Notekillers "We're Here to Help"

(Prophase) There are power trios, and then there are nuclear power trios, exploding with unimaginable force, unleashing heretofore unknown chaos, and randomly mutating everything in their triumphantly poisonous path. This is such  a trio!

Orphan/Dopebody split LP

(Black Tent) Orphan makes sonic sludge soup that tastes of husky spices, demon blood, something oddly metallic, chutney, and a hint of cumin. Dopebody play urgent, scary, angular gnome-punk, seemingly recorded in a subterranean lair, and likely to lead an army of mole people to decimate society as we know it. So basically, if you play this record for your date, better have some Trojans handy, because this is the Barry White music of the Millennium! Proudly, but cautiously, file this between your Tony Orlando and Jeffrey Osbourne LPs (if Tony and Jeffrey sound like black metal next time you spin them you have been warned).

Articles of Faith "New Normal Catastrophe"

(Guest Review by Anthony Illarde) (Alternative Tentacles) The one-two punch of the October 2010 Riot fest reunion gigs and the release of this 12" EP on the same weekend elicited the thrill and immediacy of the early hardcore days; recorded on the 4th of July and available an efficient 3 months later, these 5 new tracks also belie the fact that over two decades have passed since AOF were a working band. The musicianship is as incredible as ever, with Virus X and Dorian Taj shining in particular. Some great tracks here: "With A Vengeance" could've fit on the "Give Thanks" LP; "Coming Off The Rails" has a souped up Really Red feel; the moodier "New Normal Catastrophe" recalls "Every Man For Himself." Vocally gruffer and lyrically as angry as ever (although "the internet is the opiate of the masses" seems a bit disingenuous from a Microsoft employee), this is way better than it should have been (*see Reside, by Effigies, The). 

The Acme Novelty Library # 20: Lint by Chris Ware

(Drawn and Quarterly) (Guest Review by Robert Dayton)

Chris Ware’s visual style is so refined and close to clean perfection, it can be easy to take him for granted. One can lick it and it won’t soil the tongue, though it will cause play on the bleak emotions. It’s such precious stuff. With this latest volume he often uses stylistic seismic shifts that heighten the story. It begins akin to the way Portrait Of The Artist Of a Young Man (you know, you read it as an English Major) begins: through the child’s eyes, using colourful, building block shapes which then, as the character ages,  gets back into the more familiar Ware style. Towards the end of the book he sets up a page as a perfectly replicated Google search that moves into an online book review. Following that he takes on an aggressively red expressive style under the guise of an anguished character’s artwork. Through these various styles, the book maintains its’ heavy realism.

The main character, Jordan Lint, was previously seen as an antagonist in a Rusty Brown story. Basically he’s a jock asshole who uses people. And we follow his entire life right up into the future (a future that is completely devoid of science fiction clichés).

Chris Ware’s work is certainly character driven and, yet, can be tough to access; one can have a lot of trouble really getting inside his characters. It was rather difficult to feel empathy for the reprehensible Jordan Lint. Yet all of Ware’s comics have so many relatable moments. And, hey, isn’t life all about moments? Moments that recur. Some of Lint’s self-serving choices caused me to cringe as I wondered, “Do I have it in me to do some things as awful as Lint if I don’t keep myself in check?”

Norman Pettingill: Backwoods Humorist (introduction by R. Crumb)

(Fantagraphics) (Guest Review by Robert Dayton) This book is an expansion of horizons and may just be the least pretentious art book ever made. The cover is, appropriately enough, made out of wood. Why, it’ll float your boat and get your goat.

Born at the tail end of the 19^th century, Norman Pettingill started out mostly hunting and trapping in Wisconsin. In the 1940s he started his own postcard business. Much of this book contains reproductions of the numerous postcards that he made right up into the 1980s, as well as some paintings on logs, and hand decorated envelopes from his personal correspondence.

Pettingill was a self-taught artist. His work is completely footloose and full of folksy character, much pluck and hillbilly mischief.  There is a reason why his postcard business thrived: the material itself is funny and the visuals are attention grabbing. These unhampered pen-and-ink drawings are rich in detail. Some tableaus have about a billion things going on at once, whether it’s ice fishing, hunting, or animated elk head-adorned saloon settings. He loved to get a bit randy, yet unsexy, when he drew moonshine-addled morons, or other such twisted grotesqueries . Sight gags galore, like a cross-eyed gee-gaw Will Elder run amuck in a log cabin.

            This book also includes his more straight-up nature art: gorgeous pictures showing the versatility and variety of his scratchy line.

Sublime, inspiring stuff illuminating further possibilities in the form, busting up some rules.

Who Will Comfort Toffle: A Tale of Moomin Valley by Tove Jansson

(Drawn and Quarterly) (Guest Review by Robert Dayton) There’s been more than one person who upon seeing Tove Jansson’s Moomin adventures for the first time thinks that it is a brand new work by an alternative cartoonist.  It does look modern, decorative, a certain timeless quality.

This Scandinavian children’s book from 1960 was recently translated into English by poet Sophie Hannah. Unlike the Moomin Valley newspaper strip that Drawn and Quarterly has been collecting, this format allows Tove Jansson to stretch out into illustrious single and double page spreads that combine dense black and white line work with bold blocks of colour that look like paper cut-outs. “Who Will Comfort Toffle” is a charming, sweet, and melancholy tale about overcoming loneliness aimed at children and everyone else who has a heart.

Ink Studs: interviews with cartoonists by Robin McConnell (Conundrum Press)

(Conundrum Press) (Guest non-Review by Robert Dayton) For the past few years Robin McConnell has been doing the Ink Studs radio show, taking over from a couple of previous different Robins of different genders.  He’s sought out the best and brightest of the comics form for this CITR University radio show based out of Vancouver (which is also available via podcast at www.inkstuds.com). This book collects printed versions of the numerous in-depth interviews that he has done with such cartoonists as Gary Panter, Marc Bell, Jaime Hernandez, Carol Tyler, Rebecca Dart, and others both established and relatively new to the field: some people included may never have been interviewed before. Topics mostly contain biographical elements, working methods, craft, etc. 280 pages, black and white, soft cover. Note: I mention this book as a ‘heads up’ to the reader, not as a review, since I have a vested interest (I co-interviewed Kim Deitch for this book).

Dick Briefer's Frankenstein

(Yoe Books)(Guest Review by ROBERT DAYTON)
Nothing gets my sense of wonder inflamed like a good monster comic and Dick Briefer's Frankenstein is the best of the lot! This loving overview is long overdue. There was a previous collection of his serious era of Frankenstein but it proved difficult to find and was printed in black and white. Here we have full colour.
Edited and with a forward by noted comic historian Craig Yoe, this collection also contains samples of rare art.
All three eras of Briefer's Frankenstein are captured here. When the series began in the mid-40s the monster was larger than life and lurid as lurid can be, a gnarled and nasty split-lipped scarred gargantuan full of wraith, running amuck atop The Statue of Liberty, through amusement parks, and cavorting with midget mobsters, leaving a  bloody trail of death replete in four color garishness.
And then..and then...a few years in, a complete shift to funny ha ha! This different monster wasn't that monstrous, he even gets called a sissy! This is full of  F-U-N- Frankenstein! The rather comic misadventures include an encounter with a menagerie of Mananimals. Briefer's art style was now loose and free and full of pep!
With the 1950's horror comic boom Briefer returned the monster to its' grim tone, a now much more realistic looking and mute to boot monster. One tale entitled "Tree Of Death" is particularly striking, reading like a cursed parable.
All of these eras of Frankenstein showcase Dick Briefer's incredible versatility as a cartoonist, he wrote and drew all of these tales. Each era is expressive in vastly different ways. This hardcover book, at 144 pages, leaves one wanting more. Thankfully a follow-up book is planned. Everything will be okay.

Just Kids by Patti Smith

(HarperCollins) (Guest Review by Madeline Bocaro) As a child, Patti’s mom takes her to a park where she sees a swan for the first time. She is tongue-tied when trying to express the beauty of the magnificent bird. There were no words. This was the presage to her becoming an artist. Robert Mapplethorpe, was her catalyst.

Patti has written a poetic autobiography and elegy for her dear friend, lover and comrade, Robert. It happens to take place in an exciting time and location – 1969/70s New York City, and encompasses the endless summers of their love. The city looks as it does in the film Taxi Driver. Scum on the streets, hookers, pimps, rampant crime, triple X movie theatres. But there is nowhere else these two innocent bohemians would rather be.

Robert and Patti met by chance in Brooklyn - a couple of Coney Island babies. They were astral twins - stumbling amidst the ‘gritty innocence’ of the fading arcades, freak shows and crumbling rides. Robert, the shepherd boy in his angelic curls, sheepskin vest and myriad necklaces - Patti in her gray raincoat and shades.

They soon moved in together, sharing poverty and artistry. Their combined collections of religious artifacts, talismans, crafts, ribbons, beads, art supplies and their own creations are strewn about the pages. They kept sacred treasures in their room – a shrine to art itself, ‘draped in Moroccan silk’. Robert and Patti’s stretches of desperation, hunger and lice-ridden angst are nonetheless romantic, as they paint, draw and write side by side in a with a vow that ‘There will always be us.’

Patti questions her worthiness and her aims before entering the realm of art. ‘Are we animating God? Are we talking to ourselves? And what was the ultimate goal? To have one’s art caged in art’s great zoos – the Modern, the Met, the Louvre?’ Robert continually struggles as a collage artist and painter, before settling on photography. The former altar boy also grapples with good and evil, and with his homosexual identity. Their mutual support and love for each other is unyielding.

One of my favourite lines in the book; “I listened to recordings of the beat poets and Oscar Brown Jr. and studied the lyric poets like Vachel Lindsay and Art Carney.” Patti finally reveals the master of phrase – the true bard of Brooklyn – Ed Norton! 

The pair soon reside in the mythical Chelsea Hotel. ‘The Chelsea was like a doll’s house in The Twilight Zone, with a hundred rooms, each a small universe.’ The hotel is filled with hallowed names from the past and present - ghosts and sages, poets and rock stars. Patti and Robert feel right at home.

References abound from old Hollywood, French literature, Victoriana, Rock n’ Roll. There is lots of vintage product placement; Kooks, Nescafe, Remington, vintage eateries; Child’s, Benedict’s, Nathan’s, Hong Fat, in Chinatown. Patti meets Allen Ginsberg (who thought she was a boy) at Horn and Hardarts automat. Straightening the tipsy William Burroughs’ tie and hailing him a cab as he leaves the Chelsea Hotel became ‘our unspoken routine’. Salvador Dali calls Patti a gothic crow.

Patti constantly describes her style in meticulous detail. ‘I approached dressing like an extra preparing for a shot in a French New Wave film.’ ‘My East of Eden outfit’, and a walk she copped from Don’t Look Back.

There are several lines of unrequited love to Patti’s heroes; Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Jean Genet, Jimi and Jim Morrison (She reminisces about her visits to their Paris graves), Brian Jones, and Bob Dylan. Her affairs with Sam Shepard, Alan Lanier, Jim Carroll and Tom Verlaine are recalled. She hops from Electric Ladyland studios to Max’s Kansas City, to St. Marks Church and CBGB as her poetry readings/music career takes off. Robert, meanwhile moves into higher social circles in the art world, where Patti feels quite uncomfortable. This never separates them though.

In the poignant ending, Robert requests that Patti write their story, just minutes before his death from AIDS in 1989. She fulfilled that promise beautifully. An updated paperback edition includes a magical story of a young writer who had read this book. Her mother had acquired Mapplethorpe’s old writing desk at auction. 

X "Under the Big Black Sun," "More Fun in the New World" remastered reissues

(www.porterhouserecords.com) Porterhouse has recently took up the worthy work of reissuing classic punk albums on heavy vinyl that sounds great (though it looks like the original films for the artwork may have been unavailable as some of the visuals are a bit fuzzy). We asked two of our fave punk enthusiasts to share their thoughts on these L.A. punk treasures.
(Under the Big Black Sun Guest Review by Dom Nation) I remember reading a lot about X but when I finally heard them I was a little underwhelmed. I liked them, and thought they were good but I just wasn't as bowled over by them as the other LA bands at the time (Germs, Black Flag, Dickies). Then Under The Big Black Sun came out and I was sold. I believe my first exposure to the record was seeing the "Hungry Wolf" video on Richard Blade's MV3 music video show (Chicago didn't have cable or MTV in the early 80s, only the inferior ON-TV subscription service). The Bo Diddley-ish beat, killer Rockabilly/Punk hybrid guitar, and the sound of Exene and John Doe's harmonies- the perfect blend of a great song. For some reason John & Exene's vocals don't sound that great to me individually, but together it's heaven.The next tune I "saw" was "Blue Spark" (records were expensive, TV was free!) another unbelievably killer riff from Billy Zoom. But when I play the record today, the tune I always pick first is "Motel Room In My Head." That is the fucking JAM!

I later learned to love Los Angeles & Wild Gift, but Under The Big Black Sun with better tunes, better production, is in my humble opinion, when X hit their spot (rim shot).

 (More Fun Guest Review by Chris Butler) I think that I, along with many others at the time (the early 80's), suffered from some kind of punk purity syndrome. It seems that any deviation from a band's established 'sound' or whatever was met with intense criticism. I remember being guilty of this with a number of bands. Like when I saw The Ramones in 1981 after "Pleasant Dreams" had just come out, I thought they were already washed up. When Black Flag put out "My War" and "Slip It In", I remember thinking that they had taken a step sideways, not forward. And the first time I saw X in 1983, on tour to support "More Fun In The New World" I honestly don't remember anything they played other than songs from the first 2, canonically established albums. And what a shame. What had changed so drastically that I would sort of give up on a really fantastic band? I mean, it was the same line up, the same producer they'd used up to this, their fourth record. There were the same cool harmonies between John Doe and Exene. Billy Zoom was still in the band with that fantastic guitar style and sound. I guess they'd cut down on the rage a bit and matured as songwriters, etc. Also, they were on David Letterman's show to promote this record, and they covered "Breathless" for a Hollywood movie. Maybe I thought they were sell outs. Anyway, I'm sure this was the first time a lot of people heard X, and I'm sure it's many people's favorite X record. And I'm sure the next time I see them play, I'll be psyched to hear them play anything off of "More Fun In The New World,"which had some tracks that time has proved prophetic. In the opener "The New World" there are the lyrics "Tears have been falling all over the country's face. It was better before they voted for What's His Name." Jeez, don't let Limbaugh or Beck get a hold of this, they'll say it's about Obama and make it their theme song. Anyway, they are comparing Reagan-era America to the Depression here. They list a travelougue of Rust Belt cities that ends with the awesome chorus of "Don't forget the Motor City, this must be the new world." "I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts" is another song that could easily translate to

contemporary America. It's about the Existential dilemma regarding our personal
complicity in waging wars abroad. Plus they manage to name check The Minutemen, Flesh Eaters, DOA, The Big Boys and Black Flag. Again, another great chorus in this quiet loud quiet, dynamic song.