggle in coming to grips with how I felt about the Mark Lanegan described in Sing Backwards. But to be fair, if Lanegan deeply regretted even half the things he tells us he did the book would be unreadable, nothing more than a repetitive mea culpa mantra that would have been both annoying and come across as ingenuine. Sometimes, though, you’re left unsure. Does Lanegan have any regrets about being part of the scheme to steal some of Sub Pop co-founder Jon Poneman’s record collection, which was sold to buy drugs? At the time Lanegan saw it as payback for Poneman going back on a promise made regarding the photo to be used on the cover of Lanegan’s solo debut, 1990s The Winding Sheet. I also wonder if former Poison Idea drummer Steve Hanford (♠) knew he was going to be named as the guy who physically stole Poneman’s records while Hanford was, ironically, helping the former record label exec organize his record collection. A lot of people are named in Sing Backwards, many of them in unflattering situations, and at least a few of them aren’t happy about it, such has Lanegan’s former Screaming Trees bandmate Gary Lee Conner and Oasis member Liam Gallagher, both who have gone online (Facebook and Twitter respectively) with responses.

The two most interesting threads were those around Lanegan’s relationships with a pair of fellow vocalists, Gun Club’s Jeffrey Lee Pierce and Alice In Chains’ Layne Staley, both who also suffered under and eventually passed in part due to their addictions. Lanegan heaped praise on both, referring to Pierce as his favorite vocalist, though was also frank when relating some of the more frightening and sobering interactions he had with each, such as the incomprehensible message Pierce left on his answering machine shortly before he died and Staley being convinced that spiders exited an abscess in his arm and were hiding in his bathroom wall. Lanegan never shies away, his storytelling almost brutal in its directness.

If I’m being completely honest, I couldn’t put down Sing Backwards And Weep. Lanegan’s matter-of-fact, conversational writing style and knack for storytelling make it an effortless read. Sure the subject matter was often dark, and more than once I found myself shaking my head as the singer sank to a new low, but the tale is powerful and harrowing even if you do become a bit numb to the squalor after so many tales of depravity. The one thing missing is the rest of the story, as it were, the book ending abruptly with Lanegan receiving a phone call in 2002 informing him of Staley’s death. I was left wondering how Mark would describe his life after kicking dope; we didn’t get the redemption part of the story. Hopefully he’ll share it with us someday.

() I wrote the first draft of this post on May 17, and planned on posting it today. So imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to learn that Steve Handford died yesterday morning. RIP Steve.

Book Review – “What Is Punk?” (2016)

Can Play-Doh be punk rock?  Based on what I see in the book What Is Punk? the answer is a resounding yes.

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Released in 2015, What Is Punk? is a cool little kid-style book (suitable for little kids and big ones too) that explores the history of punk rock using the clay creations of Anny Yi and the couplets of Eric Morse.  Over the course of 30 pages or so we’re treated to some imaginative dioramas of punk fashions and icons.  The early influential bands and individuals are all here from Iggy Pop to the Sex Pistols to the Ramones to Bad Brains.  And while the stage set-ups are cool, it’s the attention to detail that caught my eye.  Safety pins?  Check.  Zines?  Check.  Henry Rollins’ tattoos?  Check.  Plus there’s a two page spread dedicated to the ladies of punk featuring The Slits, Poly Styrene, and Siouxsie Sioux.  It’s impressive how broad of a reach Yi and Morse were able to have in such a short book.

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Not only are Yi’s figures and backgrounds impressive, but so too is the photography, all of which is in color and impeccably lit and shot.  While the book is certainly directed a young audience, even as a not-so-young-anymore punk there’s a lot here to like, and I think it’ll put a smile on your face.

You can learn more about the project at the book’s website HERE.

Book Review – “X-Ray Audio: The Strange Story of Soviet Music on the Bone” Edited by Stephen Coates (2015)

xraybookI’m not much of a crazy format guy when it comes to vinyl, though I’ll confess to a certain weakness for both colored vinyl and 10″ records.  I’d seen something online a while back that caught my eye, though – a record that looked like a flexi disc, but that was in fact cut into a piece of x-ray film.  It turns out this was a method of underground bootleg recording in the Soviet Union back in the late unpleasantness that was the 1950s and 1960s, and there was a new book in the works on the subject.  Since I’ve been into books longer than I’ve been into records, I shot the niche publisher some money for a pre-order, and a couple of weeks ago I got a pleasant surprise when my copy of X-Ray Audio arrived in the mail.

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I’m not going to tell you a lot about the story behind these discs as I am about the book itself.  It’s a well-produced piece of art in its own right – hardbound, 160 pages, and heavily illustrated, roughly half of which is given over to full page images of various old school Soviet picture and x-ray records.  Plus if you order the special edition (£5 more than the “regular” price) you get your own flexi disc made to look like an old x-ray record, with the added bonus that it actually plays (I just played mine).  £30 isn’t cheap, but it also isn’t a lot to pay for a nice hardback like this, so if you’re interested you can order HERE.

Editor Stephen Coates does a nice job of bringing in some Soviet x-ray record experts to tell the story behind these intriguing recordings.  Long story short, x-rays of the era were soft enough to “cut” onto using a recording lathe, but sturdy enough to hold up to at least a handful of plays.  Stories of clandestine recording sessions, raids by the secret police, and the thrill of buying an illicit record (and the agony of taking it home and realizing it was a piece of crap) form the framework of the narrative.  it’s a relatively quick read, but it covers the necessary bases quite well.

If you want to learn more about tX-Ray Audio: The Strange Story of Soviet Music on the Bone, you can check out the x-rayaudio website HERE.

Book Review – “Vinyl: The Analogue Record in the Digital Age” by Dominik Bartmanski and Ian Woodward

I took a number of sociology classes in college (three of which were Deviance, Criminology, and Juvenile Delinquency, if that gives you any indication as to how my brain works…) and that discipline always fascinated me, mostly because it uses such broad strokes to attempt to describe society, cultures, and the factors that drive behavior.  My actual major was psychology, which surely contributed to both my interest in the “big picture” sociology tries to provide as well as giving me an understanding about how groups and individuals are both related and totally different at the same time.

I find articles and books written from a sociological perspective to be both interesting and challenging.  Interesting because it can be like herding cats, taking a broad swath of individual experiences and trying to fit them in to a box that more or less contains and explains them.  Challenging because it can be hard to grasp.  It’s easy to read a case study of a specific individual and use that to explain some aspect of their behavior, like the person who abuses alcohol or drugs in an attempt to dampen or escape some personal trauma or loss, or the collector/hoarder who surrounds themselves with physical objects as a way of providing a sense of stability and control in their lives.  But sociologists can’t rely on the individual, they need to look at lots of individuals and how they exist with this nebulous thing called “society” that is challenging to define and grasp, like trying to hold a big handful of dry sand.  You have to get out of the mindset of “yeah, but that isn’t always why people do X… I used to know this one guy who…”  Look, there are exceptions to everything.  Psychology concerns itself with the individual, and often the exceptions; sociology is trying to give us the view from above, looking at the group as a whole.  Micro versus macro.  Yin and yang.

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Which brings me to Vinyl:  The Analogue Record in the Digital Age, the new (Feb. 2015) book by sociologists (and record fans) Dominik Bartmanski and Ian Woodward.  I figured this would be a challenging read, and it was.  Sociology uses its own language (has a sociologist ever done an overview of the subculture that is sociology?  That might cause a black hole to form.), and for the untrained (like me) that can make for some slow going as you try to wrap your mind around what they’re saying.  But if you’re willing to put in some effort, there is some interesting stuff here.

Bartmanski and Woodward aren’t focused on specific subcultures per se in Vinyl – this isn’t book specifically about record collectors or the fetishization of objects, though both are undercurrents within the narrative.  Instead they’re more concerned with the relatively recent re-birth of vinyl, a medium that was at least two generations obsolete but is making a strong come-back, and what that tells us about ourselves.  The DJ and techno scene, particularly as it exists in Berlin, serves as a backdrop of sorts, though the authors do range around a bit, particularly in discussing the vinyl culture in Japan, including visits to some of the very same Disk Union stores I visited in Tokyo last year – the same time as their visits.  Could I have been standing next to one of them while flipping through vinyl in Shibuya?  Maybe.  And certainly telling, given that the social aspect of the record store is one of the topics they touch upon.

I find myself thinking about my relationship to vinyl more often than I probably should.  Why did I decide to get back into this medium after having sold off my record collection two decades ago?  Why not stick with CDs, or even more logically go full technology and learn to love the mp3?  CDs and mp3s are more practical from a space standpoint, and digital downloads are certainly faster – you get delivery of the music you want immediately.  Hell, why not pay to subscribe to a streaming service and just toss all the physical media? That would be way cheaper.  I have friends who have pursued all these routes – Chris still owns every single CD he ever bought; Tristen went down the mp3 road; and Ken is all about Spotify.  I can’t argue against any of these well-reasoned and logical decisions.  So why the hell did I want to get back into a format that was so overtaken by technology that it was almost dead?  Cassettes certainly hurt vinyl.  While no one in their right mind would ever say that a cassette sounded better than a record, they had the huge advantage of being portable so you could play them in your car or Walkman, and prior to the rise of the CD I probably split my music purchases as 60% tape and 40% vinyl.  The CD obliterated the cassette completely and totally (though it is making a minor comeback of sorts), with the exception of using blank tapes to record CDs, and just about ran vinyl out of town.  And then the mp3 came in and stomped all over everyone, leaving CDs hanging on for dear life and vinyl covered in dust.

But vinyl came back.

The authors bring it all full circle in the 12-page Epilogue that closes out the 177 page book (177 pages of text, 204 total ages if you include citations/biblio/index), and if you’re willing to take it on faith that they did their due diligence and research (trust me, they did), this is where to go if you’re a non-sociology minded reader.

We feel confronted on a daily basis with too much too fast.  Inflation of files, updates, apps and incessant flow of evanescent images may desensitize rather than inspire if left uncontrolled on our omnipresent screens.  (p. 165)

We all have so much coming at us so fast today, often we can’t give more than a cursory glance to any of it.  Emails go unread.  Facebook updates by friends and family quickly scrolled through.  Tweets from people we “follow” but in many ways still ignore.  It’s too much a lot of the time.

We can become desensitized to music as well.  Consider the process of acquiring music.  It used to be you had to actually go somewhere, a store, to make your purchase.  You had to make an effort to go there and undertake a physical exchange – you handed over either cash or a credit card and got back a physical object.  Today your credit card info can be saved on iTunes.  Want to hear “Knockin’ At Your Back Door” by Deep Purple (“Sweet Lucy was a dancer, but none of us would chance her, because she was a samurai…” so good!)?  Walk over to your computer and for 99 cents you’ll have it on your hard drive in about 30 seconds.  But yet it doesn’t feel like you bought something.  You never noticed the transaction (handing over your credit card), and you just have a row of information on your screen in your iTunes library to show for it.  For those of us who came of age before the digital era, that’s disconcerting.  And the value proposition has changed – there’s no longer a tangible object that might hold onto at least a fraction of its economic value.  It’s ones and zeros.

The authors credit much of vinyl’s survival as a medium to the DJ and dance scene, and there is certainly some truth to this, one suspects particularly in Berlin where so much of their research was based.  But that was survival.  It’s resurgence is more tied to the issues identified before.  Vinyl is a way of slowing down the pace of technology, both in terms of change and the pure volume of stuff coming at us.

It is about reintroducing elements of the ‘sacred’ moments and objects to one’s mundane routines… We have tried to show how vinyl’s many affordances may make our engagement with music more focused and culturally ‘sustainable’, and thus more meaningful.  (p. 166)

Vinyl makes you work for it.  It’s not easy to skip around from track to track, which in the case of the LP makes you more likely to listen to entire sides of music.  Plus there is the physical aspect of taking the record out of the sleeve, putting it on the turntable, dropping the tonearm… and if you listen to singles, you’re doing that every three minutes or so.  Even when the side is done, unlike a CD that you’ll just leave in the player until you get around to ejecting it, perhaps days later, the record keeps spinning – you have to make a point of lifting that tonearm off and stopping the motion.

Bartmanski and Woodward don’t spend an inordinate amount of time on record collecting, though it is a thread that weaves its way throughout their study, both in the behaviors and motivations of the collectors as well as how labels choose what to release and in what quantities to create demand.  In the Epilogue they address the fetishistic aspects of vinyl, whether these be the pure collectibility of the object or as it relates to the retro aspect of the record and, perhaps even more importantly, how it is utilized, be that in a club setting or at home as a way to slow down and more deeply connect with the music.  A sociological overview of record collecting itself could easily fill another book, though frankly would be much less interesting.

When I spent an afternoon with musician and music historian Dr. Gunni in Reykjavik back in 2013, we’d both just finished reading Simon Reynolds’ 2011 book Retromania:  Pop Culture’s Addiction to It’s Own Past.  Ironically that book got me even more excited about vinyl… just as it convinced Gunni that it was time to get rid of most of his records (which luckily for me gave me the chance to pick up some tough-to-find Icelandic punk classics!). I’m still not sure which of us made the right decision, though logically I realize there is no right or wrong here.  I’ve certainly spent not insignificant amounts of money on vinyl and have put a lot of my free time into it (like this blog…), and our free time truly is the most valuable “commodity” of all.  But I’ve gotten a lot of enjoyment out of it and met more than a few people who are now friends.  Yin and yang.

Let me leave it to the authors to have the last word today.

Behind vinyl there is a kind of love.  On its surface, we find beats and signs of culture as it affords and shapes one of the most beautiful things there is – musical experience.  (p. 177)

Oh, and in case you’re interested in what I was listening to while I was writing this, it was Arabian Horse by Gusgus.  On my iPod…. 🙂