TRACKS BY ERICA CASE, THE HAVE NOT$, GIUDA, AND THE PAPER BAGS!! LISTEN HERE!
FALL ISSUE NOW IN PROGRESS! IT WILL BE A MONSTER! if we don't die first...
always looking for the exotic, unbridled, and wild. feel free to contact at
Saturday, August 18, 2012
ISSUE 1 ONLINE, MORE UNDERWORLD MAYHEM TO COME
READ THE BRAND NEW ISSUE HERE! CHEERS!
click on image! BRAND NEW SITE AT WWW.FEARLOATHELB.COM
Friday, July 6, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
SUSAN DEY AND MY RACE TO THE BOTTOM
I think the plan is
for everyone to get a Ph.D. and invent something, then with the extra money we
now have, we’ll hire solemn workers willing to get a small business and the
blood of a permanent leak pumping, whatever…
Who cares, anyway I love going down this dimly lit alley to the store
around the corner from me for cigarettes late at night. Nice breeze, feeling kind of numb and
observing the guy getting his 12 pack after work and a lady getting overpriced
stale bread for her lunch to take to work.
I wonder if we’re all going back to our hiding spots for the rest of the
night and thinking about the different lives we have to manage and bullshit we
have to say but don’t really mean. Like
rehearsing for a part in a B movie, we will probably never get. It’s better than trying to achieve some kind
of math/science superiority to compete with other countries or some shit like
that. The race to the bottom is the refusal
to “race to the top,” top of what? A
fantasy where “hey, I didn’t get stuck in your depression, I’m going places!” is
a reality and “things are good again” for those who “really tried.” This is not a rant of depression but one of
relief in that starring in your own “B movie” is the greatest fucking thing
ever. You write the script, pick the
cast, and get to perform 24/7 without the pressures of a film crew. That’s what I always wanted for myself, I
carefully studied movies like “Hardcore”, “Foxes”, “Valley Girl”, “Repo Man”, and most
recently 1986’s “Echo Park” starring the exquisite Susan Dey, pictured
above.
Susan has to rent
out her beach house, 1 bedroom apartment to her pizza delivery guy who needs a
place to live, she needs money. Nice
location, the sound of breaking waves and sounds of the city beating in an
apartment built with thin walls. Graffiti
outside the front, barred windows, and a cool pattern of bright, dim, and broken
street and sensor lights create the perfect balance of the wild world of living
on the fringes on the industry in Los Angeles.
Not too far I’m in Long Beach realizing my home and neighborhood
resemble all of the great trappings of aspiration, failure, don’t give a
fuckness, and wild beauty of this place.
If a seedy city with its colorful characters were a woman, it would be
Susan Dey.
Susan wants to be an
actress and places ads weekly for someone to hire her. She gets the call after one year and it turns
out to be a gig as a singing costumed birthday-stripper. She loses her mojo after the 1st
couple of jobs, then learns from her sleazy manager how to put your heart and
soul into an academy award winning strip.
Don’t embarrass yourself, embarrass the sorry guys drooling over
you. Pizza guy says “you’re not an
actress, you stripped tonight, you deliver pizzas just like me, I’m sick of
this town and its aspiring actresses, models, musicians, and screenwriters…we’re
all delivering pizzas.” Good point, but…
The fact is, how
awesome is it that the waiter is writing a movie, the cashier has a band, the unemployed
dude is recording songs about being unemployed.
That is fucking cool, and yeah, you might realize only a part of your
dream, but at least you’re living it and able to cop a feel. That’s 1000 times better than having never
tried or living a life of fear that imprisons you in high school for eternity….
As Susan said DREAM ON, RIGHT MAN ?
Then playfully laughs. YEAH, she’s
right, dream on man, plus you get to live with Susan crashing out in the dining
room with your inflatable mattress ( almost as good as sleeping on a beanbag, serious, not cold like a bed). Now
that’s a vision that can come to life and I wouldn’t take a mortgage over
it. The Perfect B-Movie has been the
perfect vehicle in my life for finding a practical dragon to chase. Nevertheless, this one you actually catch once
in a while and realize I JUST WANT TO BE AT THE TOP OF THE BOTTOM. Let me take a hit of that.
---update: F&L LB MAGAZINE__JULY ISSUE IN 2 Weeks
Monday, June 18, 2012
Summertime, what a great time when confusion ensues and you
think vague thoughts like the ones I’m typing now. The first digital magazine issue of “FearLoatheLB”
is underway and slated for an early to mid-July launch. Some wild interviews and coverage of all
topics in my head at the moment, with some help. Stoned at the beach or playing guitar in a
hidden corner brings to mind some ideas about a piece of reading material and
why would you want to do it? What do I
gather while in the middle of my own scattered puzzle activities? Well fuck, it’s like why the fuck do I read
something? In addition, what awesome
communities of reckless abandon occupy the neighboring or not so neighboring
crazy flat-out-fucked world I hang out in?
NONE. And NONE. I decided to see what underground art and
activities take place in the Greater Los Angeles area. Notable exceptions were lone wolf types that
just wanted to express themselves, but not even as cliché as that, more like
just “doing something” for the sake of fucking “doing something”, which holds
way more weight than pretending to toy with expression because you have a new
app for your phone or some meaningless piece of shitty music or prose that painfully
mimics other bad shit done by someone else toying around to score a “hit” or
get “famous”. TOTAL BULLSHIT, I love the
disillusionment though. Fascinating,
watching somebody search for an identity or uniform that grants some sort of
acceptance by other invisible people.
That being said, I’m doing a Rock n Roll magazine and
keeping it seedy with every inappropriate detail. Inappropriate detail is of the highest order,
I think those details are the only thing that keeps up paying attention to one
another. While the days roll ahead and blurry
evenings fill the smoking room, here’s my top 5 Summer songs, at least
tonight.
Monday, June 4, 2012
In the meantime, this is an omitted piece for a book I don't care for... enjoy!
A LOOK BACK AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS
In the middle of the
1990’s, the Prostitutes alienated me from my friends, family, and other
mainstream fare as far as I remember. We
lived recklessly, listened to hot new singles by the Problematics, Gaunt, Ashley
Von Hurter, and Killed by Death Vols. 1-9.
Those moments were the best-unexpected bursts of life that ever happened
to me at the time.
Parting is painless
as long as there’s a bottle of Ten High and a line of unholy intervention. No rules, no dogma. How would that apply to us growing up in the
middle of American nowhere, when does the next bus leave? What was the alternative? A state job, smoking pot in your parents’
basement, or working at cardiac arrest-foods incorporated.
The real sounds of
freedom and sordid rebellion screamed from the swamps of the Mid-Atlantic and
Eastern Mid-West, with the occasional West Coast beach town. The vibrations fell mostly upon deaf
ears. There was no tomorrow, some days
there still isn’t. Do what you want and when
you want to. If there’s a good beat and
some dysfunctional sex appeal, it sure as hell beats the lifestyle doldrums of
the cantankerous suburbs we assumed were a safety net but proved to be a
frontal lobotomy for those who couldn’t comprehend the poor man’s Footloose of
it all.
I just bought another
cell phone 10 months ago, still regret it; I’ve changed the number and my
psychological perspective too many times since 1998. Change, change, change is inevitable… whether
you are seeking it or begging a
dollar from a young college idealist for your next Mickey’s. No offense to higher learning but it appears
to consist mostly of the training of schematics as opposed to the bondage of
complacency and mediocrity.
No more nothing…...sometimes
I wish. However, those who shared their
homes and lives with me will always have a place in my survival. A dream…. maybe. I can’t even get a hold of those people
anymore. They either moved on or disappeared. Long distance land line bills, P.O boxes ….antiquities
of the past. Only precious vinyl records
still exist from all of the wreckage of days gone by. Fragmented pieces of evidence that I was
there. I toast to the days of pure
deviance and unbridled excitement without apology.
-Kevin McGovern (the Prostitutes)
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