Monday, July 6, 2015

Notes From The Razors Edge

Emergency vehicles with sirens wailing up and down Hamilton avenue in front of The Comet were barely noticeable until someone said "Is it me or is an awful bunch of emergency vehicles out for a Thursday night?" The question got no answer. The people are desensitized to the cities violence and danger alike.  As night falls on the Queen Shitty, it will take until morning to see the box scores of violence from the previous night. Who shot/killed who. Cincinnati is a war zone. Everyone is a potential threat, casualty or perpetrator.

Despite the current street war, The Comet had a great crowd of enthusiastic listeners to see the re-based in Cleveland punk band, Kill The Hippies and their comrades, Swirley In The Fryer who not only share a drummer but shared a van too... A van that broke down just as they arrived. The future aka 'Futch' is [already] broke.  

SLUG SALT, a three-piece hardcore/punk band with dual male and female vocals started the show and played a great set of blasting anarcho-piece punk. Todd Utley (Subsets) made the strong comparison to the long defunct BLATZ, which was a good call... I kept thinking about D.I.R.T myself but the comparison only adds to the urgency that is needed to catch this band as soon as possible. I was offered a CD from the Zviles after Slug Salts set, but I stupidly declined citing that I want a Slug Salt CD more.

I had my doubts about a four band bill at The Comet. By no means is The Conet small... It's a comfortable and solid place to play, but the level of organization that was given to this night is quite remarkable. Slug Salt and the Zvilles shared members and equipment with the bonus of a frontman in the Zvilles. Frontmen, or 'lead singers' are just jot around like they use to be... They are a endangered RNR species... THE ZVILLS reminded me of the legendary Local band THE MUZZIES with a bit more of THE MISFITS, the anarcho peace-punk thing and DC Hardcore. The lead singer sported a devil-lock too! I should have gotten that Zvilles CD I passed up earlier but it's not a rock and roll show without at least one regret. Like Slug Salt, The Zvills played a fast, short and intense set adding to the success of the earlier dread of the four-band-bill. It is possible to have four bands at The Comet— if you organize it right!

Last summer at 'Wit-Fest' the ultra team of Kill The Hippies and SWIRLY IN THE FRYER (who share drummers) hit WIT-FEST 3. Two bands in one can! One broken van... I spent much of Swirlys set trying to figure out why there were loose bandanas placed over the microphones Some sorts of spits-screen' was the best answer I came up with... I don't think movement in excess is important to a good performance... But Swirly were verily intense reminding me of pre-Apache Dropout band, John Wilkes Booze... Like a mix of Steeley Dan and Captain Beefheart. I procured a Swirly CD with the few remains nag singles in my wallet. After all, they had a broken van, and I wanted a CD. I didn't take it as a joke, nor did I think they even knew it at the time, but the next day I went to listen to the CD but the jewel case was empty. FUCKING GENIUSES!!! Well played Swirly! 

I'm not sure how much more I can say about KILL THE HIPPIES that I haven't consistently said throughout our relationship, Max Bender said it best repeating the mantra of The Neus Subjex: "Kill The Hippies are the best band EVER!" I must mention that the current line-up of KTH is a move toward the hardcore side... I've said that before and I'm saying it again... KTH are now releasing music at an almost regular schedule, of which I am fine with. Their set this night was breakneck fast... The crowd stood before the band ready for sonic execution... Heard some newer cuts from their latest LP and some recent hits like "Dildo" and "My Pussy Will Make You Hot, My Cock Will Drive You Crazy." KTH played with an urgency that was definitely apparent with the van issue being on their mind. The van situation would workout though... As things do... The razors edge between good times and bad times looks non-existent sometimes but it's the line we are all walking. It may seem fucky but KTH were the one who pioneered that edge so the rest of us could play with the whole concept of fun... We are fearful amateurs.



From the road, Morte/KTH writes:

"Cinncinnatti, 2015: now it can be told. Had a great time with everybody playing the Comet Bar with Slugsalt, Zvilles, and  Swirly in the Fryer . Also got to see Shawn Abnoxious and John Lee. Huge shout outs and thanks to Brian Landis, Jody, and Kentucky Mike for all of the hospitality, patience, and wrench turning due to our van breakdown on Thursday. You put us up, entertained us, kept us swimming in beer, fed us, got greasy, and made endless trips to three different parts stores. Without Kentucky Mike, we would've been dead in the water. We got the van running just in time to make our show in Chattanooga at sluggo's north vegetarian cafe (late, but they let us take the final slot). It was worth all the effort - a nice big pile of sweaty punks helped keep our fire lit. Thanks be to Josh from Queerwolf for letting us all crash at his place. Sad part: van still has some issues with the rear transmission seal - so it got a little dicey through the mountains and we had to stop a lot to top it off and maintaining a slower speed than we would've liked. Thus we missed the early evening show at Used Kids in Columbus (show was over at 9pm). Thanks and apologies to our Cbus droogies and droogettes and a big thanks to Jah Nada for setting it up. Glad we made it back without a tow truck though. Swirley in the Fryer are solid dudes and natural borne road dogs. It was not so shitty to be crammed in a metal box with them for three days."



Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Free Range Capture—In Identified Parts (Raw)

'Free Range literature'... A new frontier...  A newer frontier... The raw manifestation of the moment... Perhaps a hard nod toward Abstract Dictation? Sure, all that and more as part of the rediscovery of in-natural literature journeys that were once unimagined. IT IS IMAGINED NOW! Just write what comes to mind... Stream of consciousness... Let the warped sense of what the fundamentals of the so-called 'auto-correct' function be as-if wounded and nearly made inoperable by the hidden agendas of the hash-tag... A psyche free fall of hidden meanings and upmost regard all with words of BOTH kinds; the ones that fit and others that never-will.

Read more. Get weird.
The day of half-men... At the waist, as different to what you would normally do... You would 'target up.' Wanting the golden disc when you haven't yet earn white-disk. The savage beast will not attack. Impoverished... What do we really say on the telekinetic highway. Reliving scenes that mean something being dressed in ISIS cake ... And the question remains! The one thing that they can't equip them all. You win some, you loose more. But let's get back to the vessel disguised and it's really a steak House... The way a Ponderosa... Wester Sizzle. The 80's were fucking weird man! Serious! I thought "I'm not going back... EVER" bwaa-bwaa

Then the more positive refers its head disguised as table salt. "There's just lots of plates around. Take them to. Parallel dimension. Crash the fucking joint and give those screening pieces of shit. Lazy" it turns into a mud slinging contest to see who comes out as a raccoon in heady. Heat daytime. 

The conquest of the empires that fell. Can you reach a psychedelic representation as to what the big deal? Legends come when you need legends. The row of sacrificial 'Axters' who place their head in a caption like the lady to herd earth. So the amounts of money get stuck in a Atmt. That is not an error. War on the streets. Are you safe? Are we safe? Only the ones with orange tape. Only the ones with orange tape

The last physically abler thing to do is proceed away. Fast. On the up drawl. The frontier is loose.

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Mikesells Cincinnati Style Chili Chips


Founded in 1910, Mikesells is to Dayton Ohio what Grippos is to Cincinnati... A local, highly revered company known for their quality and taste. In the last couple years with all of the 'Taste contest' rigamorole running rampant, I'm interested in the final result and read related articles via the Internet, but I had yet to try them.

At one time, I can't say that I really like potato chips unless there was a bologna sandwich around that I would stack high between the slice of bread and the Bologna and then smash the sandwich that I must dictate per the pre-installed genetic memory.

When I seen Cincinnati Style Chili flavored potato chips, I finally crossed the flavored no-mans land and went for it. If you dig BBQ chips, like Grippos, the burn of the spices catch up to you the more you eat... These chips are like that, but it takes a decent portion to get to the same spot as Grippos BBQ chips and their associated burn... Flavor wise, these chili chips do taste like homemade Cincinnati Style Chili. I'm not sure what the reasoning is for the style of chip style, grooves, but I've been thinking it has something to do with chip flavoring and surface area of the chip... That's the best possible answer I can give.

What his all boils down to is do I like these chips enough to buy them again? The answer is yes. I would like to try a cheese-dip in conjunction with the next bag or maybe eat simultaneously with a cut-up mild-cheddar cheese block.

Monday, June 22, 2015

The Terrible, The Bad and Pleasant Ridge Chili


If there's one thing—just ONE thing (at least)—I can say for certain, it's that I am passionate about Cincinnati style chili. This can be proved using social-media and this blog. To myself and many others, chili is the alpha and omega of Cincinnati cuisine. Chili is one of the few traditions that I allow myself to uphold and defend. So, when my family and I convened at Pleasant Ridge Chili (PRC) and it was not only one of the worst meals I've ever been served, but also at a place a that was part of my childhood experience and held nothing but great memories... PRC... I felt betrayed to say the least.

Ranging the full-spectrum of bad service (and beyond) the waitress seemed in another world... Planet Rocky Mountain HIGH... Almost everyones order was wrong, the check seemed altered to reflect 'adjustments' that were made due to waitress errors, the portions were weak and not worth worth the price, plus taste-wise... Well, it just didn't taste good. Apparently you can fuck-up an egg sandwich with a side of fries. PRC proved that and much more this day.

The chili itself is what has motivated me to write this entire piece. Sure, there's good food, bad food, then there's Chili. I ordered a 'full order' three-way. I pointed out to the waitress that my order was wrong. "Excuse me ma'am. I ordered a FULL sized 3-Way..."

"That IS a full order 3-Way honey."

I was yelling obsinities in my mind, to myself. I resisted every urge to verbally say what I wanted to say due to the existence of my Mom, Dad, daughter and wife. The 3-way I was facing was equivalent to a Skyline or Gold Star small 3-way. I was instantly disappointed even before I took my first bite.

Then, I took my first bite... The spaghetti was soggy, watery, and over-cooked. The cheese was down-right gross and plastic-like ... The chili itself was scorched, un-tasteful and rather bland. The worst homemade Cincinnati-style chili I have ever made at home, still tasted better than what I was eating at PRC. If there were such thing as a 'Chili Certificate' or license upholding standards of size, taste and over-all quality when it came to chili, I would have immediately revoked PRC's in the name of food-crime, for serving below sub-par chili and took to blacking out everything on their menus that offered the foul tasting chili with a marker.

Then, as if things couldn't get worse... My daughter! finishing off her double-hotdog and cheese coney said "Mamaw! There's a hair on your sandwich!"

FUCK!!! Not this! Not my Mom: THE RELUCTANT WINNER OF THE PRC LOTTERY! The lady who recently died and was revived SIX times! My Mom deserves better! Of course it was on her last bite that she verified that it was, in fact, a 'black-curley' [hair]. She looked at me and said "Who is preparing the food back there?"

I felt the need to say something... Anything... "The cook-guy isn't wearing pants." But the damage was done. In her eyes she was screaming silent obsinities with me, as an alternative to vocalizing our disgust, and risking a melee or as my Mom calls it 'Hitting the Gravel.'

Then I hear, after the fact, in conversations with others relaying this experience verbally that slowly, PRC has been losing traditional die-hards for quite sometime. One story in particular involved a post-Everybodys Records in-store featuring a band called The Mono-Men which had ended in the entire band getting food-poisoning!

My family may not speak-up like we should during experiences like this. We tend to bite our tongues and move-on recounting the stories and instances later. Me? Well, I'm getting better about such happenings. The post-meal discussion was an amazing and intresting one. I promised my family that I will get even... Because I have the ultimate weapon in fights like this: I have words. Words always get the last word

I suggest you approach Plesant Ridge Chili carefully or preferably not at all.







Compositions Soundtrack: The Police, PVC, New Order, Epoxies