The Vandals
Peace Thru Vandalism
Epitaph
Released: 1982
Produced: Thom Wilson

Steven Ronald “Stevo” Jensen – Vocals
Jan Nils Ackermann – guitar
Steve “Human” Pfauter – bass
Joe Escalante – Drums

1. Wanna Be Manor
2. Urban Struggle
3. The Legend of Pat Brown
4. Pirate’s Life
5. H.B. Hotel
6. Anarchy Burger (Hold the Government)

Great EP, nowadays it ranks as one of the early hardcore classics. I always felt this EP is what the Adolescents would’ve sounded like if they chose to be funny, instead of the serious band they were. Funny, but not stupid . . . sorry Angry Samoans.

Urban Struggle depicts the constant fighting that would occur between the punks at Costa Mesa’s Cuckoo’s Nest, and the cowboys who gathered next door at Zuby’s. The song received radio airplay on KROQ’s Rodney on the ROQ regularly. The Legend of Pat Brown is about a friend of the band who was a notorious drunk known for causing mayhem. While Pirate’s Life tells of riding the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland while taking LSD. H.B. Hotel is a cover of the Elvis’ Heartbreak Hotel with “new” lyrics. Perhaps the most well known song from the EP is Anarchy Burger, which became something of an anthem for the band, and was played at their shows well into the late ‘90’s.

Rating: **** * four out of five stars.

The standout cuts are: The Legend of Pat Brown, and Anarchy Burger.

If you find it, give it a listen.

On to the story . . .

Back in 1992 or 1993, I had a couple of friends that wanted to be rappers. But couldn’t write rhymes, or create music (with turntables or otherwise). So, one of the guys, Todd, approached me about writing lyrics, and putting a rap group together for him. He said he knew I had a few friends that could put together the music, and I could coordinate the rest.

I don’t know why, but it sounded interesting to me. I wrote about ten songs, with the melodies. Then I met up with an old coworker of mine from the 1980’s named Jeff. Jeff was the least ambitious person on God’s earth. In 1988 he became manager at a Miller’s Outpost in Tarzana because everyone else quit.

Anyway, still living at home, and not working in the 1990’s, I called him and asked if he wanted to create some music. He told me to come over to his “crib.” I show up a couple hours later, beer bottles lay all over the room, cigarette ash, and overflowing ashtrays gently scent the room.

Jeff was a Black guy I knew. He was originally from Tennessee, but was raised in the San Fernando Valley, and he could be diagnosed as a sociopath. He never harmed anyone, but also didn’t give a shit about a thing. But he did have some musical talent.

So, I bring him some lyrics, he focuses on one song I titled South of Heaven. It’s a somewhat moody song about, I guess, redemption. Realizing you’re a screw-up, and trying to change before you go to hell, hence the title South of Heaven.

Before Jeff writes the music, he asks me to rap it. Now, for those of you who know me, or read this column know I can’t sing for shit. I sang in a punk band, and that experience fooled me into thinking I had a voice. I auditioned for a local L.A. Glam-Metal band called Voyeur in 1986, and blew-out my throat trying to force notes, while failing to be considered for the band.

Anyway, Jeff asks me to rap the song. I don’t know how to attempt it. So, rather just try and find my own voice, I ended up trying to do an imitation of Melle Mel. After a couple of rounds of this Jeff stops, and asks what the hell am I doing. Slightly pissed, I say trying to rap!

By the second day, he’s got the music written, and recorded on a four-track. The guys, Todd, and Scott, like the track so much that they decide the band’s name should be S.O.H after the song title South of Heaven.

The music is slow, and somewhat grinding. It fit the lyrics perfectly. At one point they wanted this guy Anthony to be in the band, but after he smashed up some party, he was out. So, a few weeks later they booked a party, where they would perform South of Heaven to the tape, and then do some freestyle. The party was somewhere in the hills of Pacoima. The song was written for three guys, with lyrical exchange like the old Run DMC stuff. I get to the party with the tape (Jeff wanted it back Monday morning), and lyric sheets. I was under the impression they had a new guy, and he didn’t know the lyrics.

I look outside, and Todd and Scott are smoking, and drinking, and polishing their overall thug images. I’m stressing because I don’t see the “third” dude. Todd tells me that since I know the musical cues, and lyrics, that I should be in the group.

I debated running out of the party, but instead said no way. They tried to bribe me, “we’ll give you $20.00, and beer.” Nope. Then they try guilt-tripping me. “Thanks for nothing. We won’t get to perform.” Etc, etc, etc.

Finally I say fine, come find me when it’s time to perform. They were hi-fiving, and generally happier than a hooker with a bagful of dicks.

Some three hundred pound vato named Tiny hands me a Mickey’s 22 ounce, and says, “Are these white rappers any good?” I didn’t know what to say . . . so, I uttered, “You’ll be surprised.”

I hear somebody over a microphone say, “Are you ready for SOH?” So I rush over to the guy with the PA, hand him the cassette. The slow hook comes on, and the entire (mostly Hispanic) crowd starts swaying to Jeff’s music. Since neither guy has the lyrics or music memorized, I gave them lyric sheets, and I nod to them whenever it’s their turn to come in. I, myself, unfortunately, knew the song inside, and out by this point. So, I could walk around without wondering what to do. I did my best not to do a rip-off of anybody’s voice. So, I ended up just talking fast.

Once the song was over, I was relieved, and everybody was stoked. Great reaction. The DJ put on a slow drum track, and that was the cue to start free styling. For about 5 seconds these guys looked stumped, and then they looked at me. I was trying to leave the party, and they say something like “Let’s here it for Mike E.” Oh shit. I couldn’t think of any rap, or anything to say. Then this old Prince lyric, I think from the 1999 album. So, I grabbed the mike, and said: “If you think that I’m crazy, you’re probably tight, but I’m gonna have fun every motherfuckin’ night. You’re a double-drag fool, I’m goin’ to another life how about you?” I tossed the mike into the air and left.

As I got into my car I could hear Scott and Todd trading every bit of rap, r and b, and rock lyric they know. The crowd was digging it.

As I was backing out, Tiny came over, and said: “Hey, you were the best one up there tonight.” I said thanks. Headed down San Fernando Road, and thought about Tiny’s hearing impairment.

Currently:
Reading: Another Day in Paradise by Eddie Little
Listening: The Vandals – Peace Thru Vandalism
Watching: The Decline of Western Civilization III by Penelope Sheeris

Free & legal download of the week: Bad Religion – Struck A Nerve

Henry Rollins
Get in the Van: On the Road with Black Flag
1994
2.13.61

I originally purchased the spoken word tape of this when it came out, loved it. Then I picked up the tenth anniversary edition of the book . . . the pictures were nice. Let me start off by saying that I was a big Black Flag/Henry Rollins (Garfield) fan back when Henry was in S.O.A and when he first joined Black Flag. Like many of us young guys back then, I wasn’t overly enthused about the direction they took in the mid to late 80’s. I think the track Rise Above was the ultimate punk track of its time; it was definitely the blueprint for L.A. hardcore.

The first hundred pages of this book are great, the next fifty are all right, but after that it’s all-bad. As you’re reading, you witness Henry’s mental unraveling. He seems like a somewhat normal guy, but as time drags on you start to see Henry turn, and start to turn against to the fans or vice versa. And eventually, he doesn’t really seem to like the band or its members much, but like he’s stuck in a tractor-beam, and can’t leave. Originally, I got this a while after it first came out on tape, and listened to it often. Then, when they brought out the second printing of the book, I picked it up, but there are a few incidents that Henry writes about that are a bit too nutty. One scene is when he’s coming off stage with Black Flag, and he’s so amped he feels the need the self-mutilate, so he starts cutting himself with a bottle, I guess the whole action weird’s everybody out so bad that Ian MacKaye, from Minor Threat, starts crying. Another twisted scene is midway through the book, Henry is in a car talking to some girl, and they see a cat get hit by a car, Henry gets out of the car, and snaps its neck, and takes it to its owner’s house, and dumps it in the yard. After this bit I just stopped reading. Not that I can’t handle the whack-a-doo behavior, but all I really wanted was an in-depth story of Henry, and Black Flag, not how the world doesn’t understand him, and everyone’s bad. He seems to become a mental case without a real reason for the transition. I don’t know if it was for shock value, or he just felt that the singer for the mighty Black Flag has to be crazier than everyone else.

In the introduction, he says that he began to compile the book in 1990. He goes on to explains that many of the journal entries were written while living in The Shed, a “tool shed” in the back yard of Black Flag guitarist Greg Ginn’s parents’ house.

The book begins in Spring of 1981, and documents the time surrounding Rollins’ personal introduction to, and the joining of Black Flag. From here on Rollins recounts a string of violent shows, long hours on the road, and abuse by police while immersed in the poverty-stricken lifestyle where the band dwelled. A major part of 1982 is dedicated to the band’s first tour of England, which Rollins paints as a pretty hellish affair. As the book goes on Rollins describes the band as being alienated by its audience, and alienates himself from the band. July 12, 1986 is the final entry. Following it is an afterward by Rollins describing the effects his experiences with Black Flag had on him and the time immediately following the band’s breakup.

In 1981, his friend Mitch Parker gave him a copy of Black Flag’s Nervous Breakdown EP. Rollins soon became a huge fan, and began exchanging letters with the group. When Black Flag toured the East coast, playing Washington D.C. and New York City, Rollins attended as many performances as he could. At an impromptu show in a bar, he asked them if they would play “Clocked In,” as Rollins had to return to work after the performance. Rollins asked singer Dez Cadena if he could join the band onstage for the song. Unbeknownst to Rollins, Cadena wanted to switch to guitar, and the band was looking for a new vocalist Black Flag’s members were impressed with Rollins’ singing, and stage demeanor, and the next day, after a semi-formal audition, they asked him to become their permanent vocalist. Despite some doubts, he accepted, due in part to Ian MacKaye’s encouragement. His high level of energy, and intense personality made him a perfect fit as their front man.

After joining Black Flag, Henry Garfield changed his last name, and got the Black Flag logo tattooed on his arm. It was to be the first of many tattoos (others are The Misfits’ Crimson Ghost logo and the “stickman” logo of German experimentalists Einsturzende Neubauten). As Rollins became more heavily tattooed, and more built, he wore less clothing on stage, often hitting the stage bare-chested, barefoot, and wearing only a pair of black shorts (Is this where Mike Tyson got it?)

While in Black Flag Rollins began publishing his own books. His early efforts were self-made poetry books, photocopied, and stapled; though he quickly began printing chapbooks before moving on to establish his own publishing company 2.13.61, named after his birthday.

The spoken word version of this book was read by Rollins, and released as a 2-CD/tape set, which won a Grammy in 1995 for Best Spoken Word Album. On the January 1, 2005, episode of IFC’s Henry’s Film Corner, Rollins says the entire Grammy affair was “corny,” and that he gave his Grammy statue to a friend.

In 2004, on the 10th anniversary of this book Henry produced a new version of the book with 50 more pages, and a bunch of Raymond Pettibon’s flyers. It includes extra journal entries; artwork, and an additional afterwards.

The photography in the book are works by Glen E. Friedman, Ed Colver, and Naomi Peterson as well as drawings by Black Flag’s crewmember, Davo. The cover photo, taken by Gary Leonard, depicts a squad of Los Angeles police officers marching on a show on November 17, 1984. The back cover features a Photo taken by Peter Gruchot of the February 19, 1983, show in Munich Germany; the band, and crowd, singing along to “TV Party,” after the PA was turned off.

An appendix of Black Flag line-ups and tour dates starting with Rollins’ joining is included. One of the afterwards mentions a journal authored by Joe Cole, roadie, and published by 2.13.61 titled Planet Joe which offers an alternate recount of the same dates as the Rollins offering.

Rollins met Joe Cole While in Black Flag. Cole was an acquaintance of Ginn’s. They became close friends and, in December 1991, Rollins and Cole were robbed at the home they shared. Cole was murdered by a gunshot to the head, and Rollins escaped without injury; the crime remains unsolved. Most of Rollins’ subsequent efforts have been dedicated to his late friend’s memory.

Currently:
Reading: Another Day in Paradise by Eddie Little
Listening: The Vandals – Peace Thru Vandalism
Watching: The Decline of Western Civilization III by Penelope Sheeris

Free & legal download of the week: Bad Religion – Struck A Nerve

Whatever
Snacktime
Dr. Strange Records
Released: 1996
Recorded By: Bill Korecky

Bass – Mike Slapface
Drums – M. Fish
Guitar, Vocals – Ben E. Wrecked

1. Seek And Annoy
2. Peterman
3. No One Home
4. The Metro

I was reading the press comments about Whatever, and they were described as sounding like old Social Distortion . . . well, do you need to hear more in order to grab this album?

In all honesty, they are a great blending of The Offspring and Social Distortion, with a pinch of Bad Religion, a real clean, hard sound. Love it.

On this single they do a great cover of The Metro, by ‘80’s favorites, Berlin. It seems to be a Whatever staple to do updated, or punk cover tracks. On their album they cover Ruby Tuesday, great version.

Check out Dr. Strange’s website, they have their full-length CD on sale for $1.00, for all fourteen songs.

Rating: **** * four out of five stars.

The standout cuts are: No One Home, and The Metro.

If you can find it, give it a try.

On to the story . . .

Having kids, and old age is the best relaxer. At least for me. I think I’ve fought in every state, and country in the Western Hemisphere. And you know what, only a handful of those altercations can I remember why they became altercations.

My Son, like most kids, gets a little uncomfortable when I start to get agitated. So, I’ve worked hard not to get pulled into some bullshit. I may still mumble an obscenity or two; rarely will I let it escalate.

Here’s an example of my damn-near perfect behavior. A couple of months ago my Son woke me up at about 6:30 am on a Saturday to tell me, “Look at the time, it’s getting late. Get up, it’s time for breakfast.” I looked at the clock, considered adoption proceedings, and then lumbered my ass out of bed. This is the first example of perfect behavior.

I just got paid the night before, so as we head for our routine weekend breakfast at McDonald’s, I grab the credit card, and my paycheck, and we leave.

Anyone with a five-year-old will know the whole fifteen minute drive was filled with one-way conversation, like: “Why do Lions eat Zebras” “Hyenas make lousy pets,” “I weighed myself on the scale, I have forty pounds of muscle.” Responding isn’t necessary.

We eat breakfast, debate hitting the Zoo, then decide to cash my check, but the banks are still closed. Then I remember this little liquor store on Van Nuys, and Victory, a few blocks from the McDonald’s. There used to be a real nice Armenian guy that worked there, and he always said he’d cash any of my checks if I needed him to.

Walk into the place, check in hand, and the guy no longer works there. Some Indian guy dicking around with the wine display tells me for twenty minutes, “One moment, I’m coming.” Finally, he takes my check and tells me the cashing fee will be somewhere between $12.00 and $14.00. I hem, and haw, because I know this is one of the Wife’s biggest pet peeves, wasted money. So, I say fine, hurry up. He runs the check, seems fine. Verifies the account online, and then asks for a business card. I hand him one from the company. He hands me the cash, minus the fee.

I turn to walk away, and then the check casher calls me back, “wait a minute, I think I did something wrong, let me see the money.” I hand it through the slot of the bulletproof glass.

With the check in his hand, and my cash on the counter, he starts searching out the company’s name online. Trying to find them on yellowpages.com. Turns out, my check is cut by a parent company, not the actual company I work for. So, the douche bag, figured the check, and business card don’t match . . . he caught a forger.

So, he turns to me, from behind the glass, and says your company is not listed, as he scans the yellow pages. So, as my kid is looking up at me, I motion the check casher closer to the glass, and say, “look you fucking idiot, not every business in the world is in the yellow pages.” Then he gives this look of shock, and says, “here take your check back, I can’t cash this here.”

My first instinct is too reach through the hole, and pull this guy as hard as I can, but my Son is looking up at me, and he says, “What happened Daddy?” To which I say, “Nothing, Son, we’re going to go to the bank.”

Thanks to my Son another imbecile escapes unharmed.

Currently:
Reading: A Million Little Pieces by James Frey
Listening: Whatever – Snacktime
Watching: The Decline of Western Civilization by Penelope Sheeris

Free & legal download of the week: Bad Religion – American Jesus

Yeah, I’ve been away. Don’t ask. I’m back though!

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Time: 61:20
File Size: 64.6MB

Tracks played:
01. Capitol Punishment – Ballad of a Broken Home (When Putsch Comes to Shove)
02. Insurgent Kid – Paranoia (Paranoia)
03. Rats Eyes – Revenge Quest (7″)
04. The Fix – Off To War (Jan’s Room EP)
05. Geeks – As We Speak (What’s Inside EP)
06. Pedestrians – Everything Is Lost (Ideal Divide)
07. Bodies – I Gotta Go (Addicted to You)
08. Direct Control – Fake (No Bullshit Volume 1 compilation)
09. Schoolgirl Bitch – Abusing the Rules (single)
10. Scott Baio Army – I Stayed Out Past Curfew (Join the Army EP)
11. Rabies – Feast (Test Your Might)
12. The Burnt – I Hate You (Where’s My Head?)
13. Bones – Cops Working Hard (In a Sick Society)
14. Terminal State – Hit Me (Panic Attack)
15. Total Abuse – No Release (Sex Pig EP)
16. Bomber – Used (Mourning)
17. Second Wind – Knock On Wood (Security)
18. Skeezicks – No Second Chance (There’s a Charlie Brown in Every One of Us)
19. Stalag 13 – Clean Up Your Act (In Control)
20. Brutal Knights – Your Fired, I Quit (Feast of Shame)
21. Riot/Clone – Don’t Give Me Your Shit (Success)
22. Abrasive Wheels – Voice Of Youth (The Riot City Years)
23. Blitz – Propaganda (Voice of a Generation)
24. 4-Skins – Jealousy (The Good, the Bad and the 4-Skins)
25. Cockney Rejects – Police Car (Greatest Hits Volume 1)
26. Broken Bones – Teenage Kamikaze (F.O.A.D.)
27. Buried In Leather – Cold (We Are Gone)
28. Socialcide – Your Lost Cause (Sick of Pressure EP)
29. Set to Explode – World Diseased (Set to Explode EP)
30. SOA – Gonna Have To Fight (No Policy EP)

TSOL/Flipper/Mau Mau’s
Chuck Landis’ Country Club, Reseda, CA
Wednesday, May 12, 1982
Admission $7.50
Time: 8:00 PM

By this time my Mom was pretty lenient with me going to shows, as long as an adult was taking me (I was only 16 at the time), and it didn’t affect my school work, or anything else. So, a friend of mine Randy Clark, who was 26 at the time, offered to take me. Randy was the guitarist for a local alternative/punk band called Weasel Music. He also played in my band Cold War. We did a two-song demo with the tracks “Ritchie Dagger’s Eye’s,” and “Ronny the Clown.” His band mate Chris Wahl played drums on the demo. Wahl was also a member of the Flesh Eaters at this time. I can’t remember the bass players name, but he was real good guy.

Anyway, Randy gets to my place around 7:30 pm – 7:45 pm, comes in says “Hi” to the family, and we leave for the Country Club. The place is packed outside, the parking lot behind the Country Club is completely full, and so we park across the street behind a bank. Once we get in we find a table to sit at, and we watch as the Mau Mau’s set up. I think there may have been a band that we missed prior to the Mau Mau’s, but I’m not sure who it was.

The Mau Mau’s come on, and do a short set, I hate to say it, but it was nothing memorable. This band has been around since the beginning of punk in Los Angeles, and I always thought it was such a waste that they weren’t looked at the same way that the Germs, or Black Flag were. I remember hearing that they were filmed for the Decline of Western Civilization, and they were recorded for narration purposes, but for whatever reasons it was all scrapped.

The second act that night was San Francisco’s Flipper! I have to admit I’m not a fan of theirs, but in their defense they had a large crowd that showed up just for them, and they were really enthusiastic. From the moment they came on the crowd was amped. They performed Sacrifice, Way of the World, Love Canal, In Your Arms, Shed No Tears, and (I Saw You) Shine, and a few others, but I can’t remember the titles.

When we finally left the Country Club, you could we the Flipper fans had already made their mark on Reseda. The name Flipper was spray-painted behind the Country Club, and on the walls of the parking lot across the street from the Country Club as well.

It was getting late as TSOL finally made their way to the stage. If you have never seen TSOL live you really missed out. Not only was Jack Grisham the best vocalist around, and their music was hot, but the live show was pure adrenaline. By this time they had a fairly large song selection. In 1981 they released their EP TSOL through Posh Boy, and in the same year they released their classic Dance with Me LP through Frontier Records. In 1982 they released both the Weathered Statues EP on Alternative Tentacles, and their Beneath the Shadows LP, also on Alternative Tentacles. So TSOL’s explosive set had a mix of all of these songs. The highlight being the songs off of the Dance with Me LP. The minute they started one of these tracks the audience would sing back the lyrics so loud that after a while they were as loud as Jack. This was always especially true with Code Blue and 80 Times:

“80 times was all it took for him he has no more tries,
No one seems to care too much for him,
You can see it in his eyes.
Drive down the street that he’s on,
Don’t look his way.
You keep going on and on and on,
But you can’t hear him say,
Help Help,
Help Me!”

The show was a great time. The one negative spot in all of this was when a guy named Rob that I went to school with came up to me, and Randy and asked me where Mike K. was? Mike K. and Rob were in a band together, and we all went to the same school, and I drew their band flyers. Anyway, they had a falling out and like a lot guys back then, Rob decided it would be cool to fight him at the next punk show. When I told Rob I had no idea where Mike K. was, he walked away. Over the music Randy couldn’t hear the conversation, so I repeated the conversation, and I remember Randy rolling his eyes. I didn’t get it at the time, but now after all these years I get it. When you’re young, and into the scene all the drama sucks you in, like who hates who, and who’s fighting who. But he got it. Randy was a cool guy, but unfortunately I lost touch with him, and Chris Wahl sometime after graduating High School in 1984.

The end of High School, sort of, became the end of the scene for me in a lot of ways. The people that I would see daily were gone, and job and school became the focus for the next few years. I would periodically pick up an issue of Flipside here, and there, but slowly I didn’t recognize the groups anymore. And after 1984 I lost touch with my “punk Mentor,” my Uncle Rick. I kept tabs on him, watching him on Jenny Jones talking about his Branding/Tattoo shop things like that, but things were never the same.

On to the story . . .

I was driving thru Northridge, with my wife and son, a week or so back, and as I’m heading down Nordoff I see two young guys on skateboards, they were about ten years old. Nothing out of the ordinary, but what really got to me was the second kid was wearing a Misfits t-shirt with their Crimson Ghost emblem on it. This really got me thinking. Back when I got their Slash Records release of Walk Among Us in the early part of the 80’s, I wouldn’t have been able to walk down the street so casually with a Misfits shirt without people yelling stuff out the car at me, or occasionally throwing stuff at me. On one hand I’m happy that this music has caught on, on the other I feel like the people from the 60’s felt “just leave our icons alone.” When I hear about people enjoying a comment that Henry Rollins has said on his IFC show, it makes me want to say “back-off.” Henry was my generation’s Jim Morrison, in a weird sort of way.

In the mid-1960’s my Father met Jim Morrison at a party up in Topanga Canyon. My Dad walks in, the host of the party comes up to him, and says “Hey, Tom there’s someone I want you to meet.” My Dad goes into the next room, and lying on the floor, of this unfurnished room, with his head propped on the base of the wall is the Lizard King himself. Morrison reached out his hand, and says “Hey Man, nice to meet you.” And that was it. I asked my Father to repeat this story a few times over the years, and it made me think will my Son ask me about Henry? Or better yet will the kids on the skateboards want to know what it was like the first time my Brother, and I met Glenn Danzig, or was it just a cool shirt to buy?

Another trend that throws me is people wearing the Von Dutch logo on their clothing. Another great story My Father told me was of him visiting Von up at his place in Topanga Canyon, and Steve McQueen coming up, and asking Von to paint his motorcycle, McQueen went into great detail of how he wanted it painted; all the while Von is nodding his head in agreement. My Dad leaves, and comes back a few days later, just as McQueen is pulling up in a truck to pick up his motorcycle. They go into his garage, and there is McQueen’s bike freshly painted, but nothing like McQueen requested. They all look back and forth at each other, and McQueen shrugs his shoulders and pays Von. A few months later my Father goes back up into the canyon for a visit, there is a little get together going on, everybody’s drinking, and in the middle of it all Von hears a helicopter flying by. He runs to the bedroom, and comes running out with a shotgun. Most of the people scatter, but my Father follows Von outside, and Von starts shooting into the sky trying to down the helicopter. I guess this happened once too often, because the local law eventually asked him to leave the area. Von relocated to Compton. The point to this? Again, do you know what you’re wearing, or is it just a great design?

Currently:
Reading: A Million Little Pieces by James Frey
Listening: Whatever – Snacktime
Watching: The Decline of Western Civilization by Penelope Sheeris

Free & legal download of the week: Bad Religion – American Jesus