Duley Toledo, Joey Rimicci, John Cornell and Hudley
As we were getting hit by rain
And during an earthquake
Those creative endeavors help.
Duley Toledo, Joey Rimicci, John Cornell and Hudley
As we were getting hit by rain
And during an earthquake
Those creative endeavors help.
I was becoming one with my punkalullaby. I coined the word punkalullaby. It means that the whole time I was in the punk rock scene, from beginning to end, it was all about a song. One song to the next pulled me throughout the scene. Once that loud music got into my blood there was nothing like it. I was socially awkward, wild, and morally uncultivated. I was a perfect product for the Los Angeles punk rock scene because I was someone that the normal culture had completely abandoned. Yet, here I was, welcomed into an underground counterculture.
Excerpt from My Punkalullaby by Hudley Flipside
currently AT 65
A SONG SPANS OVER 6 GENERATIONS BEFORE AND UNBOUND…
JUST HOW IT GOES FOR ME NOW.
Like the star above me
Because when the sky is bright
Everything’s all right
“Brown Eyed Girl” is a song by Northern Irish singer and songwriter Van Morrison. Written by Morrison and recorded in March 1967 for Bang Records owner and producer Bert Berns, it was released as a single in June of the same year on the Bang label, peaking at No. 10 on the Billboard Hot 100. The song spent a total of sixteen weeks on the chart. It featured the Sweet Inspirations singing back-up vocals and is considered to be Van Morrison’s signature song.
“Daisy Jane” is a song written by Gerry Beckley of the group America included on the 1975 America album Hearts. Issued as that album’s second single — following up the #1 hit “Sister Golden Hair” — “Daisy Jane” reached #20 on the Billboard Hot 100, becoming the final Top 20 hit by the original three-member incarnation of America. On the Easy Listening chart, the track reached #4. In Canada the chart peak of “Daisy Jane” was #16 on the Pop singles chart and #2 on the Adult Contemporary chart.
Our parents met at the Canoga drive-in theater in Southern California. Lynn and I were crying like babies usually do. We were both born in 1958. Her in August and I in May.
Lynn lived down the hill. We became best friends and often confronted each other as girls do. Boys, drugs and growing up were usually our issues. She was my nemesis so to say. She had brown eyes, lite brown skin and long dark hair. I was just the opposite with green eyes, white, pink skin and long white, blond hair.
From The Ouija board to underground scary films we were as wild as the wind together. Like the madly climbing scented eucalyptus and uncontrollable pepper trees that embraced us or sliding down green grass hills on cardboard or riding our bikes to school we were always doing something together. I went shopping today and two songs came up for reflection.
Both are songs that we loved. It was two generations of growing, playing, and learning about life. I was driving to Ralph’s supermarket and remembered Lynn because it was a day like this in August that I found out about her demise.
Her x-husband was there and was holding tightly the shopping cart. He was holding a cart full of Lynn and his babies. Three through artificial insemination and a girl to follow later the natural way. Funny how that works sometimes. I asked how Lynn was. Did he know how she was?
“Didn’t you know?”
“She died from a drug overdose.”
The whole of Ralph’s supermarket went black, and I caught myself falling.
“Are you OK. He spoke?
“No, I did not know she passed.”
“I guess the kids and I weren’t enough for her?”
I walked away at that point because the kids were a big handful. I know the story about how it did not work out for them, but I did not know Lynn went back to taking drugs.
It was August 2008. She was so wild and had a challenging time growing up. She was an unusually beautiful woman and as her beauty faded it was hard on her.
She just lost off from turning 50.
Romance and babies are not an easy thing to manage for any woman. It really does suck sometimes. I can understand her need to break loose a little, but she went too far. She always kind of did.
Hey, where did we go?
Days when the rains came
Down in the hollow
Playin’ a new game
Laughin’ and a-runnin’,
hey, hey Skippin’ and a-jumpin’
In the misty morning fog with Our,
our hearts a-thumping and you
My brown-eyed girl
And you, my brown-eyed girl.
A special FLOPSIDE EDITORIAL
Marjorie Taylor Greene Rebuked for Displaying Nude Photos of Hunter Biden at Hearing.
Greene was born in Milledgeville, Georgia, on May 27, 1974, the daughter of Robert Taylor.
She graduated from South Forsyth High School in Cumming, Georgia in 1992, and the University of Georgia with a Bachelor of Business Administration in 1996.
Perry Greene (m. 1995; div. 2022).
In September 2020, Greene wrote on Twitter that “children should not wear masks”, calling recommendations by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and other public health officials “unhealthy for their psychological, emotional, and educational growth” and “emasculating” for boys.
She called restrictions imposed in the U.S. Capitol in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, including face mask requirements, “tyrannical control” by Democrats.
I don’t know if I will get to all 11 from my catalog but at least I got to two more. From the original catalog I did in the 1980s. I wanted fans to at least get an organized sense of what we had to offer. I find it delightfully youthful and fanatical as a 65-year-old woman to read these. We were all into the punk scene and loved it madly. I was about 25 when I made this up.
(I am not a professional DJ haha).
“But how do you thank someone
Who has taken you from crayons to perfume?
It isn’t easy, but I’ll try
If you wanted the sky
I would write across the sky in letters
That would soar a thousand feet high
“To sir [s], with love.”
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!
On Fallbrook and Victory in the San Fernando Valley
Punk Rock Historian and Professional Consultant
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.
As the dancing pages on a dark and dirty street.
“This is an invitation across the nation
A chance for folks to meet
There’ll be laughing, singing and music swinging
Dancing in the street.”
I saw something unexpected today. Billy Idol got a star on Hollywood Blvd. and Mr. Henry Rollins was the presenter. I saw the photograph on a site. Now and then I do like to reflect on my punk rock glory days.
I think upon these two characters that influenced us by their music or words in a big way. I knew them, as many of us did, as youths with deep and high ideals that I once respected.
I met Billy after he left Generation X.
He visited Hollywood. A group of us youthful rebellious punks were talking about music. We were in the back of a liquor store waiting for some beer because we were not 21 yet. Someone was WHEELING AND DEALING with the booze scheme. Billy and I were talking about the Beatles and how much he loved them. He then cried on my shoulder stating to me that he missed his mates back home.
The beer arrived and a friend of mine whisked him away and that was the only time I met him. Over the years when I see him or hear his music, I often reflect back upon that sweet young kid who was kind of lost.
Henry was a wild youth too. He was kind of funny and thoughtful when I first met him. Yet as time went on our friendship soured. I think it was due to a subscription to Flipside Fanzine he never received because his letter fell behind my desk. Maybe the critical reviews I did of him in Black Flag were thought to be unfunny. His lack of humor made it easy to accelerate into doom.
Funny how a guy from England and a guy from DC can be standing on the grounds whereas young punks, who grew up here, used to run wild on those same streets. Then no need, or sense of fame or fortune.
Once equals as friends and fans of the punk scene, they got bigger, and we got smaller. Yet I think I am happy with my place in the world, and I hope they are too.
The sweet and bitter is what punk rock left me. As a punk rock fanatic,
That’s the way it crumbles, cookie-wise~ The apartment (by Billy Wilder, 1960)
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.
These are a handful of Babes that keep giving. They have influenced generations by their singing, music, and right and left hand creative endeavors.
Alicia “Alice” Armendariz ~ Alice Bag from The early LA Band The Bags
Annette Celia Genevieve Zilinskas ~The Bangles, Blood on the Saddle…
Julie Lanfeld-Keskin ~ Sin 34 (RIP)
Kim Morris – Bass and vocals The Thingz
Susan Janet Ballion aka Siouxsie Sioux~The Creatures, Siouxsie and the Banshees.
We are living through kind of depressing days. I think it is a nice time to share humor and look to some darn strong women!
Babes that keep giving.
I love the term BABE. It means so many things. Here at FLopside Comics Mr. Fuck and Mr. Shit mean it in a HIGH FIVE way. Lovers, girls, and best friends. Yet they also use the word ‘dude’ the same way when referring to their friends that are girls.
Girls, gals, women, females, dames, dolls, and broads.
Mr. Shit does not use proper English and prefers to use “that” instead of “who”… it is a slang thing… yet Babes Who keep Giving he said,
“Is fucking OK too.”
“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…