Carnivore "carnivore/retaliation"

In high school I loved anything that I thought would shock and freak my mom out. I was pretty naive. It never occurred to me that she had heard George Carlin or Richard Pryor. I had no idea she had smoked weed and had seen more gross shit as a nurse's aid than my beloved heavy metal bands could write about. Someone taped this #carnivore  s/t album for me and upon hearing Peter Steele howl "I love to eat pussy!" I was sold on them (though in all fairness I didn't know exactly what that meant, I still had yet you find my stepfather's porno VHS stash). Later in the album he chants "god is dead!" And i nearly passed out from the glory of this album's perfection. At fourteen I was of the disposition that if you told dirty jokes AND were a blasphemer you were the highest art obtainable. Relistening to this stuff (much like s.o.d.) I'm a little ashamed of how much it's ignorance and chauvinism probably influenced my behavior back then and it's not a record i will be blasting for my kids (they need to discover this kind of stuff organically on their own so I can pretend to be concerned and they get their rebellious kicks) I will say if this record was released today I would absolutely HATE it. It's full of blind American centralism and bigotry that mirrors alot of what I hate about our society so it confuses me why I give this record a pass. Nostalgia may be one of the strongest forces of the human condition. And it kind of shows me that there can be maturing and reasoning to lead you away from the sentiments exposed on this disc. I did it. And not to get too broad but this thought gives me a glimmer of hope for our present political climate.

Lemonheads "hate your friends"

#thelemonheads  released a trio of great punky pop (not pop-punk) albums to close out the '80s before releasing the suck-fest that is "it's a shame about ray". I could write a thesis about how much I hate that fucking album. Somehow the lemonheads later releases haven't ruined their once-great discography like other bands shit platters through the '90s and beyond (ahem... it should have been Lars.) I originally found this album my senior year of high school after my parents had relocated our family to rural hell. I had it on cassette and would listen to it on the long bumpy country school bus rides. I can vividly remember on those bus rides relishing the dichotomy of my personal soundtrack of bratty, punky vocals over short sharply catchy songs to the garth brooks/randy travis country twang soundtrack of dairy farms and corn fields. I clung to my music (and my mohawk) in defiance of the redneck culture I was thrust into. At the school I was actually relatively popular with the locals being a novel urban caricature, and I didn't hate that. I played the part well. I amplified all the "punk"ness I could muster. I dared people to call me out. At the time i believed i was presenting an alternative to their hick culture, but if I'm totally honest now there was a large chunk of attention seeking in my defiance. This album was a big part of that, the locals thought it was just loud screechy noise and I liked them marveling at how someone could enjoy this "music". Then the '90s alternative nation shit happened and made punk cool and made the lemonheads suck. My thunder stolen.

Propagandhi "how to clean everything"

Most of my political and social ideas come from punk rock. It would be mega proletariat of me to site the things i read in high school and college about the world's social injustices and assaults on the working class, but that's a romantic intellectual fairy tale. The ideas that spoke to me were from artists like: Jello Biafra, Dave Dictor and Justin Sullivan. The lyrics these guys put forth in their respective bands struck me like lighting and gave form to abstract thoughts lurking in mind. I was introduced to these artists in the 1980s and in the early '90s found myself pursuing more emotional music as opposed to the political stuff that previously got me wound up. This CD dropped in my lap and wound me up again upon it's release in 1993. A friend had put the extra-catchy track "showdown (g.e.p.)" on a mix tape for me and i was initially won over by the juxtaposition of the romantic and blunt political lyrics of the song. Like the id and ego of someone with turrets syndrome had learned to play guitar. When i finally tracked the disc down for myself I was stoked to see that most of the record was thoughtful and politically enlightening (sophomoric jokes litter the album and sometimes accentuate the heady high ground and sometimes mire the sentiments;"ska sucks" is a throwaway gag track). This cd got me back on course as far as being a thoughtful member of society and it's a damn fine punk album as well. It reminded me that there was suffering even when things were going ok for me. That there is still injustices on the other side of news special interest stories. And that a pun in a band name will still make me take interest. It's the kind of record i hope turns my kids onto the bigger picture stuff when they start discovering music.

Skinny Puppy -discography-

Much like my renewed Rush obsession (have come to really enjoy and appreciate their post "Signals" releases) i am currently neck deep in a rekindled affair with #skinnypuppy  . I've been pretty obsessively listening to them in my car and headphones at home (few co-workers or family members share my affinity for this stuff) i think I'm ready to tackle the newer stuff. I'm reluctant because i really really love the quality of the early stuff and the types of equipment used to make that music (in ironic contrast it's the same equipment that turned me off of Rush albums from that period of time). While newer technology has really increased the fidelity of the newer stuff that I've sampled it just doesn't "feel" right to me. Maybe it's the absence of the late Goettel and the part of the equation he produced, but there is a layer of opacity that is missing from the newer releases. Unearthing the nuances is what i really like about this music (much like Rush). With the crystalline new records everything is immediately audible, nothing feels obscured and thus to me: less "threatening". I've never loved the myriad of Skinny Puppy side projects, maybe it's time i revisit them as well. I will make time for Doubting Thomas, the Tear Garden, Download and OhGr, but for now i want to try and appreciate the tail end of the Puppy's discography. I think i am hooked on the nostalgic archeology of a band's oeuvre and this deep catalog should satiate me for a bit (i have been eyeing up my Iron Maiden CDs for a while because i have a similar abandoned narrative with them as well) before i track down one of their newer CDs I'm going to crank "assimilate" one more time to steel my nerves.

Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong "ella and louis"

For the life of me i cannot remember how i discovered this album. I have vivid memories of it throughout my life and if those memories are to be trusted this disc has been with me for a long, long time. I can remember blaring this CD on the in house sound system of the italian restaurant i worked at during my first couple years of college. I would go early in the morning to clean the dining room for extra money, and more importantly the lavish breakfasts that the old lady who prepped food in the morning would make me. I am pretty sure i would have starved to death were it not for her kindness and the heaping plates of meat, eggs and potatoes she would set out for me. I had never asked for them and every morning i was scheduled to come in she would have the glorious food set out and would stubbornly insist i was too skinny (something i have not heard in many years). While i scarfed the food at a stainless steel prep table she would go back to hand rolling meatballs and sprinkling seasoning in her giant cauldron of sauce. One of those mornings she asked about this album that i had been playing daily. She remarked: "not many people your age listen to good music anymore." And she asked if i would put the music in a tape for her. Anyone who collects music lives for these moments; the opportunity to share the music you've discovered and collected. It was a small way to show my appreciation but I was so glad to do it. I remember drawing a heart shaped egg on the cover of the cassette and writing "for Mary, breakfast for two" in my best script. I had driven through that college town not too long ago and that italian restaurant was gone. Not just a change of ownership but was demolished. It surprised me how sad it struck me. Listening to this album now I'm thinking of her, I'm sure she passed this mortal coil long ago but I'm feeling grateful listening to this disc this morning and remembering her. I'm going to make my youngest some eggs for breakfast and try to channel the kindness she showed me in her memory.

Slayer "haunting the chapel"

I have a sister who is a year younger than me. Our childhood (and frankly our adulthood) has been a balance of protectionism and assault. While we have bloodied each on many occasions i had zero tolerance for people bullying her. One day she came home from school crying and i eavesdropped her confiding to my mother that this boy at school had been saying some pretty vicious stuff towards her. I recognized his name and knew he was one of a pair of identical twins. I seethed with protective rage and on the following school day i looked for the kid before middle school homeroom. I walked up to him told him to leave my sister alone and smashed his head into his locker door. Turns out i was smashing his brother's head. News of the confrontation spread throughout the school and before i knew it an official fight had been set up for the following friday night at the playground behind the elementary school. I showed up for the fight with a group of my headbanger friends and the twins showed up with a group of their jock comrades. The two groups circled us and howled in gladiatorial delight. I squared off with the twin, we sized each other up and he roared and feigned a lunge to which i punched him loudly in the cheek. He reeled and fell backward. I pounced pummeling him with punches. His brother then tackled me off him and we rolled around the playground turf with me ending up on top of him. I rained fists on his face and hands as he tried to protect himself. I was eventually pulled off of him and hailed by my metal legion. We howled and stomped around the moonlit playground. The following week when i got to school i saw one of the twins had a shiner and taunted how at least now i could tell them apart. The other brother skulked by and had an identical black eye and my friends laughed with delight. You can't even make that shit up. During the fray my "haunting the chapel" t-shirt was ripped. My mom hated that shirt. But one day after school my shirt was on my bed mended with a sewn scar from the collar to the realigned bloody font. I walked out to thank her and she said she had heard what i had done and that she was grateful that i stuck up for my sister.

Judas Priest "screaming for vengeance "

In 1987 i had decided to try weed for the first time. It's not that i was a stranger to hesher partying, i had already at that point discovered an affinity for peach schnapps and on any given night could be found lurking around with stolen Gennese pounders stashed in the recesses of my leather jacket. By this point i had been close to alcohol poisoning my cheap scotch and had already developed a fondness for acid and cheap speed but to enjoy weed you actually had to smoke it. Bleecchh! My parents were chain smokers and heaping foul ashtrays littered our house, the grossest one sat on the kitchen table where i would try to construct a fortress of cereal boxes to avoid the teetering pile of butts and ash as i attempted to scarf down my Golden Grahams. For me smoking anything seemed about as enticing as sucking on a cat turd. A friend of mine was a small time pot peddler and we had been hanging out in his basement playing pool and listening to "screaming for vengeance" and probably ranking the "doability" of our female classmates. My buddy had proudly constructed a gravity bong out of 2 litre plastic soda bottles. He demonstrated it and it out of boredom (and probably egged on by the anthemic "(take these)chains") i decided to give it a go. It became an event, the handful of stoned longhairs high-fived me and jostled me as they packed the bong. The smoke was thrust into my mouth and lungs. I fucking hated it. The taste of burn had immediately flashed images of over filled car ashtrays and the smell of my stepfather's work jacket. I reeled, i coughed and gagged. The whole time Rob Halford's once welcome howl became a diaphragm cramping shriek. I threw up the pretzels we had absconded from my friend's mom's snack closet. Everyone paused and looked at the pile of up-chuck next to the washing machine then someone howled in celebration triggering a round of back pats, headbanging and air guitar. As we soaked in side b of this record i realised that weed wasn't for me.