The holidays and my dad’s birthday all bring up memories of my family that I grew up with. It has been about ten years since both of my parents died. They both lived a long, good life. I think it is good to think about loved ones and remember them. It is a seasonal thing too.
My dad was a WWII Vet. He discovered veteran benefits where he could travel really cheap anywhere around the world. So, Mom and dad did just that. They traveled everywhere.
All their five children grown up and independent, mostly. They took off.
As a teenager in High School, it was kind of strange not having mom and dad there. Yet, my older brother or sister reluctantly helped out.
In the late 1970s and through the 1980s mom and dad continued to travel.
I was running a punk rock fanzine at the time. I gave them some issues to give out to any punks they met up with. This image is from Germany. Mom with a local punk rocker. It must have been around 1984.
My Mind Shaft days a hurricane of life all contained in a year or two. So much happened.
“I guess you’re just what I needed (just what I needed) I needed someone to feed I guess you’re just what I needed (just what I needed) I needed someone to bleed”I guess you’re just what I needed (just what I needed) I needed someone to feed I guess you’re just what I needed (just what I needed) I needed someone to bleed
I don’t mind you comin’ here And wastin’ all my time, time ‘Cause when you’re standin’ oh so near I kinda lose my mind, yeah”
Once the entrance to small town of Calabasas was a two-lane road. Before the apartments and The Commons at Calabasas took over. You might even catch a horse or two riding off the road. It had an outback country cowboy feeling to it.
Now when I drive through the heavy traffic I reflect back when I was 18 and how so much happened there after I graduated high school.
Two years in particular were years full, heavy, and sometimes like an eternity of love, dancing growing up and serial killers galore.
As I drive along this two-lane road my eyes often search for the Mind Shaft club. I don’t know exactly where it was now or if it is still there. Was it torn down maybe?
The building that housed this club was unique. The Mind Shaft was located on a second story that housed a great bar, stage, and dance area. Remember those?
A real dance area surrounded by wood beams as though we were dancing in a large square corral.
It was shady, dark, and the music was loud.
It was in a place like this I transformed from a valley girl, into a rock girl which led me down the road into the ‘curse of punk rock.’
My long blond hair transformed into a 1970s shag cut.
My best friend ‘Sue Blue’ and I ‘Holly Who’ were a dance team and met a lot of guys at the Mind Shaft.
One guy in particular was very drunk but very nice. He spent the whole night trying to get me on a date the next day to his best friend’s wedding. He told me he could not go by himself.
I was not very good at back car begging back then.
Finally, I gave in and gave him my number too. He called me the next day and picked me up. About 3 o’clock.
Before this I had no idea what to wear. A nice top and shirt and some high heal pink shoes I had in the back of my closet. It was easy to dress up back then. I had a stylish figure quite nice in fact.
As a rather shy person I think this guy noticed right away I was not socializing as he may have wanted me to do. The outdoor wedding was nice. It was located somewhere in the hills of Calabasas.
Right away I noticed many of the bridesmaids and others were giving me the look.
“Who is she?”
One of this guy’s friends told me nicely during the reception,
“He only brought you here today to make his x girlfriend jealous.”
Who just happened to be one of the bridesmaids.
“Yet I would like to take you out?”
I told him,
“Fuck no. Have you and your friend lose my number!”
I split and hitchhiked home.
I don’t like big gatherings like weddings, bridal showers, baby showers and funerals. Seems so pretentious. I especially don’t like being used to make another girl jealous.
“We do have myths. Myths nourish the old soul with even older stories. They give us strange images and amazing suggestions; these promote speculations that activate the aging mind.”
~ Hillman, James. The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life
Oh, I grew up with the Werewolf story. My best friend Gigi and I walked down to the local market with our pennies for candy. Then back up the wild hills, what we kids called “the Indian trails,” to watch scary movies on Saturday. Only with a big pillowcase full of candy. We knew this quote by heart,
“Even a man who’s pure at heart and says his prayers at night, will become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the Autumn moon is bright.”
The original quote written by screenwriter Curt Siodmak is “Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”
Move forward to the early 1980s when I played Charged GBH’s song for the first time. It was such a treat. I became a kid again climbing the “Indian trails” once more.
The wild sage bushes, hills of grass and sun above and the windy blue sky. I was free running and rolling through the wonder of youth. The easiness and thrill of being scared by good old monster films. Walking home at night with the full moon coming up from the Verdugo Mountains Range and hearing owls singing!.
I never saw the band play the song live in the 1980s. They would tease us. But Ross and Jock are very clever and played a new song.
Then a few years back 2007 when they were touring in the United Sates, we went to see them in Ventura California. Not far from my hometown. They must have known we were coming!! As we were walking towards the event from behind the theater I heard a call,
We saw Ross screaming from a second story room. His English slang-accent endearing to my heart. Looking up we heard him tell us to wait there he had something to tell me.
So, when we were in front of the theater Ross and Colin came out. Colin came up to me and said,
“Hudley, we have a real treat for you. We are going to play the old songs.”
I often got on their cases. Asking them to play Lycanthropy. Even had them write out the lyrics to the song on a napkin. Which I still have. It only took about thirty something years to finally hear GBH’s song Lycanthropy live.
Well that about does it this year with my little story about a band, a song, wolfbane and the first full moon of Autumn.
As ritual goes every first full moon of Autumn, since first hearing the song Lycanthropy, I listen to the song! I dance, howl and enjoy my childhood and youthful rebellion again! I enjoy the song so much! All the good wild feelings are there !
October 9, Hunter’s Moon
The next full moon will be on Saturday morning, Sept. 10, 2022, at 5:59 a.m. EDT.
Yet, the Moon will appear full for about three days from Thursday evening to Sunday morning.
“Aging makes metaphor of biology. The organic changes are a form of poetic speech, rewriting personality into character.”
~ Hillman, James. The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life
“Most people were in bands, if not they did magazines, records, owned stores did artwork etc… it was a scene that begged to be contributed to, and ripe with contributors… X-8 and Tory were in Low Budget, who made their Hollywood debut playing over the Dils at the Whisky, Larry Lash was in a weird Quick sort of band, Pooch was in a progressive (!) band, and I was their friend, couldn’t play anything, but still wanted to be involved [Al Flipside].”
Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Issue #1 August 28, 1977.
I am not a musician. Sure, as a kid I played my parents old player piano. I could hear a song and I then played it on that old lovely musical hardwood black upright piano. My mom got me an acoustic guitar when I turned 16. Along with it was a record to learn chords. I did not follow it through.
I appreciate the lyrics and the sound. I have a knack for listening to the song in a way that is so satisfying to me and as my life went on, I found others like myself. Journalists, fanzine writers and ‘scenesters’ who supported a growing musical world. I will leave the real musicians and their creative genius to themselves. I sure love to hear and feel their songs though.
My dream last night took me to a multilevel club. It had a front door and back door; it had a bar and an outdoor patio. It was very easy to access. I had booked a one-day event to perform. I had my old guitar with me at all times. A guitar a band member gave me, and we had cut out the “Quaker Maid” milk symbol from a large ‘sheet metal sign’ to place on the front of my guitar.
Why I pulled that old guitar I had from the 80s into my dream seems strange to me. I also had my old fender amp.
There was a small stage in the bar where I practiced. Realizing I did not have a clue what I was doing. Yet when I touched my sweet maid, it made a loud punk sound. I thought this to myself while dreaming,
“I am going to go on stage here and play for my friends. Not having a clue what I am doing, I will just improvise … like I always do,”
The first person who greeted me at the door was Shawn Stern. He was drinking a beer and seemed very happy. Then as I walked through the club. The club was peppered with many characters, and I thought to myself,
“I will play a chord from my sweet maid and then read something from an editorial from an old issue of Flipside. Maybe this can be a spoken word event with improvised guitar sounds?”
Outside on the patio I sat with a couple of gals who were talking about another show. I was cool with that and then walked in Cliff Roman.
“The guys at that show were wearing TUXEDOS.”
He had a upside down smile on his face when I smiled at him as I was holding my sweet maid. Cliff was wearing all black with a big oomphy black sweater.
I realized I was at a club without my mask on. It felt so good to be out and about again. No fear and happy to be hanging out at a club again with others.
Then I awoke. I don’t go out to events now. It seems like I still do in my dreams…
Series image 1980. Drawn directly on my leather. X-8 gave me this jacket.
My story is a tributary that flows into a larger living water of music that is beyond me now. For all those that were there from the beginning I know you have a story to share too.
~ Hudley Flipside
2019 is when I completed the template on my memoir. Catching images and people that still run through my psyche.
Just the other night in a dream I ended up backstage. The door opened and before I knew it five big punks from a band, and I were taking pictures. Their friendly arms around me made me feel inclusion.
It is a time that still haunts me. As in every generation of my life. All are unique times. Vastly changing and different generations.
I wrote My Punkalullaby as my two boys were growing up. It is not a perfect story, but it does hold a mythos of punk rock. I just received copyright for my book. I am celebrating three years of mission complete as my book moves into the world. A rebellious history about a young woman who help document a punk rock scene.
It is comforting to know that several of the bands I loved are still out playing. There is not a scene like there once was but now the punk genre is solid and so the story moved forward.
Below is an excerpt of Christmas day 1978.
“One empty Christmas day, Crazy Keith and I took the bus from South Gate to Woodland Hills where my folks lived. We had to make a stop in Hollywood to transfer buses. The hollow feeling as we waited for the bus on Hollywood Boulevard still impresses me with the echo of merry-go-round music.
A miniature one was going around and round on top of a truck parked nearby. There was an offbeat sound of music, and trash filled a lonely boulevard before us. An old lady down the street walked slowly toward the bus stop where we sat. She was searching in trash cans.
When she reached us, the skinny crippled woman held out a half-eaten apple. Not as a gift but for money.
I lost Crazy Keith a year later somewhere to someone and quickly got over his obnoxious, talkative, and controlling personality and moved on.”
I awoke to an amber moment this morning swirling in my mind and like Kurt Vonnegut’s character Billy Pilgrim from the novel Slaughterhouse-Five, I like to dwell and investigate these moments of experience. See if some golden truth is pushing itself up from my unconsciousness to my consciousness.
It may be similar to a grain of sand irritating an oyster or some wondrous pearl. Maybe only linking up a few different generations of people or friends like butterflies taking their nectar from the same sunflower. Is it all randomly placed in time … maybe not? In truth I do not think so. Which gets an old dame to pondering.
Two bands from Birmingham, a major city in England’s West Midlands, brought forth two of my favorite bands. Each band speaks and supports a different generation. The members of the band walked the same streets and knew the smell of their home. Mothers (music venue) linger in both of their memories.
The Moody Blues and Charged GBH were playing the same week. One at the Greek theater and the other at the Roxy Theater (West Hollywood). They both touched down on southern Californian soil. It was revelatory to me. Just the fact that they were both playing the same week was enough to satisfy my glowing and rebellious soul.
Was this a random event or is there more to the story? What is the possibility of this happening and did anyone else notice this random act of Birmingham music? A mist joining two generations of music ached in my inner being of light and dark particles and both danced and started vibrating to a strange tune.
It was a contrary experience for me. I got two tickets for the Moody Blues. I bugged Ross bass player of GBH to be on the guest list at the Roxy. This was going to happen … I felt it when they both touched Los Angeles County. I think the best feelings are when waiting for a band to play while they are touring. The element of music and surprise and favorite songs playing is a revolutionary experience… even if I am the only one feeling this.
It was so intense that coming week. It was like when I found out that my ‘great Grandfather was born in Middlesex, a historic county in southeast England. It was a big deal for me because William Blake also was raised there as a child, they both walked the same streets at one time. Both sharing the smell of their home. Though I never met either my great grandfather or William Blake they both left me with stories and share in that pleasurable place of my good imagination.
“Piping down the valleys wild
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
‘Pipe a song about a Lamb’…”
The “Song of Innocence,” ~ William Blake.
On Sunset. May 2015. I am wearing my Bernie Sanders T-Shirt for president 2016.
Husband was not able to attend the Moody Blues with me. I could not find another at such short time to go with me. I was not strong enough to attend myself. The parking, crowds, and elements of being alone did not appeal to my nature at the time. Maybe in my younger years I would have taken on the challenge by myself. I do regret not going.
We hit my old romping punker ground on Sunset. The streets and the alleys of friends, clubs and running wild in the streets. It was different now. My husband and I had a pizza and then a couple of beers at the Rainbow Bar and Grill. When we got to the Roxy, I found I was not on the guest list and the show was sold out.
Since it was a Goldenvoice event, I spied Gary Tovar and he got us in the show. There I found Ross Lomas hanging out with Dora Sundoval and Alison Elliott.
Ross: “You must have been bumped off the list.”
Hudley: “Do not worry Gary got us in.”
Giving Ross a big hug around his waist I said.
“It is so good to be back and walk the streets of my youth as a wild young punk.”
Ross gave me a look and that was the last time I talked to him.
The aroma of the event was exhilarating but filled with smoke. My husband had a major asthma attack and we had to leave early. The good news is I met up with some punk chicks from a younger generation. We had met up at other shows. The continuity of them going to see GBH made me happy. I’d have to say I think the band most likely prefer these beauties then the old punker I’ve become.
There are times in life when one must pursue a dream. Run to it and become one with it. Other times one needs to step back and let it happen without you.
I read about the Moody Blues in the news after their event. I saw the pictures posted on Facebook backstage with GBH. It irritated me a little but not too much.
I made the effort, yet I guess the random act was not complete. At least I can write about it and share my memories.
What would the Tralfamadorians say?
“There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.”
That is a double good thing too. He inspired me to see life differently. As a young girl living through the 1960s and viewing the film Easy Rider to just recently with a film called The Hired Hand(1971) directed by him starring himself, Warren Oates, Verna Bloom. Both films are amazing films but the second one is a film that speaks to the modern woman today and her wounded psyche. I am speaking about my own. He told me a story that reaches generations. So beautiful and healing too. Truly fulfilling to watch. I am in love with the film.
As a youth he had an accident with a family gun and almost died. He told this story to his friends The Beatles and they wrote a song about his experience.
My heart has been heavy today… now I know why. It is always sad when a free spirit leaves us. I don’t think death was something he feared at all.
A post about the Film The Hired Hand ! A must see unusual western.
Song the Beatles wrote about Peter Fonda’s near death experience as a youth.
Al Jaffee, King of the Mad Magazine Fold-In, Dies at 102
“Allan Jaffee (born Abraham Jaffee; March 13, 1921 – April 10, 2023) was an American cartoonist. He was notable for his work in the satirical magazine Mad, including his trademark feature, the Mad Fold-in. Jaffee was a regular contributor to the magazine for 65 years and is its longest-running contributor. In a 2010 interview, Jaffee said, “Serious people my age are dead.” ~Mechanic, Michael (September 24, 2010). “Cartoonist Al Jaffee, the Original Mad Man”. Mother Jones. Retrieved October 10, 2012.
These are the Benadryl days.
Too much listening to Elton John and remembering my crush on Bernie Taupin. Foggy dreams. Dreams where the threads of remembering can’t be pulled down into this world. A changing mixture of memories swirling around me that I have experienced in real time. Remembering my, heart heart ~fun fun, days as a youth and teenager.
As sitting under the pool table in the boy’s room reading Mad Magazine and Playboy. Alfred E. Neuman or cartoonist Gahan Wilson went on to inspire me in my own fanzine. Where I created images or doodled between the pages.
Magazines are now becoming obsolete. Newspapers stands too except for the billionaires that do resurrect some. A fight that is not going to win.
To my teachers that came from those awesome perverted magazines.
“And we went to California and up and down the Pacific Coast for a day and a half, settling at last on the sands of Malibu to cook wieners at night. Dad was always listening or singing or watching things on all sides of him, holding onto things as if the world were a centrifuge going so swiftly that he might be flung off away from us at any instant.”~
Ray Bradbury. The Rocket Man
“I’ve been a cunt since 1975.”- Elton John
Rocket Man explained a lot about Elton John that confused me since 1975. I love autobiographical stories and memoirs. What a joy! Elton John shared his psyche with the world. A healed psyche that was given more then a second chance.
The film has that real deal 1970s thing going that sprang forth from the late 1960s. The chance that two genius dudes like Elton John and Bernie Taupin found each other is amazing. So grateful! I enjoyed the integrity, depth and darkness shared in this film. The world of rock & roll was not romanticized.
Fun musical choreographed dance scenes moved through the film. Bernie Taupin’s lyrics enhanced by being sung clearly and slowly made me want to sing and dance along.
I love Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s music especially the years between 1971-1974. I include in this review a conclusion with an early song written 1971 entitled Friends. I think the song Friends was a song of amazing foresight. As if Bernie knew the journey ahead would be a difficult one. Especially for Reginald Kenneth Dwight!
I didn’t speak much when I was young. Was not interested in writing either. Only a few poems. I played with my friends, but I found it more and more difficult to communicate at school. I felt restricted, invisible, or persecuted by my own peers. I was wild and not awake to the pounding of an education that seemed incredulous to me.
I now realize I had foresight, creativity and a natural spiritualism that could not find contact. Nature was receptive! My mom and dad tried with lots of watercolors and paper. A giant black board was painted in my room. Endless chalk drawings were created and erased, drawn, and erased. The old player piano in the boys’ room is where I spent hours playing any song I wanted that I learned by heart only.
Did I not express myself in school because of fear? Was it the constant fighting and alcoholism in my household which pushed my mind down into myself? Was it dyslexic, autism or a painful shyness that was the bewildering issue within me? We the children were not diagnosed back then.
Having foresight was a curse when no one listened! I did not have the proper device, neither did I have the wise ability to reach out towards others. I did not have a voice!
Now at 60 I realize my heart & mind are mature and keen enough to reach my inward growing child. That is my reasoning currently to create a hub like The Seminary Of Praying Mantis. To share my voice and reach a global community! I believe this is the truth. Finding one’s voice and sticking to it is wonderful. The last seven years WordPress has helped to make this happen for me.
While spending a few hours observing nature this afternoon. I know that the many voices were loud and some subtle. The chirp-chirp birds, to the black crows on tall cypress trees. Above me high in the sky are the circling hawks and the commercial jets. Sounds of life. One drop of rain touched me. I am one drop of rain too.
I invite you to support The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing and celebrate with me. I have words to read, items for sale and images to make you laugh. I have grown as a writer, author, and artist.
It is amazing that so many tools are available where one can publish ones’ works! It can be achieved very cheaply and sometimes even for free as with Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. I have taken the core of my punk philosophy, wild nature, foresight, and freedom to communicate with the world. I found a place to express myself. It is colorfully rewarding.