The Claudettes "No Hotel"

(Yellow Dog, 2015) Chicago's magical punk,-jazz--ye ye-chamber-cabaret-psychobilly-Tom Waits fever dream schizo-rockers are genuinely good at making music. That seems rare.

Left Lane Cruise "Dirty Spliff Blues"

 (Alive, 2015) I understood why slow, dirgy stoner rock was the way it was, but when I hear pummeling, Blue Cheer-volume, regular-paced blues rock presented as stoner music I just don't understand what kind of weed they are smoking. I'm not mad, just jealous.

Dynamo - Man of High Camp by Wally Wood

(Tower Books, 1966) Although this comic book was never particularly popular during its 1965-1969 run, the T.H.U.N.D.E.R agents (an awkward backronym built around the U.N. developing a super squad) was launched spectacularly with an origin adventure crafted by a true master. Wally Wood's art and visual storytelling makes this really solid narrative pop better than many 60s Marvel masterpieces. The team is magnificently absurd: Dynamo- a top recruit given a superbelt that makes him a man of steel for a few minutes until he becomes super weak; Noman - an elderly genius who transfers his body into a series of robots (switching shells when they get destroyed)...plus he has an invisibility cape; Menthor - a traitor who wears a helmet that turns him into a super-telekinetic telepath - and turns him unwittingly ethical and loyal to the U.S. (plus, I assume he also smokes menthols). Wood's breathtaking art would be enough to put his over the top of the top, but throwing in a sexy, armored, bondage villain called Iron Maiden is just  more than we deserve. This group has been revived a few times and reprinted in high quality editions more than once, but this weird 25 cent pocket paperback with art reproduced horizontally and vertically at random and an advertising insert for Lasalle Extension University correspondence school bound in the middle is clearly the best way to read this trash masterpiece. 

Arrica Rose & the ...'s"wavefunction"

 (Arricarose.com, 2014) Enchanting. Like, literally, as in this voice has the functionality of a sea siren (or land witch) putting a weird, powerful spell on me.

Razorcake

(razorcake.org) Back in the day Roctober and Razorcake were neck in neck (our issue #44 probably came out around their issue #44). But we slowed down and went on hiatus in 2015, and right now they are on #117, more than doubling our output. I also had about five years of Razorcake back issues to read, which if it wasn't Quarantine/Quaran-zine time I probably never would have done. But I did! And it was more of a delight than a chore. I read every comic (Ben Snakepit's tales of ripening into punk middle age are fine by me any day), and any article about a 70s or 80s band (reading these is how I ripen into punk middle age). 90s band interviews (especially Kathleen Hanna's) were a maybe, and new bands had to have some kind of compelling gimmick or the best name ever for me to consider reading their interview. I read the columns by Norb, Nardwuar and Rhythm Chicken every issue because I consider those weirdos my friends and they make me laugh. Granted, I would apply the Cathy Rule to some of their columns. Meaning, although I have read the full funny pages every day all my life, in Ms. Guisewite's heyday, if Cathy's daily adventure had too many words on the page I gave myself permission skip it, because I had gotten the point and couldn't bring myself to exert the effort. In Razorcake's case (in Razorcase?) if Norb was talking about Descendents or his dick for more than 700 words I might skim instead of read, and detailed Wisconsin parade descriptions by the Chicken might not get my full attention. All other columns I would start and decide after the first few grafs about reading. I would usually read the "A Punks Guide To..." features, and would skim the reviews. So I read some, and sometimes most, of an issue before moving on, and it was a decent experience. In the MRR heyday I read the columns more religiously but skipped most of the interviews and articles, and really in the pre-Internet era it was the ads that were most important to me to just see what bands existed and records were coming out. Who needs a scene report in the social media age? Razorcake may not have the editorial edge (stubbornness) of MRR, but for this age it is a more compelling read than the punk bibles of the past. Which is an almost biblical achievement.

On Time: A Princely Life In Funk by Morris Day with David Ritz

(Da Capo, 2019) Morris Day fronting the Time, stealing scenes in Purple Rain, and during his solo career was a consistent delight, but that does not mean his book will be good. David Ritz came out swinging with his amazing 1985 Marvin Gaye book, but over the years his visible-ghostwriter co-sign has not been a consistent mark of quality (the Don Rickles book was just jokes from the stand up act with no revelations and was a bore; his R. Kelly book was inconsistent and chock full of semi-truths and craziness, though it proved to be kinda fascinating). But this book has a secret weapon: an All-Star imaginary co-author! Yes, Morris Day has included a running commentary by his mentor Prince, with Morris crafting Prince's sassy, troll-like refutations of Day's version of events. So that is insane, obviously, but very compelling. Day's chronicle's of the early days of Prince's groundbreaking Minneapolis music scene includes details on some of the infamous rumors, including Morris bartering his creative contributions (so Prince could claim to be sole creator of his early albums) for a record deal. Not everything seems 100% accurate (hard to believe that the name "The Time" was not derived from the band Flyte Tyme, whose members became The Time, but that's how Morris remembers it, and Faux Prince doesn't disagree), but it all seems truthful. Morris cops to years of addictions (even introducing mid-book a less successful co-narrator, a drugged out bad boy version of his stage persona) and does not portray himself as the perfect father or spouse. But he is very proud that his band could keep Prince's band on its toes, and despite some bitterness about music projects Prince shelved and concert appearances where Prince pulled the rug out under him, he is not out to paint a poor portrait of his purple preceptor. And even if he tried to, Ghost Prince would set him straight.

Sudden Infant "Wolfli's Nightmare"

(2014, Voodoo Rhythm)You got your gloomy in my creep butter! You got your creep butter in my gloomy!

Tork by Michael Kupperman

(2019, https://michaelkupperman.com/) Longtime followers of Kupperman's comics and illustrations and animation know him for strange, surreal humor that is very, very funny, though it is not always clear exactly why. It also seems so smart that elements of satire and critique must be in there somewhere, but it is not always exactly clear exactly where. A comic in which a regular snake and a single piece of bacon (who only utters flat descriptions of his attributes, i.e. "Pat me down with a paper towel to remove excess grease") theoretically fight crime (while doing nothing), might be about the banality of comics, or the futility of the world, or bacon's deliciousness. But "might" is doing hard labor in that statement. That said, following the artist on social media his tone, while still funny and smart, is somber as his family has negotiated the economic realities of this Century and the flaws of the school systems and our country's terrible leadership and the crippling struggles of surviving as an artist. That he spent a substantial portion of his recent history creating a brilliant graphic biography of his father could not have helped his mood. Dealing so directly with difficult subject matter (the miseries his father faced as a TV "Quiz Kid" in the 50s, and his elderly father's mental and physical decline [he died earlier this year]) would be rough on its own, but the underwhelming commercial response to his masterpiece and the subpar promotions it received were no pick me ups. Anyhow, I say that to say this: Tork is an amazing minicomic about dealing with life's struggles (much of it financial, but also shitty people) and small triumphs (the satisfaction of slowly, but successfully, cleaning out a family property) and mundanities (a Peter Tork cameo). The book combines the graphic and rhythmic skills of his best comics with the honesty and vulnerability of his public reckoning with his personal challenges. While not the grand statement of his amazing book (everyone should read it, I got it for my dad who was enamored with the Chicago-based Quiz Kids when he was just a little older than them, and he was fascinated) the quiet, modest aspirations of this project are fully realized. Though the tone is not entirely akin to The Monkees series, I would even recommend this to total Tork-heads.

Sandy Nelson presents The Veebles

(2016, Burger) In the 60s drummer Sandy Nelson found himself in the Los Angeles galaxy of Kim Fowley and Art Laboe and Phil Spector and his sticks stuck it to some of the best 45s of the era. But his more flavorful drumming was saved for his own instrumental records which were a joy, and occasionally even popular. He was prolific through the 70s, and in 2008 Eddie Angel and some of our other friends did a great surf record with him. But what was he doing in those decades in between? Wouldya believe messing around with goofy alien visitors? This cassette presents a few slices of fun from the early 90s where Nelson did some whimsical, innovative, experimental home recordings that feature some nutty atmospheric instrumentals, but more notably one Chipmunks-sped up vocal number where wacky spacemen visit earth to spread humor and joy. Unfortunately there is no image of the Veebles so I just picture 12" tall Kim Fowleys and Phil Spectors painted green.

Let There Be Funs!

My Kind of Sound: The Secret History of Chicago Music Compendium by Plastic Crimewave aka Steve Krakow

(2015, Curbside Splendor) Mr. Krakow's deep dives into eccentric and obscure (and not so obscure) Chicagoland musicians in jazz, rock, blues, pop, gospel, country garage, psyche, punk, new wave, experimental,  metal and genres unknown is a joy to behold. A few of this cartoon portrait-meets crate digging detective biographical portrait entries are too short (this collection is arranged alphabetically so some some early strips from before he got his groove right turn up in the middle) and sometimes the text is a little cramped, but every one of these is illustrated with a striking figure somewhat reminiscent of R. Crumb's blues portraits, but with  a little more drama and whimsy. I wish the book was published way bigger to spotlight the art and give the hand-lettered biographies room to breath, but there is something solid and almost hymnal-like to this physical book that makes it feel important and holy. And it is.