That crazy Godzilla Punk Rock Night Club in Sun Valley is where I first saw GBH’s – Leather, Bristles, Studs and Acne spray painted on the wall.
I was then in search and found the vinyl and became a fanatic. 44 years now for me.
The album City Babys Revenge is one of the best sounds of punk rock! The band and songs are phenomenal. A forty-year celebration. I got the vinyl from Zed Records of Long Beach and played it loads. Yet seeing (Charged) GBH live was just the best experience I had as a young punk bird. They still thrill me as an old crone owl.
A hardy band that still tours around the world and I think they are indestructible. I really do!
Colin Abrahall
A bit of history in front of Perkins Palace Pasadena mid 1980s.
On Fallbrook and Victory in the San Fernando Valley
Punk Rock Historian and Professional Consultant
Hudley Flipside
Life is so contrary and beginning and ending all the time. The stars seem stable, as they dance their astrological dance. The moon and sun and seasons are very dependable but not the storms or the opposite whispers of joy and enlightenment we may find. This earth will always be a contrary place sweetened with continuity and music.
Yesterday before the rain, Sara and oldest son walked over from their apartment. They are counting their steps. Later they left and we decided to join them halfway on their journey home. A longer walk than my usual mile per day.
It was easy all the way until we said goodbye and then we walked slowly onward, and we headed home, husband, youngest son, and I.
Would we get something to eat?
“No, it is past 6 PM and I don’t like eating much after then.”
That is what they get for always asking what MAMA wants.
On the way with Sara and oldest son I noticed a broken book on the ground. The pages danced below our feet for a long while.
I picked up three of the pages as a focused random moment of finding something wandering and enlightening me from the dirty street of trash. On this dark cold evening of winter.
A man was covered with such trash in the middle of the sidewalk next to the shopping mall and restaurants. He was pretending to sleep as cars raced by and we walked around him.
I sadly declared.
“He is going to get mighty wet when the rain hits?”
Husband quickly responded,
“He is most likely waiting for the shopping mall to close down. I am sure he has a safe place there.”
My feet got sore, and my back ached and howled as we headed home.
Now today I read the book pages tossed on the ground like leaves in a storm.
One thing that stood out were the lyrics for a song.
The pages are filled with words about music, slavery, finding a voice and hope. Someone was looking for their roots, history, and family.
I thought about my own family history. I think this is a push to get going with my own pages filled with words about music, slavery, finding a voice and hope. Hope from lyrics. A song inspiring us to dance to the hopeful dream of music.
Image from Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Photo by Hudley Flipside
Night at the Whisky A Go Go.
First On The list…
“Trust your own instinct. Your mistakes might as well be your own, instead of someone else’s.”
— Billy Wilder
Look at Amazon in your country and most likely you have direct publishing and / or arrangements that make ordering, printing, and shipping so easy. For a global community it is pretty cool.
46 years ago, Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine first published this little annoying punk rock rag. By a bunch of guys who caused considerable trouble.
It has been an odd mission of mine to keep the light shining on its memory for those out there who want to share in the Flipside Fanzine narrative. I prefer this to the darkness of an archive or virtual nowhere land. Or even the dissection of everything all the Flipside material on the internet and other places.
Four plus six equals ten.
So, 2023 is a number that goes well with 1977. Forty-six years ago, the Los Angeles Punk scene had a creation story that countless authors have written about. Many now want to document that time through different means. Flipside Fanzine documented that original punk scene in real time. The Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Issue # 54 Ten Year Anniversary Issue did document the punk scene. 1977 to 1987.
In celebration of this The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing is planning to print a hardcover special edition of Flipside issue # 54.
Turning 65 next year means I am over the hill and on my way, very close, to grandmother’s house. All the social security and Medicare to figure out. As my husband says,
“The government designs it to make you fail, they want you to fail.”
Maybe so but like most things in my life it takes effort to get things done and done right. The end of 2022 I was delighted to complete the Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Creation story narrative documentary / film. Shinning the light on Larry, Tory, and Tony.
Epeisodion One, Two and Three… thanks Larry, Tory and Tony…
Give him a pair of eyes with a “come-hither” gleam
Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci
And lots of wavy hair like Liberace.”
Silver dollars are on my mind. The magic as I view them from my memory or imagination. Mom went to Las Vegas and would play the slot machines with these babies. She would bring home many buckets full to take home to her kids. She kept them in her back bedroom closet for years.
She would pull them out every now and then as we admired the coins. Large hold in my small hands.
After her death oldest brother Greg stole them. I don’t know who has them now. He died a year back, so they are with some unknown person.
I miss mom’s large bedroom with a big window that looked over the Verdugo Mountains. The San Fernando Valley was a deep chasm of hills and homes and the Woodland Hills Golf Course.
Often, she had her radio program on that played music from the 1940s and 1950s as she sewed up dresses or clothes for herself, my sister or myself. A sewing machine on a table that had everything you could imagine for creating fine clothing.
Laying out the patterns, pinning the material and cutting were all something I watched closely.
Then a song would come on and she would start to hum it. I would sometimes dance. This was one of the songs I remember, and the song holds the memory of my mom as we danced around her bedroom.
Mr. Sandman
Sandman” (or “Mister Sandman”) is a popular song written by Pat Ballard and published in 1954. It was first recorded in May of that year by Vaughn Monroe & His Orchestra and later that year by the Chordettes and the Four Aces.
I love watching Perry Mason on TV before I go to bed. It is part of my routine to relax and watch a time before technology, big technology, took over. Phones, telephone booths and stylish clothing are comforting to watch. Yet what I do endure are the commercials in between.
A new one this season is Walgreens commercial. I try not to pay attention, which has a little logo saying, “It is not magic it’s Walgreens,” Here we find all the magic and wonder of the holidays and then the terrible quote. It is kind of negative propaganda as the company is an evangelical organization most likely. The war on magic and our imagination is horrid.
When I see the commercial, I quickly reflect on the song Pure Imagination from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.
“Pure Imagination” is a song from the 1971 film Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. It was written by British composers Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley specifically for the movie. It was sung by Gene Wilder who played the character of Willy Wonka. Bricusse has stated that the song was written over the phone in one day. The song has a spoken introduction.
The old crone sitting in the bar burped, drinking a pint of beer, then explained,
“The simplified difference between an art gallery and a museum is that a museum is a place of entertainment; it’s an activity to visit a museum.”
Then thoroughly engaged she added,
“However, an art gallery is a business that displays and sells goods.”
“I see,” said the youngster!
The old one with love in her heart went on,
“Beware of the term “Punk Museum.” It is an oxymoronic term. It is not an institution devoted to the procurement, care, study, and display of objects of lasting interest or value to punk rock but an exploitative suck job or place of profit.
To sell a business name or ideal based on a lie, not one ounce of good intent but greed! Beware of this abomination.”
At that moment the knowing DJ turned a new song. The boy with green hair got to look at the albums cover. He came to understand there was more to punk rock than a place of profit, green hair and selling out to a sheep in wolves clothing.
He must be a good punk of high discernment.
The funny DJ with a long face added,
“One can run a business and sell things. One can have a museum for things of value to enjoy. But to say you are a museum that is really masquerading as a place for profit just like an art gallery… damn something is off big time.”
The boy with green hair quickly added (with eyes crossed),
“Sounds like the oily, dishonest local salesman who originally sold Oliver the Green Acres Farm, Mr. Eustace Haney.”
The crone punk rolled her eyes, finished her beer and walked out of the pub… having paid the youngster’s beers.
(without his knowing… a surprise.)
Until Next time… convince me otherwise 👽✌️
Or if you see my stuff there in a Punk Museum {or my name} please rip it up.
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.
Punk Rock Historian, Colleague and Professional Consultant
Hudley Flipside
The Ness of Mike
The last day of November “Amber Moments” when Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine could have constructed a vinyl house built of records in Whittier California.
Reviewing records started out simple. Just turning on the funky tape recorder and staff at flipside would just talk. As Larry Lash states in the rather new Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine the Narrative Documentary / Film, Epeisodion ONE.
The reviews recorded were then transcribed and into the issue of Flipside Fanzine they went. No editing. Published galore.
Well, that was the beginning of the record reviews. Each record sent to the Flipside PO Box was to Whittier California. Many bands were all seeking a review. Seeking a promotional push for their world of fanatical punk rock fans. I called the new records fresh from the vinyl bakery. Yet some did come later a little bit stale.
I even reviewed a few records I purchased from Lovell’s Record Store uptown Whittier or from Zed Records in Long Beach.
My personal favorites like the Ramones or Charged GBH. Yet records collected around us pretty nicely. All free. The cats loved to claw them just fine thank you. Oh, the tears of many a collector. As time went on and as the Flipside crew grew and changed, we did things differently. After my fingers almost fell off from typing.
I have callused fingers due to this and should have become a guitar or bass player in a band where I could be playing all these gigantor festivals and traveling the world. But we ended up giving our new shit workers a nice stack of records to review. Some of them even helped with the typing. I thank you from the depth of my fanatical punk rock ole’ heart.
It is always a shock when someone from the original punk scene passes away. Our youthful rebellion was vulnerable… we all aged and still feel that strong connection. I do and I try not to get me too much into it.
All of those drumbeats of so many songs that moved us. I did not know all the players as I may have wanted to. Yet we were all connected. A punk scene where all of our voices are still echoed in podcasts and fans galore.
It is all good. It is sad good. Yet as I pull back, I am always pulled in again about that amazing scene. Where we all worked towards something. Bands, fans, fanzines, or promoters. It is just not the same now… but there are times when those feelings come to visit. I call it the curse of punk rock.
Dead D.H. Peligro RIP
I edited this together today…. a little sad but fun.
The last few nights the Coyotes have been howling. I never have heard this before. Loud and in front of my home. As the full moon approaches tomorrow and the few days that follow the first full moon of autumn.
I celebrate my many years of this song and a lifelong celebration of the “She Wolf” as a symbol of being wild. A history that goes back to my archaic ancestors who were once free and were then persecuted by patriarchy. Creating the word “Lycanthropy” as a word of injustice and control by their insane Roman Catholic Inquisition.
Again, we are at a time when the “She Wolf” is howling and calling forth for equality, for the freedom to be who we are without judgments and with no control by the patriarchy.
Celtic Wolf
“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.”
Moving 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 Mountain 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. Close to my hometown. They must have known we were coming! As we were walking towards the event from behind the theater I heard a call,
“Hudley, Hudley…”
We saw Ross screaming from the 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!
“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
I knew it would happen. It did. I make a stupid declaration about not documenting punk rock anymore. Then a precious face shows up from my youthful rebellion.
Donna Rhia is an original Germs member. A Los Angeles punk band that made their history. She was their first drummer and was foundational support for the forming of the band.
Becky is one of the first women who pulled me into punk rock. A friendly, silly, fun, ruthless gal who walked the original trail of the early Los Angeles punk scene knowing all the original punks. She was an open door, and I walked in.
The things we did together were not always about punk rock. There were fun and creative alternative adventures. She was happy to be with me and I learned about being social in a crazy way and a friendship way too.
She invited me to join her at The Renaissance Pleasure Faire in Agoura. We made confetti eggs to sell at a booth, but I enjoyed walking around screaming,
“Cascarones for sale, three for a dollar.”
Dressed up in Renaissance clothing and running around with her seemed so natural and unassuming. As awkward as I was, she never was pretentious or scolding.
I am leading up to one of our best moments at the fair that day. It was not a big giant festival as they are today either. Everything was quaint and magical.
It is one of my favorite stores to tell.
Dyan Diamond and Kim Fowley were walking by us. I did not know them, but Becky did. She was so unassuming with her underground punk knowledge and carried it with her as a special shawl of wonder to me. I was happy to share that shawl too.
“Holly, I dare you to go and smash an egg on Kim’s and then Dylan’s head, then we can hide and watch behind this log.”
I took on the dare. I smashed two eggs on their heads. Colorful confettis was everywhere!
I ran back and there was Becky rolling on the ground, laughing in the leaves where I soon joined her. It is one of those jokers’ moments.
How many more times did I inspire to this type of punk humor? Oh yes, all the time.
Kim and Dyan looked like cartoon characters. Dyan with her tight leopard skin pants and Kim with smoke popping out of his head. Looking around with bulging eyes,
“Who did that, fuckers.”
This is what she taught me as she pulled me into the world of punk rock. We were both going through changes and met for a fleeting time as she disappeared from the punk scene and where I was pulled deeper in. The curse of punk rock. No matter how I try it will not let me go.
The astounding characters I met. She is one.
On the edge, in the middle and even now from the beginning.
This is a song that we sang, like others, as we raced down the road in her car. Wasn’t it so personal then… well we were sure feeling it. I told her,
“I don’t think I will make it to 21….”
Funny how some friends show up and you find each other again and others just are gone.
A couple weeks ago I joined some speakers, artists, musicians, and authors to share stories about Rock & Roll. Marina Muhlfriendel’s event called OUR LIPS UNSEALED was at Tom Bergin’s Irish Pub on Fairfax Ave in Los Angeles. She told me her father was a regular friend of this Good ole English Pub.
Alex Stein is one who spoke that night. He revealed how seeing bands or going to a music festival is like going to church. I often thought about this. So, what came up was what I originally wrote up for the 1984 KFJC tape eleven. It is ritual for people to gather together around bands, move & dance and socialize.
I can see at such a contrary time in history, through a pandemic and political parties declaring a civil war, how we need to gather around a community of those who follow certain bands or music genres.
Be it jazz, punk rock, pop, or country and beyond. We need it… it is healing for our psyches.
So, I was happy to know another person saw it in the same light as I did.
Funny thing I don’t go to church, nor do I go to big music festivals. I don’t need the experience like I once did. I can just put a song on my browser for free and remember or sometimes find a new band or song. Yet I understand how some people need this big festival experience.
I am happy that promoters and bands are doing so well too.
Man, one can put some good VIP money down at these festivals. It makes me laugh. It just is not my cup of tea.
Maybe I will go to one? Maybe not? I know I will check out a local pub or club now and then. I still do need it… just not like I once did. I guess I am saturated and content with what I got or had… saw so many bands back in the day… like stars in the sky. I was spoiled and lucky to have once had such a bitchin’ scene to be part of.
KFJC 89.7 FM TAPE NUMBER TEN THE 10% EXPERIENCE.
A KISS IN THE WIND.
Once at the local pub a woman in her twenties looked over at me. She was talking to a friend, and I heard her say,
“I don’t know what the big deal is. That magazine came out over thirty years ago?”
She then looked over at me again. I looked back at her. I raised my shoulders and rolled my eyes as if to say,
“I know what you mean.”
This pub, the Scotland Yard in Canoga Park California is considered a music pub. The founder Patrick Fairley (rip) was in Marmalade a 1960s Scottish pop rock band.
Here a long line of DJs who just happened to play 1980s punk rock.
Punk rock is a unique genre and like jazz we all rejoice in the impressive sound of its originators. Going to the pub is kind of like going to church. The sociology of religion states that 80% of people going to church do so for social reasons. Only 10% go to have a religious experience. A pub is the same way. When you add some great music and beer this is the place to be to do the 80% thing or the 10 % thing.
As the spirituals gave birth to the Blues and then Jazz, so does it inspire the music we listen to today?
I don’t go to church anymore, but I do go to pubs. For me it is a 10% experience.
In the 1700s pubs often held meetings under the convert of drunks but in reality, it was the beginning of revolution.
It was about individuals who came together, who opposed the Church of England and their government. They sang their pub songs or hymns around the fireplace and hidden in these songs were the lyrics and tunes that inspired the people.
Punk rock can be like going to church and it can be an 80% social thing. To me it has always been about the 10% punk rock experience.
It is inspirational, thrilling and has the ability to awakened one to wild possibilities of hope and creativity as any good ‘old jazz song does.
Sharing these tapes is like sharing an old jazz tune or inspirational religious experience. It has its place in the continuity of the punk rock experience of 1984.
This is what I should have told the young woman who liked to come to this pub on punk rock DJ nights. She enjoyed listening to 30-year-old music. The thirty-year-old magazine she referred to did document the 10 % punk rock experience!
This tape is dedicated to all the Los Angeles underground scene women who were the foundation of an early punk rock scene.
I let this fire burn inside ‘Cuz the love I lost in the alley She appeared and she disappeared Into a cloud of graffiti Graffiti She electrify me Radioactive hair stuck in the sky A plastic bag, a gun inside Green cowboy boots and her black straight legs She electrify me She electrify me She electrify me She danced and pogo’d all night long She bobbed her head like a toy tin doll She shook her shoulders around so free She even danced on the ground with me On the ground with me She electrify me She electrify me
Having a talk on Instagram about the “Mosh pit” or “slam pit” evokes a wave of nostalgia for many of us who grew up immersed in the punk scene. I remember a time when the punk subculture was softer yet still maintained its core of raw energy and rebelliousness. It wasn’t just about the music; it was about a sense of community and identity that brought us together. The dance movement had a sexy push to it, creating an exhilarating atmosphere that was both fun and uniting, with each song fueling our collective spirit.
Reflecting on those days, this song encapsulates a unique moment in time, when quirky elements like “germ tails and little baby Jesus pins” were all the rage. It was a period marked by individual expression and creativity, where every corner of the punk scene felt alive with vibrant personalities. However, as the slam pit began to dominate, we gradually saw the decline of these quirky accessories and the playful spirit they represented. The evolution of the mosh pit from a fun, collective dance space to something more aggressive altered the way we experienced punk music.
This song resonates deeply because it captures the essence of a time when being punk was considered so special. There was an intoxicating blend of romance and seduction in the music, paired with an exhilarating sense of uncertainty about where the culture was headed. Punk was unclassified, and that ambiguity added to its charm. We were at the brink of transformation, watching as the scene evolved, but I can’t help but mourn the loss of certain elements that defined that era.
It is a lovely song, an irresistible anthem that begs to be danced to. It reminds us of what it felt like to be part of something larger than ourselves, to experience the joy of unity in movement and sound. When it plays, it pulls us back into that world, igniting memories of carefree days filled with laughter, rebellion, and a sense of belonging that was unlike any other. The energy in the room was contagious, and the feeling of liberation through music brought people together in ways that are hard to replicate. This is why the song resonates so strongly with so many of us—we cherish those moments and the unyielding spirit of punk that still lives on in our hearts.
For an old gal who still writes letters and keeps her PO Box open though often quite empty.
Dad served in WWII and was once stationed in Adelaide Australia. I recently talked to a professor from Queens University of Technology (urban coastal city of Brisbane) John Willsteed about Punk Rock for an academic book, and I have a few friends from the country. Recently longtime friends the Talley-Jones’s went on an amazing journey in Australia. Yet for me it is selfishly always about The Saints.
Writing letters has always been my thing. I might have written them unreadable at first, but I often would get intelligent and friendly responses. Either way I keep writing them to companies, authors, and friends. In my twenties working on a fanzine, I did spend a great deal of time reading and typing up letters from fans and adversaries for Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine.
One letter I wrote in the late 1970s was to the band The Saints. I never got a response. It was about their Prehistoric Sounds Album I had a question for them.
I remember writing the letter on an old manual typewriter in my parent’s house looking over at the Verdugo Mountain Range of the San Fernando Valley. White out, finding a stamp and an envelope and walking to the Post Office to mail it is a consistent and blurry memory for me, but a true one.
I’m inspired by the band’s edition of a type of horns background band sound. Or as they say a horns section. An incredibly unique sound for me as a youngster. So, I wrote to the record label at the time. Whatever address was on the inside insert or record label for HARVEST. How silly that was but now I find it a very endearing thing for a fan to do.
I saw on Facebook that Prehistoric Sounds came out September 8, 1978, now is a wonderful time to celebrate this album.
Finding out about the Aints much later I can see a band that includes that sound I was curious about. Specially from one of my favorite songs. A nice continuity and happy way to see the endurance of an album, scene, song, or people. Bringing back all those good feelings too!
It’s still a thrill for me.
At one time I talked to music friends about a mystical journey of going to see Chris Baily sing in a pub in Australia. As the story goes, he would go to pubs and sing his songs. One of my friends who was thinking of going along is a local Los Angeles friend whose name is also Chris Bailey.
What dreams I had. A dream is now over due to Christ Bailey of The Saints recent demise, but I still hold the need to visit Australia someday, regardless.
It is so good to be in touch with Ed Kuepper though this electrical fire and still learn things about music, this place here on the internet. That he makes himself very accessible is sweet. I am only one of many fans who are listening.
This story I share is very comforting in a clever sort of way. I think the three fates Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos are my friends.
I am happy to see many podcasts, films and documentaries about punk rock coming out these days. Books too. It is overwhelming to me. I am approached by many due to my special experience as a punk rock journalist. Some treat me nicely and others are ruthless to get stuff from me.
Be it writing a fanzine, a book, or releasing a documentary film I have done it all myself. I have published fanzines, books, and records. I just completed two documentaries about Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine.
There is always a line to draw out of kindness.
A few years ago, I was approached by a lady who knew nothing about punk rock but wanted to do a documentary about some punk rock skate women. So, she hired a promotional person to gather information. I agreed to do a Zoom meeting with them.
I soon saw that they wanted to pick my brain. Then when I asked them questions, they got nervous. I told them that I needed to stop sharing with them.
This promotional woman was being paid good money to gather information about punk rock.
I was just brain picking leads for their needs. I call that being compromised and exploited!
I told them if they are interested in a real narrative with a person with valuable experience, they can hire me as a consultant on the film or documentary.
When they got back to me it was by a short message. They could get the information they wanted through an archive. They did not want to have a lived experienced narrative helper. They wanted cold facts and information. Good for them.
There is a difference between behind the scene work or giving an interview to be used in a film or documentary. There is a line to be drawn there too. Or maybe be a source of information for a book; as for a professor in an academic study.
I’ve been used too much. My work stolen, people coming through a backdoor to get money from my hard work, and I am lied too.
I am done.
I came up with the idea of a Punk Rock Historian and Professional Consultant for hire. I don’t help unless it is for a fee. Kinda like a private eye for hire.
It is serious business and most people are cheep. Not me, no more buddy!
From my experience one has to be savvy about these things. To the highest degree.
Send me a message and we can talk project, documents and/or consultant fees.
Moving slowly out into the world again like a young kid. But instead, I am now an old fool. That suits me just fine.
I feel a vacuum feeling drawing me down watching all the big festivals and bands touring. Been to maybe two shows since the pandemic began. Not eager to go out. Yet today I had to do something new locally. I saw a record store on Devonshire Street and Topanga on Facebook.
In Chatsworth a once sleepy town in the San Fernando Valley.
Yes, the horse stables are gone but finding DEADELY WAX Records did give me that old-fashioned feeling. No parking meters around and inside the place was cool and clean. A variety of records of all kinds from generations and genres.
Youngest son and I walked in and were greeted with a friendly hello.
All those good feelings coming back on a lazy Saturday in the San Fernando Valley.
From Jazz to Punk even saw a B People LP. I was walking through generations of music as flash backs mixed as albums passed my eyes in the viewing stalls.
I settled on two and son on one.
These summertime blues are eased a bit with a free feeling of what it was like in the valley once.
Now today it was just as nice. Easy traffic on the corner of Devonshire Street and Topanga an example of what life was like when head-shops and record stores once ruled everywhere.
Great place to go.
Son can stop by before or after going to CSUN and if I get the need I got a place to visit. Feels good to support a local small business record store.
The San Fernando Valley was a lot of fun for a short time.
Creating plenty of “amber moments” with Lynn, Sue, and a few others.
Today I had to make a Target run for my 100% organic cotton underwear or “panties” for short. Like it was such a big deal when it was announced in the film, Anatomy of a Murder. Yet it amazes me, and I feel like a pervert when I go into the lady’s underwear section here.
It has expanded out with a million of types of sexy underwear. I guess women put a lot of time in to thinking about underwear and being sexy regardless of the material. All synthetic and… well yucky. The little section of cotton underwear is small indeed.
“Sister Rose and Sister Blanche. Blanche saying they’re going door to door to collect …lingerie…for needy sexy people.”
~ The Golden Girls
Yet I digress, what really got me writing today is a song that came on the PA system while walking around. ‘Strawberry Letter 23.”
“Strawberry Letter 23” is a 1971 song written and composed by Shuggie Otis from his 1971 album Freedom Flight. It is also widely known by the 1977 cover version recorded by the Brothers Johnson and produced by Quincy Jones.
I knew the song briefly 1977 as a time when the tide came in with a variety of music. New wave, soul, disco, pop, punk, and progressive music. All merging in a kaleidoscope of fun.
Starbaby’s, The Mineshaft and The Red Onion were open for dancing. It was a great time for singing in back alleys with my buddies,
“This is the time for Jose Quavo.”
We all took shots and headed back into the clubhouse to,
We have not yet learned to value the creativity, courage, and competence required to negotiate the ordinary but devastating frustrations and crises of human experience.
Jacobs, Ruth H. Be an Outrageous Older Woman Harper Collins. Kindle Edition.
“Alone with just a little bit of soul, right now, now, baby Darling, everything is gonna be alright One more time, just one more time, baby…”
What strange times we are living in. The contrary nature of life is overwhelming. Nature seems a bit outrageous and shrilling.
Just last week youngest son was meant to go on his first Geophysics lab above Ojai, California. The coastal regions to studying the mighty earth and her movements.
Then he went to one party with ten friends. The only time in a long while where he felt safe. Then right before the event he got the Covid19 tracer call. He did not get to go to his well planned out lab. That was last Monday. Most likely the worst day of his life. The family all tested negative. We were lucky. Yet I was mad as hell.
The opportunity will come again because that is his major.
Security is a good need, I think. I did not always feel this way.
Today while watching some news about the floods in Kentucky a commercial came on. I don’t know what was being sold but the song caught my attention. It was the song Security.
Otis Ray Redding Jr. (September 9, 1941 – December 10, 1967) was an American singer and songwriter. He is considered one of the greatest singers in the history of American popular music and a seminal artist in soul music and rhythm and blues. Nicknamed the “King of Soul”, Redding’s style of singing gained inspiration from the gospel music that preceded the genre. His singing style influenced many other soul artists of the 1960s. Label: Volt – 45-117, Vinyl, 7″, 45 RPM, Single, Promo 1964.
But my favorite recording of this song is by, well you know, The Saints.
Label: Harvest – HAR 5166
Format: Vinyl, 7″, 45 RPM, Single Country: UK 1978
What do you do if they call you shrill because you demand your rights? You don’t get anxious about being unladylike. You realize that a man who fought for his rights would be considered appropriate and that ideas of what is ladylike have been used to control women for centuries. You translate shrill to assertive and smile smugly. Congratulate yourself that you have learned how to be assertive in your later years despite your socialization to be a “good girl” and cave in when confrontation arises, fearful of censure.
Jacobs, Ruth H. Be an Outrageous Older Woman, HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
Punk Rock Historian, Colleague and Professional Consultant.
~ Hudley Flipside
So, this song came forth out of a longing to bring all this tighter together. Fermenting in my being. Diversity, the gospel, soul, rock & roll the wildness and enthusiastic mission of working and recording music.
(Stax keyboard player Booker T. Jones, who usually played with Dunn, Cropper and Jackson as Booker T. & the M.G.’s, did not play on the studio sessions with Pickett.) Wexler said to Cropper and Jackson, “Why don’t you pick up on this thing here?” He performed a dance step.
Cropper explained in an interview that Wexler told them that “this was the way the kids were dancing; they were putting the accent on two. Basically, we’d been one-beat-accenters with an afterbeat; it was like ‘boom dah,’ but here was a thing that went ‘um-chaw,’ just the reverse as far as the accent goes.”[13]
~Pickett, Wilson, The Very Best of Wilson Pickett, Atlantic Recording Corp. and Rhino records Inc., 1993, liner notes by Kevin Phinney
Sometimes I feel I am standing still. I watch the Ed Sullivan show reruns and learn so much more about music. This is a magical place I have found, and I come across stories that inspire my imagination which is anything but standing still. The contrary nature of life now.
I saw The Chambers Brothers band. My mind drifted and I thought of the band Death and the Bad Brains or the mysterious DC band the Enzymes.
The Chambers Brothers band were live on Ed’s show. Playing their instruments and singing into the microphones while Brian Keenan, with a straight back and smile on his face, was thrashing his drums. I felt a jolt of enthusiasm rejuvenate my heart.
A song that moved through more than one, two or three generations and still is lingering to tell us all something real and magical about ourselves and music.
Bouncing from the heart of American soil over the big pond to England and back again to the Ed Sullivan show reruns.
This is amazing to me. I am digging it immensely.
The Chambers Brothers band
The Jam in 1977: Paul Weller, Rick Buckler, Bruce Foxton. Picture: GAB Archive/Redferns/Getty Images
I’m gonna wait ’til the midnight hour That’s when my love come tumbling down I’m gonna wait ’til the midnight hour When there’s no one else around I’m gonna take you, girl, and hold you And do all things I told you, in the midnight hour
Yes I am, oh, yes I am One more thing I just wanna say right here
I’m gonna wait ’til the stars come out And see that twinkle in your eyes I’m gonna wait ’til the midnight hour That’s when my love begins to shine
You’re the only girl I know That really love me so, in the midnight hour
Oh yeah, in the midnight hour Yeah, alright, play it for me one time now
I’m gonna wait ’til the midnight hour That’s when my love come tumbling down I’m gonna wait, way in the midnight hour That’s when my love begin to shine, just you and I Oh, baby, huh, just you and I Nobody around, baby, just you and I Alright, you know what? I’m gonna hold you in my arms, just you and I Oh yeah, in the midnight hour Oh baby, in the midnight hour
What makes me the happiest is enjoying the continuity of songs that inspire my animus, helping in the process of my individuation.
To be who I am in this mysterious world. Conflicts and war, religiosity, and a woman’s right to choose moving through the air like bombs of emotionalism.
Poor anti-leaders who abuse their power in our world. War… Many things that make my voice in a world ridiculously small. Yet I keep speaking up and writing. As a mother… I have done well enormously proud of my decision to give birth, to create.
I am responsibility and caring. That is me and I am grateful to all the individuals who have nurtured me over the years.
Love is worth speaking about…. also, the love of a song, the ones who sing and create… that is my wonder to cherish as I am also my mother’s wild child.
In my active imagination comes a whisper in my ear declaring,
“I guess we meet where genius hides.”
I think of my three solids. One I will see tomorrow.
It shatters any genre of my three solids. The alchemy is in me. Yet tomorrow I just don’t know how my mind will embrace the sounds of his guitar, of Ed’s frequency live?
Will I implode and turn to ash. When Ivorplays his drums, will the vibrations go-go down my spine and shatter what’s left of this fragmenting crone vertebra?
Their vinyl has sustained me these many many years… but we all know that is simply different from the wild variable of a live ambiance’s charm!
Oh, unbearable is this waiting to see The Saints live!
What a turn on! The whole current line- up!
3: Colin “Jock” Blyth image from Flipside Fanzine.
Stephen Stills
“For What It’s Worth,” “Bluebird” and “Rock & Roll Woman” are three of my favorites moving songs performed by Buffalo Springfield’
Ed Kuepper
“Nights in Venice,” “Demolition Girl “and “Church of Indifference” are just fucking profound songs.
Jock Blyth
Playing his hardcore punk sounds “Freak,” “Pins and Needles” and “Stormchaser”
Songs that sample their sound… I love them through and through. Thanks!
* Stephen Stills born Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex, the fourth-largest metropolitan area; Buffalo Springfield 1966–1968.
* Ed Kuepper: Edmund Kuepper was born on 20 December 1955 in Bremen, then part of West Germany. His family migrated to Australia in the 1960s and settled in Brisbane. The Saints 1976-1979.
* Colin “Jock” Blyth: GBH were early pioneers of British street punk, often nicknamed “UK82”, along with Discharge, Broken Bones, The Exploited, and The Varukers (Charged) GBH: 1978–present.
As I awoke from my existential childhood there are three guitarists who have had a profound wake-up call on my soul, body, and mind. From generations the 60s through to the present. Making me happy because these three guys are still moving around the planet and continue to play their songs.
Though I never had the privilege of meeting Stephen Stills, or Ed Kuepper I have met Jock Blyth.
I am friends with Ed on Facebook and Instagram and maybe my annoyance as a fan has zapped him now and then. Because my only addiction in life is the band The Saints.
I don’t ride my generations as a cult but as scenes mingling amongst sounds and friends. In real time, life and on the internet. The 1960s, 1970s and beyond had the most influence on my life as the DNA that makes up my soul.
As a senior citizen, I am pretty well saturated. Open and way past the need to wake up now. It is the sound of these three that calm me, set me free and make me feel bitchin’.
I was overwhelmed and happy watching Billy Porter perform “For What It’s Worth” with Stephen Stills at the 2020 Democratic National Convention. Or seeing Buffalo Springfield on an old episode of Mannix from the 1960s.
Or being moved deep down when listening to Ed perform The Aints’s song “You’ll Always Walk Alone” on YouTube.
Or reading Jock write about how he enjoys Tripel beer, a style of brew with roots in the Belgian Trappist tradition on Facebook as GBH tour Northwestern Europe.
Doug Fitzsimmons @punk_diversity is dedicated to sharing music and art with a focus on the early LA punk scene.
It feels good to have inclusion in the punk rock and or underground narrative. Artists, writers, bands, and fanzine writers… all of us smiling into the internet. The electrical fire …. It is fun and surprising to me.
This is Doug Fitzsimmons journey and one can see it all on Instagram.
“You know Iris Berry is the one that encouraged me to start this journey.”
He seems very driven.
“I know it is crazy. I have been so blessed to have the opportunity to meet so many. It has helped that the community has vouched for me & my project which is also to document those who might fall out of the narrative if it is not done soon.”
As we have lost a couple of good buddies recently from the punk scene, I feel his determination.
This picture has a story. I was at the Hong Kong Café in China Town. It was early 1979 and I did not know Al Flipside from Flipside Fanzine very well. Yet he took my picture that night.
He said when he went to bed later that night, he saw me in a dream. The picture he took. My image was made up of hundreds of little dots like an X-8 drawing. X-8 is the original master mind behind Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. Well, the rest is history.
