I meant to write a ton of pieces for Halloween, but making the “Genetic Decree” song/video took much longer than expected. So instead, enjoy this handy guide to all the Halloween crap I’ve made over the years. Continue reading
The last few times I’ve seen Alice Cooper, he’s been opening for another act. An appropriate reaction would be “Why?”, but watch Alice open a show and it becomes clear: He’s hungry. He loves to hide under other people’s beds—Rob Zombie, Marilyn Manson and Motley Crue—and drag their assembled masses into his nightmare for a little while.
The nightmare has had to adapt a lot over the years. Alice doesn’t receive the same “chameleon” praise afforded to Bowie because although Alice has changed throughout the years, he remains distinctly himself, acting not like a chameleon, but as a snake, shedding his skin, wrapping around your neck, squeezing just hard enough to scare you.
Thinking that I might have been too harsh on it in it’s initial release, I recently rewatched Halloween Resurrection. I was hoping it would be entertainingly bad; instead, it was so bad that my tv doesn’t turn on anymore. I have to assume my TV would rather die than have to display that movie again, even if it was just to see if the commentary track had an apology on it.
Most songs about disease don’t reflect the experience of the disease. Instead, they’re packed full of maudlin sentiments designed to drop a tear from your eye on the car ride home from the supermarket. I can’t speak for all diseases, but neither one of mine came with a soaring string section.
Sure, there’s a bittersweet beauty to the frailty of life, but in an age where people cry at beer commercials, that button is too easy to push. It’s time for a new approach.
Cystic Fibrosis makes it possible to drown in your own mucus. If you get sick enough, they harvest lungs from the dead to replace yours. Cystic Fibrosis is brutal. It requires brutal music.
So, here’s a death metal song I wrote about CF (technically, it’s blackened death thrash, but let’s not split hairs here). Even if you don’t like Death Metal, you should watch the video, because I made a lot of people—Producer and Arbiter of Taste Bekka Wrynn, Director Walter Forbes and Script Doctor/Key Grip Thomas Forbes—work on it for nothing but pizza rolls. Plus, you can see me stab myself!
You can download the track at https://allhallowsevil.bandcamp.com/track/genetic-decree. It’s a pay what you want download. Anything you can throw in the hat would really help out.
In a sentence, Frank is the story of a struggling song writer—in the sense that he’s never written a song—who ends up living in a cabin with a band led by a man who never takes off his papier-mâché head. Continue reading
Over the weekend I went to visit my grandmother in her nursing home. I know I should go more often and I probably would if 9pm were an acceptable time to visit an old person. As it stands, having to wake up an hour early to visit her before I head to work is just difficult enough that not doing it makes me feel the exact amount of terrible required to deem myself a victim of circumstance (“Getting up is so hard, I can’ breathe…blah, blah, blah”) instead of a monster. Continue reading
Back in 2003, I and about 83% of my friends worked at a hotel in the middle of Nowhere, CT. A Minnesota based chain had thrown a franchise out in the woods in hopes of catching some of casino cast-offs on their search for reasonably priced accommodations. I was young and this was my first full-time job, so I learned a lot about how the working world works. I also learned that I can do 7 revolutions in an industrial dryer, but that’s a story for another time.
This story is the Ballad of Bayou Rick.