Dropkick Murphys
The Warrior’s Code
Label: Hellcat Records
Released: June 21, 2005

Al Barr – lead vocals
Ken Casey – bass guitar, lead vocals
Matt Kelly – drums, bodhran, vocals
James Lynch – guitar, vocals
Josh “Scruffy” Wallace – bagpipes, tin whistle
Tim Brennan – guitar, mandolin accordion, vocals
Jeff DaRosa – acoustic guitar, banjo, bouzouki, keyboard, mandolin, whistle, organ, vocals

1. Your Spirit’s Alive – 2:21
2. The Warrior’s Code – 2:30
3. Captain Kelly’s Kitchen (Courtin’ in the Kitchen traditional) – 2:48
4. The Walking Dead – 2:07
5. Sunshine Highway – 3:22
6. Wicked Sensitive Crew – 2:59
7. The Burden – 2:55
8. Citizen C.I.A. – 1:28
9. The Green Fields of France (Eric Bogle cover) – 4:46
10. Take It and Run – 2:44
11. I’m Shipping Up to Boston (Lyrics by Woody Guthrie) – 2:34
12. The Auld Triangle (Brendan Behan cover) – 2:41
13. Last Letter Home – 3:32
14. Tessie” (Bonus track) – 4:15

I like these guys more and more as time goes by.

I’m Shipping Up to Boston is a good solid track, and Wicked Sensitive Crew is pretty humorous.

A good listen.

If you get the chance give this album a listen, it’s a good listen.

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On with the story . . .

PART FOUR

My father-in-law comes in shortly before 9:00. We talk a bit, he asks if I saw last night’s Lakers game? I say, “No.” He says, “Oh man, that Kobe was on fire. That damn Jackson almost ruined the game.” He is funny how worked up he can get over the Lakers.

9:55 am they come for me with a wheel chair. Wheel me through a few halls, left turn, right turn, and we get to the test room. The nurse hooks me up to an EKG machine. It’s kind of cool, it reminds me of the opening sequence of The Six Million Dollar Man, Steve Austin (a man barely alive), is hooked up to an EKG, while on a treadmill running sixty miles per hour. Me on the other hand am going nowhere near sixty, but feel barely alive.

The doctor comes in and starts looking over this long train-like roll of paper and says, “Either we stopped your heart attack or you didn’t have one.” Ummm . . . OK.

So, I ask, “What about my two days of chest pains.”
“I don’t think it was a heart attack.”
“Fine, what was it?”
“Could be acid reflux.”
“Would that strike two nights in a row, double me over? I’ve never had those pains before or since.”
“Um, possible.” Then he leaves.

A nurse wheels me back to my room. My father-in-law is mumbling, “Man, that doesn’t make any sense at all.”

I get back into bed, and hang out and wait for my bland lunch. A nurse comes in and tells me that, “Since you didn’t suffer a heart attack, we will keep you one more night for observation, then you will be discharged at 9:00 am tomorrow morning.” She starts to walk away, and I ask her, “Does anyone have an idea of what’s wrong with me?” She turns back around, looks at her clipboard and says, “The doctor feels it’s probably acid reflux.” This irritates me, and I say, “Is anyone going to test for this or am I going to discharged based on a stupid guess.” She looks startled, “Well, if you have any symptoms before you are discharged the doctor on call will prescribe something for you.”

I go to sleep that night and try to figure out what the hell happened? I was stressed from work, but no more stressed than normal. Maybe it was those Billy Mays commercials.

Next morning my wife is my room ready to take me home. I miss my son something terrible. For a guy that was on his way to croak, I was surprised at how few people came by or called. Oh well.

I take the rest of the week off of work. Rest and try to get my bearings. Then one day about a month after my three-day stint at Northridge’s finest, I say to my wife “Both nights of my chest pains I had taken one dissolving Melatonin tablet.” I had never taken this type of Melatonin before. We kind of look at each other and shrug.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Иконопис

My Top 10 Pre-Punk Albums

Number 10
The Who – Who Are You

This album came out in 1978; I think I got it at that time. Pete Townshend said He wrote this album to bridge the gap between progressive rock and punk. The song I continually played was 905, a song written and sang by bassist John Entwistle. It was about a man who was cloned in a lab, and struggling with not having his own life. I think I identified with the feeling of isolation, I was 12, and what did I know?

Number 9
Billy Idol – Don’t Stop EP

This was a great pop album made by one of England’s original punks. I loved the song The Untouchables. I just listened to it last week for the first time in 20 years.

Number 8
Surf Punks – My Beach

I’m not sure why I bought this; maybe it had the word “punk” in it. I listened to it last week, and, sadly, it blows donkey dong. I vaguely remember liking it.

Number 7
Human Hands – Trains vs. Planes

I met David Wiley at Moby Disc in Sherman Oaks when I was a kid, and he was always real cool to me, so I became a fan. Saw them open for Romeo Void at the Country Club in Reseda. And Wiley came by and talked to my dad and me for a while. Good single.

Number 6
Secret Affair – Glory Boys

Again with The Country Club, my dad took me for my thirteenth birthday to see Edgar Winter (the albino keyboardist), but highlight was Secret Affair opening. I was probably one of five people who liked them. Actually, I loved them. The rest of the crowd yelled obscenities, and did the finger at these guys. I still play this album. Unlike the Jam, Secret Affair just played good, fun music. They weren’t trying to change the world.

Number 5
Joe Jackson – I’m the Man

Unfortunately, I never liked anything else he did after this. Lyrically, he reminded me a bit of Elvis Costello. A lot of fast tongue twisting phrasing. Tackling commercialism, extramarital affairs, and stuff I had not heard in songs prior to this. Still a pretty good album.

Number 4
Elvis Costello – My Aim Is True

I loved the energy and the attitude. I bought about five or six concert bootlegs of his at the old Capitol Records swap meets back in the late 70’s, early 80’s. His stuff was a perfect gateway to punk for me.

Number 3
Times Square – OST

This soundtrack (I never saw the movie) has everybody you want to hear as a young pre-punk: Suzi Quatro, The Pretenders, Roxy Music, Gary Numan, Marcy Levy & Robin Gibb, Robin Johnson & Trini Alvarado, The Ruts, D.L. Byron, Lou Reed, Desmond Child & Rouge, Talking Heads, Joe Jackson, XTC, The Ramones, Garland Jeffreys, The Cure, Patti Smith Group, and David Johansen.

Number 2
Devo – Be Stiff EP

This was an eye-opening experience for me. My Uncle Rick played this for my Brother and me when I was 12 and my Brother was 8. I loved it, and it seemed like most adults hated it. Just like when we discovered Kiss, it was ours.

Number 1
David Bowie – Diamond Dogs

Besides Rebel, Rebel being a great rock song, the opening lines of Future Legend was enough for me to dig this album for the last 34 years:

“And in the death
As the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimy thoroughfare
The shutters lifted in inches in Temperance Building
High on Poacher’s Hill
And red, mutant eyes gaze down on Hunger City
No more big wheels

Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats
And ten thousand peoploids split into small tribes
Converting the highest of the sterile skyscrapers
Like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love-Me Avenue
Ripping and rewrapping mink and shiny silver fox, now legwarmers
Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald
Any day now
The Year of the Diamond Dogs

“This ain’t Rock’n’Roll
This is Genocide”

This written and recited in a real cool William Burroughs style; I still love the album.

These were the albums I had as I was starting to get into punk, my gateway crap. You have had the same albums, hell, you may hate them all – that’s OK, I hate some of them now.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Chinese Telephones & Dear Landlord
Split
July 9, 2007
It’s Alive Records

Dear Landlord
Adam- Bass/Vocals
Brad- Drums/Words
Brett- Vocals/Guitar
Zack- Vocals, Guitar

Chinese Telephones
Gorky-Drums
Daniel James-Guitar
Andy Junk-Bass/vocals
Justin Telephone-Guitar/vocals

1. Dear Landlord – Three To The Beach
2. Dear Landlord – I’m Not Sayin Get’er Done, But Don’t Just Stand There
3. Chinese Telephones – All Right
4. Chinese Telephones – Prescription Pills And Medical Bills

I bought this seven inch split some years back. The two Dear Landlord tracks are also featured on their album Dream Homes. I really dig Dear Landlord, but they rarely release anything new. They’ve popped up on numerous splits, and (maybe) a comp or two, but it seems like it’s always songs from their album.

Anyway, Dear Landlord’s tracks are great, and Chinese Telephones are OK too.

If you dont own it, give it a listen.

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On with the story . . .

PART THREE

I fade in and out of sleep all night, and every time I come to there is this same fucking episode on VH1 called Remaking Vince Neil. He gets “sober,” gets a nose job, and tries to rebuild his career. Jesus. Then I’d nod off and my minorly retarded nurse would come banging into my room to draw blood. The shit that rumbles around your brain when you wake up like this, “Who could scream louder, Billy Mays or Vince Neil?”

Again the nurse starts digging around in my hands and arms, and again I yell, “Get somebody else.” She shuffles off with her head down. This time a husky white guy comes in, “Hey, what’s up big guy? I’m going to draw some blood from you, cool?” Oh yeah . . . cool as hell.

At around 8:00 am the next morning my father-in-law George walks in. I’m happy to see somebody that doesn’t want to poke me with needles or fill me with shit-inducing drugs.

He asks me about my diagnosis, and what I’ve heard from the doctors, I tell him “Nothing, I haven’t heard anything since being admitted.” He makes a face then scurries to the nurse station. He isn’t playing with these Pillsbury shaped broads. He wants to know what happened to me, when the doctor is coming, and when my tests are going to be performed, and when can I leave. They stutter and stammer and call this person and that. Finally, the head nurse comes into my room and explains that “the doctor will be here within an hours time, he is in the middle of a surgery.” I nod, and she continues, “And you are scheduled for a treadmill test for tomorrow at 10:00 am to determine whether you suffered from a heart attack, and if so how severe.” I nod again. She smiles back and asks if she can get me anything, I shake my head and say “No.” She leaves, and my father-in-law, shakes his head and says, “How long are they going to make lay here without telling you what’s wrong?” I have no idea.

They wheel in breakfast. Since I’m diabetic, the food is absolutely terrible. Oatmeal that is very mud-like in its texture, decaf coffee and a slice of toast, hell yeah I’m living it up!

My father-in-law pushes the tray away once I consume my feast. We watch the news and my father-in-law starts to tell how horrible of a coach Phil Jackson is, and how he just sits there and never calls a time-out when his team is doing bad, and how Kobe is the one coaching the damn team. I nod, fade, and nod again.

By mid-morning the doctor comes in shakes my IV plugged hand, and looks at my chart and basically repeats what the nurse in the morning told me “You are scheduled for a treadmill test for tomorrow at 10:00 am to determine whether you suffered from a heart attack, and if so how severe.” Again I nod; I’ve been doing a lot of this. The doctor quickly leaves.

My boss calls, “Hey Mike, Virgil here, how you doing young man?”
“Fair.”
“Well, that’s not good. Stop fooling around in that hospital, and come back to work, ha ha.”
“Will do.”
“All right, you get some rest, and call Sasha when you can, and let her know when you’re coming back.”
“Will do.”

My dad comes in just as George leaves. We hang out for a while, watch some TV, he checks his watch and says he’ll be back tomorrow for the treadmill test. I nod, and try to sleep before they turn me into a pincushion again.

I give more blood. My wife comes into the room, I ask about my boy. We hang out, I tell her about my visitors and the treadmill test and how they don’t know what’s wrong with me. Then we watch Vince Neil.

My dad shows up the next morning around 8:00 am, he hangs out for about forty-five minutes then gets agitated because he finds out my treadmill test isn’t until 10:00 am. For whatever reason, that’s what he wanted to be here for. He leaves.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Punk Attitude
2005 – IFC Pictures
Directed by: Don Letts

Jello Biafra
Bob Gruen
John Holmstrom
Chrissie Hynde
Jim Jarmusch
Darryl Jenifer
David Johansen
Mick Jones
Wayne Kramer
Glen Matlock
Legs McNeil
Thurston Moore
Tommy Ramone
Henry Rollins
Captain Sensible
Paul Simonon
Siouxsie Sioux
Pat Smear
Poly Styrene
Ari Up

Originally shown on IFC, which I missed, this was released on DVD soon afterward. This has become one of my favorite films.

The film begins showing the roots of punk music with many views on various artists and genres that accentuated the beginning of the genre, like the MC5 and the Velvet Underground. Punk: Attitude then proceeds chronologically to sort through the various artists and alumni who were central to the movement, drawing light on the general idea or “Attitude” of the punk movement, which spoke out for a generation. Bands such as The Ramones, The Stooges, The Clash and The Sex Pistols feature prominently throughout. The movie offers a canvas of praise and respect given from many interviewees as these bands are heralded commonly as the beginning of Punk progressively through the movie. Rare footage of concerts and personal accounts of gigs and band meetings highlight the aggression and destructive entities with surprising accuracy. The movie wraps up by emphasizing the influence that punk has on modern music.

If you get the chance to get a copy of this, it’s worth watching.

Rating: *** three out of three stars

On to the story . . .

Christmas barely past us, I started trying to remember my best holiday memory. I’d have to say my best was when I was three or four years old. How or why I still remember this I have no idea. My folks decided to take me to see Santa, but I was going through this, about, two-year freak-out when it came to costumes. I freaked every time I saw a clown or Santa or anything like that.

As soon as I came to terms with costumes, I saw the Talking Tina episode of the Twilight Zone. I was right after all; these damn toys can kill you.

Anyway, my folks pack me up and take me to my grandfather’s Carpentry Union for my visit with Santa. Mom and dad thought I would be jazzed to find that my grandfather was the Santa Claus for this occasion. Everything was cool until I saw Santa; I spun on my heels and ran a good two blocks before anyone realized I was gone. As I rounded the first corner I spotted a sign in front of a pizza joint, I don’t know what you call these signs – they look like upside down V’s. So, I tuck myself in between the boards and stay. I see feet running past me, and people yelling my name, but I stay hidden and silent for about twenty minutes. Santa, sorry fat man, you’ll to find another kid to kill – I got you figured out.

As time went by I kept hearing my dad calling for me, and I started getting nervous. Would he be happy once he found me, or would he be pissed that I put him through all this shit? So, I sheepishly came out and announced, “Here I am.” Now, my father, like his father, and me and my son was blessed with a fiery and sometimes insane temper. He was, in his own way happy to find me, but it was more like mumbling behind teeth that were gritting. He swoops me up, and explains that Santa is grandpa, that he was going to surprise me. I’m not convinced.

We get back to the Union Hall, wait in line and when we get to “Santa,” my grandpa pulls his beard down and says: “It’s me, Mikey!” I was blown away, how did Santa pull my grandpa into this madness? Grandpa gave me a candy cane, and we went on our way.

My grandpa passed away in 1991, he was a funny guy. He hated everyone except for my brother and me – and of course his wife, my wonderful grandmother.

Once he and my grandmother got too old to live alone they moved in with my aunt. Anyway, my brother and I come by for a visit one weekend and we come in through the backdoor, my grandfather doesn’t see us. Just as we’re coming into the living room where my grandpa is, our younger cousin Tommy (named after my father) walks up to my grandfather and asks if he would like some water, he’d get it for him. My grandfather, not missing a beat, starts swinging his cane and yells “Get out of my way you fat fuck!” My brother and I just look at each other and shake our heads. We walk into the living room and ask our grandfather if everything is OK in here. And he turns to us and says “Could you get me some water, they won’t do shit for me here?” For my British readers, my grandfather was a senior citizen version of Lenny McLean.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

The Unforgiven
The Unforgiven
1986
Elektra Records

John Henry Jones aka Steve Jones (vocals, guitar)
Johnny Hickman (guitar, vocals)
Todd Ross (guitar)
Just Jones aka Mike (guitar)
Mike Finn (bass)
Alan Waddington (drums)

1. All Is Quiet On The Western Front
2. Hang ‘Em High
3. I Hear The Call
4. Roverpack
5. Cheyenne
6. The Gauntlet
7. With My Boots On
8. The Ghost Dance
9. The Loner
10. The Preacher
11. Grace

The Unforgiven was the band that Steve Jones, of The Stepmothers (not the Sex Pistols), put together after The Stepmothers disbanded.

Steve found a way to take all the pop sensibilities that The Stepmothers had and hone it. There is a definite Stepmothers feel in these songs. With a larger production budget (thanks to Elecktra Records), Jones and his band could record a much smoother sound. Jay Lansford (Posh Boy hall-of-fame musician) joined the band shortly after the albums release.

If you dont own it, give it a listen.

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On with the story . . .

PART TWO

I’m sitting there, my eyes are watering, Billy Mays won’t shut the fuck up, and finally I realize that this pain isn’t stopping. I go thumping back into the walls, wake up my wife, and say, “Something is really wrong with me, I need you to call a doctor.” She immediately, flies out of bed, because she knows that unless I’m dying I won’t go to a doctor.

She calls the ER at Northridge Hospital, and she talks on the phone then asks me a question, then back on the phone, it’s determined that I need to be rushed to the hospital. The ER nurse feels that either I am in the middle of a heart attack or I had one.

I slowly put on a pair of pants, grab a sweatshirt, and my wife gets my little boy into something warm, and into his car seat.

We take off to my sister-in-law’s house so she can watch my boy while I try not to croak.

My sister-in-law meets us outside, takes my boy and within two blocks I’m at Northridge Hospital. They bring me in immediately, blood pressure, temperature, and then move me into an examination room, and then they inject me with morphine. What a fucked-up drug. I don’t know what it was supposed to do (well, actually I do. It was supposed to prevent any further heart attacks or stabilize the one I was having), but with me it just made my body feel like it had to vacant all at once.

So, I’m laid-out on this exam table/gurney and I tell my wife “I have to get up and hit the can.” Everybody freaks, telling me I cannot get up under any circumstances. So, I try telling her that if I don’t up, I’ll have a problem in my underwear. So, she explains to the nurse, and they bring me a weird looking silver bucket thing, and say, “Here, use this.”

This triggers something in my body, everything backs up and disappears. Morphine or not I will not use the bucket. I lie there and groan.

The doctor finally makes his way into the room, takes my vitals and asks where I hurt, and for how long . . . when did it start. Jesus, make the pain go away, then we can chat.

The doctor determines that I need to be admitted immediately. I tell my wife to head home, get my boy back in his crib safe and sound.

They pop me in a wheelchair; wheel me into the regular part of the hospital, away from the OD’s in the ER. Some plump middle-aged nurse undresses me and puts me in a gown. Ten minutes later another nurse rams an IV in my right hand and another in the big vein in my left arm. Fuck me in the goat ass.

Fifteen minutes after that, another middle-aged nurse, this one Hispanic, comes barreling through the door banging into everything in the room, and says she has to collect blood from me. And she will be back every three hours. Yay me!

So, my South of The Border nurse starts poking the needle into my hand, and then starts poking my arms, nothing. She can’t find a vein. I have huge veins; if my arm hangs at my side for a few minutes the veins bulge out like vascular McDonald’s straws. Finally, after five minutes of this I lose it, “For fuck’s sake, get somebody else.” She shuffles away, and gets a thirty-something Hispanic male nurse. He gives me the regular greetings, “How are you young man? We’ll get you better in no time.” He finds a vein, takes blood and vanishes in less than ten minutes.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.