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File under "A"

   Hmm, this is odd, I only have two punk bands filed under 'A', Agression and Angst. Both are California bands from the same era, but oh so different. Agression is SoCal hardcore,or more specifically, Nardcore. They are one of the great skatepunk bands out of Oxnard, California. Up first was their second full length LP from 1985, the self-titled "Agression" on Mystic Records. From the first riff of 'Rich Kids' to the final shout of 'Ripped Off' these thirteen tracks make me want to punch stuff, hard. Favorite tracks include the bouncy 'Salty Leather' and a cover of Hendrix's 'Foxy Lady'. Up next was "Super Seven Record Co. Presents: Agression- Recorded Live At The Underground Railroad", six horribly recorded live tracks. This 7" record made me glad it was so short and reminded me why I've only listened to it once before. Two cool thing about this record are that it's a 33 1/3 rpm 7" and that the drummer had been in the band for only eight weeks at the time of the recording. Uninteresting fact: When I was a teenager, I dislocated an ankle at an Agression show. The ankle still gives me problems some twenty-five~thirty years later. Ah, good times.

      Angst, on the other hand, is not hardcore. They are a trio out of San Francisco who released five records from 1983 to 1988. Self-titled 7 song 12" EP (1983 Happy Squid Records. Reissued in 1986 as SST 064), Lite Life LP (1985 SST 054), Mending Wall LP (1986 SST 074), Mystery Spot LP (1987 SST 111) and Cry For Happy LP (1988 SST 206).

Unfortunately they didn't quite fit in with the hardcore scene that was so prevalent in the 80s, they weren't fast enough or loud enough. They were punky and poppy, with some country and 60s garage thrown in, because, why not? They've become one of my favorite bands of all time. Their only real claim to fame is that Frank Black (Pixies) liked them enough to tell Rolling Stone magazine that he would like to see them reunite and has mentioned that they were a great influence on him and his music. Mending Wall is my personal favorite at the moment, because it has a bitterly sung cover of Simon and Garfunkel's "Richard Cory". I can grab one at random and play it, doesn't matter which one it is, they are all good. I think that this was the first time I played all five in a row, might have to do that again. Uninteresting fact: According to Wikipedia, Frank Black and I might be the only people that own all five records, any of which would make a nice addition to one's collection.

I'm back (kinda)!

Wow, it's been a while. I'm going to go through my punk rock records from A to Z, clean 'em up, play 'em and bore you with a little reminiscing and thoughts on 'em. If something non-punk catches my eye in my travels I'll give that a spin, too. Anyone up for Glen Campbell?

Road Hog

   Pork Fillingsworth is a moderately successful investment banker.  Normally, at this time in the morning, he would be at work, sitting behind his desk making money for his clients and, in doing so, himself. Today, however, he was on a freeway, driving to his Aunt Charlotte's house on the coast. He rarely drove and didn't even own a car, he usually took public transportation or a cab to go wherever he needed to get to. He had taken the long bus ride to his aunt's house many times over the years and each time he swore it was the last. He felt it took took longer than necessary, especially when seated next to someone who wanted to tell him their life story, which seemed to happen more often than not. He liked a good story, but most people who rode a bus to the coast told long rambling tales of woe that went off on one digression after another and never seemed to get anywhere close to an ending, despite having three hours to get there. His Aunt Charlotte, on the other hand, knew how to tell a story well and he loved to hear her talk about the family history. His favorite story was about the old family friend she was named after. It was a sad, but inspiring tale.

   Today he had rented a little two-door hybrid and was feeling good about his choice. If he was going to drive by himself then he wanted to at least try and not waste precious resources with his self-indulgence. He had the radio tuned to the local NPR station to keep him company and was driving a steady sixty-three miles per hour, no sense in risking a speeding ticket. The cup of hot tea sitting in the cupholder was one of his favorite things about driving a car, you didn't have that on a bus. As he pulled over to take a picture of an old rustic barn he realized another thing, you could stop whenever you wanted when you had a car. He had passed by that barn for years and this was the first time he been able to get a picture of it that didn't have any blurry trees. It was also the first time he was able to snap more than one picture of the barn. He didn't get back on the road until he had shot a whole roll of film.

   He drove on, pulling over whenever it struck his fancy. Whether to take more pictures or buy more tea, it didn't matter, he got to decide when and where to stop. The longer he thought about it the more he wanted to get something for the occasional drive out of the city. Two hours into the drive he was passed by a group of choppers and, for the next twenty minutes, he found himself daydreaming of riding one on a country lane with the wind in his face. He imagined packing a little picnic lunch and eating it by a small stream with birds chirping happily at him. By the time he pulled into his Aunt Charlotte's driveway, he had decided to buy a motorcycle. Maybe not one of the big ones, like those that had passed him, but he definitely wanted to buy something with two wheels.

Pork Fillingsworth will return in Hog Wild

The Malady

   I have a weird obsession, maybe even a sickness. It's not healthy, I know this and yet, I don't do anything to reign it in. I allow it happen. I allow it to grow. There are times when it lies dormant, only to come roaring back to life bigger than before. I am an audio equipment addict. Even worse, I'm a vintage audio equipment junkie. The bug had been under control, simmering quietly beneath the surface, for over a year. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was given an Atwater Kent Receiving Set, Model 32 and I could feel the fever starting to rise.

 It's an interesting little piece of radio history and you're lucky that I won't bore you with the details. There are, however, two problems that need to be addressed before I can even find out if it works or not. First, it originally was powered by three or four external batteries, so I need to buy a kit (available online) that will allow me to plug it into a wall outlet. Second, it requires an external speaker. Here's where the fun starts, I've been searching the interweb for something that is (A) period correct and (B) in working condition. They are out there in varying combinations of A and B, it comes down to how much I'm willing to spend. However, before I was properly lost in the problems and possibilities of this nifty little radio, I was distracted by another gift; a product from the RCA Victor Co. Inc.

 

   This is a Model 10K, given to me by my mom-in-law. It came from her great-grandparents ranch. She remembers listening to it when she was a youngster. I brought it home last Saturday and, with fingers crossed, I plugged it in. I had visions of listening to game four of the World Series the way it was meant to be heard. I imagined traveling back in time, hearing the crack of the bat and the cheers of the crowd while the announcer painted a word picture of the action, all coming out of this wonderful piece of furniture. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, despite having rigged up a makeshift antenna, the only sound was the quiet hum of vacuum tubes warming up. Sadly, I had to watch the Giants win, on a TV. I'm happy the Giants won, I just wanted to hear it, with my eyes glued to a glowing dial instead of a glowing flat-screen. Still, it's a beautiful addition to the living room and a duck decoy has managed to make it a home.

   These two recent acquisitions got me thinking about the ultimate score, the stereo console. This piece of equipment is my Holy Grail. I don't even know what brand I want. I do know that I don't want something cheaply made, that's for sure. There are enough great brands that I wouldn't need to jump on the first one. Now, my wife will say that there is no room in the house, but I think I could make room for the right one. I need to start saving my pennies, because I hear the siren song of vintage audio equipment calling my name and the sickness won't go away. I think I could give any of these a good home.

Sausage Exam Party!

Brought to you by freshly brewed coffee and Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon.

   Years ago, I used to choose three random words out of a dictionary and create a short story using those three words in the title. Today I decided to try an online random word generator, the first three words were (in order) sausage, exam and party. Wow, the possibilities were endless.
   Aside from the obvious sexual innuendo,what the heck is a sausage exam party? Is it something that a group of USDA inspectors do on a Saturday night? Each one brings a sample of sausage from a meat processing plant they inspected that week and then they try to figure out which ones passed inspection and which ones failed. At the end of the night the winner gets driven by the loser to the Emergency Room. Everyone else can get there any way they choose I suppose, I haven't figured out all the rules yet.
   Maybe it's where Assistant Charcutiers bring their best sausages to some sort of judging event. They have a chance to become Master Charcutier if their sausage is deemed good enough. Of course, they would have to pass the regional competitions before making it to state and then, finally, on to nationals.  Only the best will move on, but everyone would have a good time because, hey, it's a party.
   It's quite possible that it's a strange political party. I'm not sure what their platform is and I'm not sure if I even want to. Seriously, I really think I don't want to know.
   Whatever a sausage exam party is I'm sure it's amazing! Except for the last one, I'm starting to weird myself out just thinking about it.

Pig In A Blanket (part II)

   Pork Fillingsworth is a moderately successful investment banker.  Normally during the afternoon he would be at work, sitting behind his desk making money for his clients and, in doing so, himself. Today, however, he had spent the afternoon on an exam table at the local VetStop. His neighbor, Mrs. Furter, fearful that he might have come down with Hog Cholera, had insisted he come in and get checked out. She had been nice enough to give him a ride in her car and sat in the waiting room, worrying the entire time about the diagnosis. Pork hadn't been surprised when the doctor came in and told him it was just the swine flu and that there was nothing to worry about, he just needed to keep hydrated and get plenty of rest. On the way home Mrs. Furter stopped at a pharmacy to buy both Day- and Ny- Quil, along with chamomile tea and saltines. Waiting in the parking lot, nestled in the comfort of the 1965 Chrysler New Yorker Town Sedan, all he just wanted was to get home, crawl back into bed with his cat, Applesauce, and burrow as deep as he could into his blanket.