Dicky B. Hardy
I Whistle You Dance
Label: Taang! Records
Released: 1999

Niko Novak – vocals
Dule Teslic – guitar
Igor Stupnik – guitar
Klemen Selan – drums

1. Berlin
2.10,000 Beers Ago
3. Who’s Your Buster, Dolly
4. Prick Party
5. Trouble
6. Handy Man
7. Who Cares For the Hookers?
8. I Can Sink Anything
9. Dancing Lips
10. Lizard’s Tongue
11. Dicking Around
12. Fucked up Hero

This band is like a . . . fusion of Black Flag and The Stooges, with the strange wit of The Angry Samoans.

The band Dicky B. Hardy formed in 1994 in the central Slovenia Grosuplje Ljubljana Borovnica region, and now consists of Dusan Rebolj on vocals, Emina Frljak on bass, Klemen Selanon drums and Igor Stupnik on guitar. The group released three albums before vocalist Niko Novak left in the summer of 2001.

The first two albums, Why Aren’t You Screamin (1995) and I Whistle You Dance (1997), were released by FV Music, while the more melodic, sonic punk rock rhythms in You Can’t Go Halfway and Get In (2001) were designed by Aldo Ivancic (Bast , Borghesia) and released by SKUC Ropot and Nika Publishing.

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

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On to the story . . .

Sometime in either April or May of 1982, my friend Wes (of our Time Square Boys fame) decided one day that after school on Friday we would go to the marina and take his step-father’s and Mother’s sailboat. My reaction was “What?!” He said they had just gotten back from Mexico, and the fridge was filled with Tri Equis, which I had never heard of. But apparently it’s stronger than the Dos Equis that are sold here in America. I was intrigued.

So, at about 5:00 pm Wes and I get to the marina, and Wes sets sail. After traveling about thirty-nine miles we arrived. The weirdest thing about the trip was that after we set sail, Wes’ stepbrother Bob pops out of one of the bunks in the boat. I don’t know we missed him in there or how he stayed asleep through the trip, but there he was. Bob jumps out of his bunk and starts jabbering about going water skiing and rushing towards some small mountain/rock and scaring all the sleeping seagulls. Wes and I were way too sober for any of this, yet.

The three of us starting working on the cases of Tri Equis’ and at about midnight Bob’s run at the Seagull Mountain sounded like big fun. So, we climb off of the boat into an inflated dinghy Bob had thrown off the side. Wes and I had barely steadied ourselves and Bob had gunned the dinghy as fast as he could. Before we knew if we were within twenty-five feet of the rock and suddenly 100’s of sleeping seagulls were freaking out and flying towards us. Some flying down on the boat and barely missing us. It was nearly a Fabio rollercoaster incident.

Wes was yelling at Bob, telling him he was an idiot, and Bob was spinning a donut and trying to make another run at the seagulls. This was the highlight of Bob’s year.

We finally crashed out at about 2:00 am, only to wake-up to banging on the boat, my first thought was we were being attack by pirates, but no, Wes’ folks had taken the day ship over from San Pedro, and had started making breakfast for the seagull chasers.

The rest of the day was spent sobering up, and then by noon Bob had convinced us to go water skiing, but Bob didn’t have ski’s so, he had us use his boogie board, just kneel down and balance. Well, Bob took off at about 80 miles an hour and I drank up half of the Pacific Ocean and was stranded in the middle said Ocean. Needless to say we ditched Bob for the remainder of the trip.

At about nine that night Wes and I nabbed a case of the tasty Mexican beer and loaded it onto the dinghy and took off to hang out on the shore of Catalina. Once Wes and I were equally inebriated we both thought we were hallucinating as we watched the sand under our feet come alive. We stood frozen for almost twenty minutes, until a passing tourist said “Oh look the grunions are hatching.” At this point Wes started picking them up and helping to sea.

After about a half an hour or so, all the grunion were gone. And Wes and I sat exhausted (I helped a bit). When a girl approached me, or rather whispered from behind a palm tree, “Come here!” To which I replied, “No, you come here.” She wandered over and said she had to meet me, and kissed my cheek. I asked her, “Why did you have to meet me?” She said, “You’re Billy Idol from England, aren’t you?” Due to my freshly peroxided locks. Wes laughed, and I said, “No, sorry I’m Mike from Reseda.” She said, “That’s OK.” And proceeded to cuddle up next to me.

Then out of the corner of my eye I saw somebody move in the bushes, I jumped up and Wes followed suit. We start to charge the bushes when my stalker says, “No, stop that’s my boyfriend.” She went on to explain he was very insecure, and jealous and stayed back while she went to meet “Billy Idol.” Then she dropped a bombshell when she pointed over to him, he was now about a quarter of a mile away and said you might know him, he’s a DJ on KROQ, and he goes by the name Swedish Eagle. Now, I don’t if this was really him, but I was surprised she ditched a DJ for a Billy Idol look-a-like. After about a half an hour I convinced her to go back, as he was crying behind a palm tree now.

In all my years, that was one of the weirdest vacations I had ever taken.

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 Livingstons
Queen of the Tweekers
Released: March 8, 2011
Record Label: Kingtweeker Records

Michael Livingston: Guitar and Vocals
Danny Dorman: Bass and backing Vocals
Alex Gomez: Drums and backing Vocals

1. City of Angels (Goin’ to Hell)
2. Culture’s like a knife
3. Helladay
4. Holy Metal Box
5. Queen of the Tweekers
6. Yee Mee Lou
7. Carbomb

What we have here is a combination of the best of the first wave of punk rock, think 999, think Weirdos, think sober Germs – then think some voodoo priestess concocts some kind of zombie powder, eye of a newt, tongue of a jackal; sprinkles over the grave of Stevie Ray Vaughn. Stevie Ray sits up and says “I wanna start a goddamn punk rock band!” The voodoo priestess smiles, and The Livingstons record this EP.

Those of you not familiar with the searing guitar work of Mr. Livingston (living under a rock are you?), he has been the guitarist for The Mau-Maus since about 1979, and listening to this EP I can tell you he hasn’t missed a step.

If you get the chance to get a copy of this, buy it.

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On to the story . . .

PART SEVEN

That night I’m waiting for roll call, then lights out. Red and Harley explain to Gary that they saved him from death, but because of his mouth he had to go head up with me after lights out. Whoever falls leaves the dorm.

Gary is acting real shaky. As soon as the lights go out I pull of my shirt, and head for the back into the showers.

Gary jumps up, heads for the door and starts fake coughing super loud. Yelling “Guard, I need a medic. Help.”

So, Gary was moved to the sick bay in order to avoid me. He not only avoided me, he ratted us out.

The next night our barrack was shaken down. All our belongings dumped out, mattresses and pillow (blown up latex gloves wrapped in a t-shirt) flipped onto the floor. The guy in the next bunk over was a light-skinned black with “Thug Life” tattooed across his stomach, had coffee grounds, which are considered contraband. One of the guards decided to throw it onto my bunk (smelling a set-up?). A few minutes later my name and inmate number are called. A guard with a wild look in his eyes calls me outside.

“Why do you have coffee grounds? This is fucking contraband.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“Who’s is it?”

“Not sure, it probably belongs to the guy whose bunk you got it from.”

Then the sheriff grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the wall. As I was raising my hands to punch this guy, he had his nightstick out and ready to go to town. A couple of sheriff’s whose hair I had cut earlier in the week came running over and split things up. The senior sheriff on duty took me by the arm and led me away. He asked, “What happened?” I explained that there was an “error in communication. I didn’t own coffee grounds.”

The guard was a decent guy, but he said punishment for the grounds had to be given out. So, he would think about it and get back to me.

At around 11:00pm or 12:00am he woke me up and said, “Follow me.” I figured I’m getting an ass beating. He hands me a garbage bag and says, “Fill it, then bring it back.”

It takes me about forty-five minutes, maybe more. I walk all over Wayside and whatever isn’t glued down goes into my bag. I come back, give him the bag, he says, “Go to bed.”

Next morning the white car and the black car are going crazy. They both agree that the Thug Life guy should be punished for me getting the blame for his coffee grounds. But I think I would’ve been busted regardless. Gary has some pull with the guards.

The white car wants me to beat his ass, the black car wants to regulate him themselves.

I wander off to talk to Bull, he’s the black barber and head of the black car (after the last head, V, was taken to Super Max for attempting to kill a guy with “Pecker wood” tattooed on his chest). Basically we agree Thug Life would fake sick, go to the sick bay and beat the shit out of Gary really bad. Gary would be transferred to another jail and Thug Life might have some time added to his sentence.

Thug Life apologized to me, walk out the door like he was going to hurl any minute. Gary caught the chain to County that night.

My job as a Wayside barber paid me in the neighborhood of 25¢ a day. Once I had been cutting hair for a few weeks, quite a few of the “white” sheriffs started waking me up in the middle of the night to “request” haircuts. This was the best deal in the place, they would give me extra food, sometimes do favors – watch someone who was giving me a hard time, etc.

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.

Exploited
Totally Exploited
Label: Taang! Records
Released: 2001

Wattie Buchan – Vocals
Gav – Guitar
Irish Rob – Bass
Willie Buchan – drums

1. Punks Not Dead
2. Army Life
3. Fuck the Mods
4. Barmy Army
5. Dogs of War
6. Dead Cities
7. Sex and Violence
8. YOP – The Exploited, Duncan
9. Daily News
10. Dole Q
11. I Still Believe in Anarchy
12. God Save the Queen – The Exploited, Paul Cook
13. Psycho
14. Blown to Bits
15. Insanity
16. S.P.G.
17. Jimmy Boyle
18. Fuck the USA
19. Attack
20. Rival Leaders
21. Crashed Out
22. What You Gonna Do
23. Class War
24. Alternative – The Exploited, Duncan
25. Computers Don’t Blunder
26. Addiction
27. Hitler’s in the Charts Again

I was never an Exploited fan, and unfortunately . . . I’m still not.

Wattie was definitely the face and voice of punk during the second wave of British punk, but like they say, not my cup of tea.

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

Rating: * ** one out of three stars

On to the story . . .

Back in 1982, I met a handful of guys that would turn out to be my best friends for the next few years, Mike R., Wes I., Tim and Evan K. Mike, Tim and Evan were into the whole Mod thing that was happening at the time, whereas Wes had a more rockabilly thing going on, and I, of course, was deep into my punk and Oi.

I met Mike in shop class, and we hit it off, he had just moved here from New York, and had a real outgoing, brash attitude. He liked me, but didn’t think that I would hang out with him and his friends because they weren’t punk. So, for the next six months or so they would hire me to be security at their parties. They would pay a few bucks or they’d pay me in beer.

Over time all five of us would be inseparable. We’d stay over each others house, and one crazy weekend Wes and I would steal his parents sail boat and go to Catalina for the weekend, more on that in another column.

Anyway, at our high school every click (preps, stoners, etc) had an official school club. So, Mike started one for us, with an official teacher sponsorship, we were known as the Time Square Boys. Named for Mike’s favorite stomping grounds.

One night we all took the bus up to the movies on Van Nuys and Magnolia (I think), and the Mod guys had their parkas filled with weed and beer. So, by the end of the movie everybody, but me was tipsy – so I assumed the role of bodyguard. We now had to walk back to Wes’ place – from Van Nuys and Ventura to Louise and Ventura, one long ass walk. We didn’t bring enough bus money for the return trip. So here we are walking down Ventura at midnight during one of the worst winds that had ever hit the Valley, there are trees in the windows of every other office building we pass, including a few banks.

Midway through our trip Mike and Wes have wandered ahead of us by a block or so when a car-full of Taft High football players pull up along side if us and yell “What’s up, Fags?!” as they pop out of their Mustang in an attempt to jump us, I reacted faster than I ever had in a situation like this in my life. I pushed Tim and Evan back, reached into my pocket and placed my keys between my fingers and started throwing haymakers. Two of the guys were on the ground when another yelled “bone out he’s got brass-knuckles!”

So, we compose ourselves, and figure it’s over. We watch the car, and see that it’s creeping up on Wes and Mike, so I yell ahead to warn them, but they’re too twisted to understand. So, Evan finds a shard of glass on the ground, and Tim picks up a 2 by 4 out of the gutter, and I go for my “brass-knuckles.” We catch these guys right as they are opening their car door. Evan kicks the door closed, Tim is jumping on the roof, and I start pulling the driver out of the window.

Wes and Mike are laughing; they have no idea what’s going on. Tim jumps down, and six guys in the car are all yelling to leave. They peel out, and spin into a donut on Ventura and Petit just as a cop car turns the corner, lights come on and they get pulled over. All five of us make it into Page’s coffee shop before the Taft guys can rat us out.

I guess once in a while a cop can come in handy.

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.

Your Arsenal
Cowards, Liars, Beggars, Thieves EP
Released 2011

Chris Wallace – Vocals, Guitar
Shaun Hale – Guitar, Vocals
Chad Sengstock – Bass, Vocals
Justin Thiessen- Drums

1. Sail Away
2. No Place Like Home
3. For God and Country
4. Repeat
5. Dear California
6. Change

Back in mid-2010 I saw these guys play at the Troubadour in West Los Angeles and they blew the roof off the place. They made veterans like Cobra Skulls and Longway rethink their strategy.

Later that night I picked up their classic three-song demo, and I’ve been a fan ever since. The music is insanely tight, and Chris Wallace does this thing with his voice, it’s hard to explain, it’s this deep guttural wail that is insane.

Pick this up and see for yourself, every track is good enough to be a single.

If you get the chance, BUY IT.

Rating: *** three out of three stars

On to the story . . .

PART SIX

The next night while everyone was asleep; Roosevelt came fluttering into my barrack, like a bat, while the rest of the camp was asleep (Roosevelt never slept more than three hours a day). He starts smacking my foot, “Homeboy, homeboy, you awake? Homeboy, you got any coffee?” I was half expecting him, but more around daylight hours. I reached into my bag and handed him the coffee grounds, which you put into a sock and dip into hot water and got coffee much better than the tea bag shit. He looked at the grounds and then up at me and said: “Thanks, I love you, homeboy.” And fluttered off again.

The next day at lunch I overheard a sheriff saying that Roosevelt was a genius as a child, that he started taking classes at UCLA at twelve years old. And had an incredible understanding and/or grasp of quantum physics.

I never saw this side of Roosevelt. The Roosevelt I knew was always on the go, looking for his caffeine fix.

One afternoon everybody (except the sheriffs) were put on alert, because the “south-side” car was planning on making some pruno and inside the walls of the camp that meant drunken gang members, which led to riots, usually. Roosevelt heard about the pruno making and decided to warm his way into the party.

I saw him two hours later, visibly drunk, but trying to explain to me why Star Trek was full of shit. “Motherfucking Captain Kirk . . . beam me up Scotty. His weight, in the ‘60’s, you couldn’t transport him. I could’ve made him disappear, but transport, bullshit. Now, I’ll transport a motherfucker, back then bullshit.” I just listened; he was laughing his ass off. I smiled, but was clueless. But the more he laughed, the more the sheriffs started looking. So, I pulled him into the barbershop and gave him a number two attachment on the head and beard and let him hang out in the shop until he was somewhat sober.

At the end of those one hundred days with him, I said goodbye to a couple of people and then Roosevelt came by and looked very sad, was it friendship? Or his coffee connection? The other two barbers (Hispanic and Black) promised to foot him his caffeine addiction.

During my stay at Wayside (eighty-six days) I received visits from all kinds of people, my mom, dad, brother, Todd and his girlfriend Kelly and my future wife and her two sisters. Usually, every weekend I’d receive a visitor pass. It really broke up the week.

One every evening in the chow hall this white kid named Gary, a white guy, says to me “So, you got a visit today, huh?” I look up, “Yeah.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, bring her around to visit me.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

“OK, it doesn’t have to be your girl, does she have sisters? Shit, bring your mom for all I care.”

I stand up, lift my tray to smash his head in, and the two heads of our white (Red and Harley) car grab me. Red bear hugs me and Harley grabs my tray. I’m bucking and shoving; because at first I think they’re on Gary’s side. Red says into my ear “Sit down or they’ll put you in the hole. Then Harley says, “We’ll handle this back at the barracks. I sit down just as the sheriffs jog over to our table. All three of us have our hands up saying, “Everything’s cool, no problem here.”

Walking back in line to the barracks Harley and Red are whispering to me, asking why I “was trippin’?” So I break it down, “This yuppie fuck is basically saying he wants to get with my woman, her sisters or my mom.” Almost in unison they say, “What the fuck?”

Right then and there they green light him.

“So what do you wanna do?”

“Kill him.”

Kill him, kill him?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, you’re going to go away twenty-five to life. You don’t want that. Just take it back to the showers and go head up.”

“Fine.”

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.

Dropkick Murphys and the Business
Mob Mentality
Label: Taang! Records
Released: 2000

1. Mob Mentality (Business, Dropkick Murphys)
2. In the Streets of London (Dropkick Murphys)
3. Informer (Business)
4. Going Strong (Dropkick Murphys)
5. Keep the Faith (Business)
6. Freedom (Business)
7. Boys on the Docks (Dropkick Murphys)
8. Borstal Boys (Ian McLagan, Rod Stewart, Ronnie Wood)
9. The Kids Are Alright (Pete Townshend)
10. Hang up Your Boots (Slapshot)
11. Knock Me Down (The Outlets)
12. Mob Mentality (Business, Dropkick Murphys)

Dropkick Murphys
Al Barr – vocals
Ken Casey – bass
Rick Burton – guitar
Matt Kelly – drums

The Business
Micky Fitz – Vocals
Johnny Rioux – Bass
Steve Whale – Guitar
Mick Fairbairn – Drums

Mob Mentality is an album by Dropkick Murphys and The Business. Originally, the bands had previously put out a split 7″ single with the name Mob Mentality. This single consisted of three songs, two which were each band covering one of the other band’s songs, and the third was an original song performed by both bands together.

A year later, they released a full-length album with the three previous tracks and nine more. Of the twelve tracks, each band does four covers (two of which were covers of the other band’s songs) and one reworking of a song they originally recorded. The other two tracks are two versions of “Mob Mentality,” an original song performed by both bands together, credited to McBusiness.

Tracks 9, 1 and 4 are about the strongest.

If you get the chance to get a copy of this, check them out.

Rating: ** * two out of five stars

On with the story . . .

In September of 1983, the start of my senior year in high school I was put into journalism class. I was required to take an English elective; journalism class fit the requirements, so I took it.

The teacher was a guy named Mr. Clyman. Mr. Clyman was an eccentric old guy that was on bad terms with the head-honchos at the school, and had some weird magic trick that he’d show some of the students, he’d make his leg disappear, I never saw it, but had something to do with the angle of the desk.

Anyway, Clyman hated it when seniors took his journalism class. He felt that you should take it in 10th grade and devote the rest of your high school years to his newspaper. 12th graders only have one semester to devote to the paper prior to graduating. So, Clyman would mention this 12th grade situation EVERYDAY. I usually tried to block out this cranky old dude, but one day I asked him what his beef with seniors was?! He started to rant again, but I cut him off by saying:

“Fuck the paper.”

I don’t know where this came from, but immediately the class fell very quiet. Clyman quietly repeated what I said then the bell rang, and I booked out of there. Within 15 minutes 80% of the school knew about my little outburst. Funny thing was . . . I didn’t get in trouble, and it was never mentioned again.

At the end of the semester Clyman came up to me and said that with my shocking mouth I should consider writing stories for the paper that would shake things up a bit. I thought about and decided to take the plunge.

A couple of years prior a few of the guys that were in the deaf and hard of hearing program at the school had tried out for the football team and were cut for being deaf. So I combed the DHH department and found several guys that had the same problem.

I wrote the article and Clyman loved it. But the football coach, Mr. Sink let me know that if I wasn’t a student he’d whip my ass.

The good thing about this is, after the article ran a deaf student named Sean became the first deaf guy allowed on the football team. So, sometimes a foul mouth can get things accomplished.

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.