Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
“And the sons of Pullman porters And the sons of engineers Ride their fathers’ magic carpets made of steel Mothers with their babes asleep Are rockin’ to the gentle beat And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel”
He heard the traitor, dog breath, hater and had to respond. And after swallowing his whiskey down like a son of a train engineer, he said this.
“I think upon what my anarchist friends told me what a real hostage was.
A person held by one party in a conflict as a pledge pending the fulfillment of an agreement: a person taken by force to secure the taker’s demands. One who is involuntarily controlled by an outside influence.
These Jan. 6 rioters are felons. A felon is someone who has committed a crime or has been legally convicted of a crime.
Donald Jackass Trump has not helped these felons, as sad as it seems. He is only using them to further his lies and disdain for our democracy. He separates and divides. He should be in prison with them. It is a pity for us all that he is not silenced.”
“To a man born without conscience, a soul-stricken man must seem ridiculous. To a criminal, honesty is foolish. You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstrous.”
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
A free shot of whiskey for a presidential slogan..
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
Nina Simone, The Animals, The Saints and the lovely Elvis Costello.
Songs are amazing and these two songs, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood and (i’m) Misunderstood, alway help me feel familiar with those odd feelings happening in my life.
Today two songs came to mind. Songs that make me feel human. I love both and they have a history.
Funny how today both songs came together and finally hit me. They superimposed on each other in my mind. The 60s and the late 70s and beyond.
Being misunderstood is often an issue and these two songs explain it so well while getting all the emotions together. We are all sorry at times… we all want to be loved.
Well If I get edgy, I want you to know I never mean to take it out on you Life has its problems, I get more than my share But there’s one thing that I would never do ‘Cause I love you Oh
“Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” is a song written by Bennie Benjamin, Horace Ott and Sol Marcus for American singer-songwriter and pianist Nina Simone, who recorded the first version in 1964. “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” has been covered by many artists. Two of the covers were transatlantic hits, the first in 1965 by the Animals, which was a blues rock version.”
Nina Simone
The Animals
You’re all talkin’ ’bout better days If I got one I think I’d go insane I’ve been misunderstood for too long
“Eternally Yours is the second album by Australian punk rock band the Saints, released in 1978. Produced by band members Chris Bailey and Ed Kuepper, the album saw the band pursue a bigger, more R&B-driven sound, augmented by a horn section. The album also saw the introduction of bass guitarist Algy Ward, who replaced the band’s previous bass player, Kym Bradshaw in mid-1977.”
The Saints
Elvis Costello
“Rather than scrap the session we cut a slow, violent version of the Animals/Nina Simone song: “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood”. The next day we borrowed Michael Blair from Tom Waits‘ band to add a marimba part, and the record was complete. This may seem ironic as I attacked the song with a vocal capacity that Tom might have rejected as being too hoarse.”
Wild flower in my garden comes forth singing Coyote’s song…
Does it seem braggadocio to say that I am no longer searching.
Blake, Jung and The Divine Comedy no longer guide me? All the religiosity I have learned pales in comparison to what I found within myself … nature, mother father God … the medicine wheel, praying mantis, Dionysus.
The mystery is accepted! Creativity and the simple things in life guide me.
I still have ambitions and needs which inspire me but it is different now.
All the emotions play now… a compassionate nature almost crescendo at times … but passes.
“The tall trees in the greenwood, The meadows where we play, The rushes by the water, We gather every day;”
−by Cecil Frances Alexander
Let me tell you a story about how messed up our city and county are in Los Angeles. Especially “STREET SERVICES.”
Right now, there is a war going on outside. Trucks are attacking our sleepy neighborhood to trim down our trees. We are talking massive trucks.
I talked to a Los Angeles County representative, and he told me the reason we were not notified weeks earlier about the colossal invasion of trucks, chainsaws, dinging, and loud bangs is because a Fire Marshal just a day ago decided that there is a fire hazard here in our neighborhood. Our trees are growing and causing an issue with the street sweepers. Tree branches are touching or contacting the street sweepers.
I called the local fire department and was told a Fire Marshal would not come out to do something like that. It would most likely be a local inspector. I don’t know. The Street Services were most likely not tell you the truth.
This is a fire hazard all of a sudden?
It was in November that I made a complaint to the county that our street sweepers were not coming. They had not been coming for some time. After about a month’s time I was told it was due to the trees’ overgrowth.
Also, I found out from an official Los Angeles Street Services worker that the street sweepers only come the first and third Wednesday of every month. Even though they triage as well. We were not notified about any of this. We were not notified about today as well.
The trees could have gently and consistently been trimmed over time. Yet that would take city and or county planning. Something I have observed is that the “STREET SERVICES” does not have. Which is the foresight to plan.
The problem is that the law that enforces the signs on our street “Parking Violation” is giving us tickets. Even though the signs are not valid on our street. No street sweepers and police enforcement still will write up tickets. That seems illogical to me.
The street signs say every Wednesday from 12 to 2 PM. One cannot park on the street, or your car will be ticketed.
Today the new signs, put on with a wire, say cars will be towed away. Which is always a thousand dollar fine or more.
So, I asked many departments and city officials who manage this issue to change the signs or at least take down the signs, so my neighbors and I do not get 70-dollar tickets. Until all the LOS ANGELES city or county departments become organized. To unify!
Yet it has come down to this. The “STREET SERVICES” is doing this without considering the environment. This is an attack on my neighborhood. The ravens, birds, and bees who we share a neighborhood live here too. The cats and dogs who also live here, not to forget the raccoons, possums, and other wild things who are perchance abruptly losing their homes.
It is a rape of our neighborhood. It feels like that to me. This is much worse than having a tooth pulled. That feels like rape too. Just yellow trucks, metallic thuds, loud chainsaws, and the loud sound of stump grinders.
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
Lynn is here. At the front door of my parents home. 1977
It was at the time I entered the punk scene. I lost Lynn and only saw her once in awhile.
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
I know
Because when the sky is bright
Everything’s all right
1967 We were 9.
“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.[3]
1975 We were 17.
“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.[1] 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?”
“Know what?”
“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 was about to turn 50 years old.
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.
Yes I do not like everything she has done but I do like how she has stood up for abused women …. People can make right moves !
How ironical !?
Will she read the list in the House without facing legal action? I hope so, as many wealthy and powerful men will have there names disclosed.
“Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide, the chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’
For the loser now will be later to win.”
A theme I was thinking upon years ago .. something beyond politics… women working together!
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.
Republished by his Great Grand-daughter Holly Duval Cornell / Hudley Flipside.
The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing
Click on Image to Order
Wheal Gramper: Known as ‘wheals’ (Cornish for work/working) the instantly recognizable engine houses of the tin and copper mines sit near mine shafts, and there are over 200 of them dotted around the UNESCO Cornish Mining World Heritage Site
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.
My obligation to Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. (1977 to 2002)
As a co-publisher, editor of Flipside Fanzine I hold to my heart a need to protect and preserve the memory of this Fanzine. Being its roughly 20 years of existence.
How it is presented to the world is important to me. At one time Flipside Fanzine supported a beginning and then growing underground, and international, punk rock scene.
Over the last few years, I have had bands, record labels, writers and major movie companies approach me for images for their work and/or production pertaining to Flipside Fanzine. I engage the many demands in a proper and organized manner.
There is not another Flipside person who has stepped forward to engage this pressure.
My intentions are good for Flipside Fanzine, and I will continue to protect it as best I can. I hold good integrity too. I can choose with whom I share or sell things from this Fanzine.
Even if I know that some book publishers share Flipside material without due respect, most the time Flipside is mentioned as original source… sometimes but not always.
Be it the fanzine itself, videos, or records. I am under an umbrella of protection, and I can release things for such productions as I always mention those involved at the time if they are dead, or otherwise, or do not want to be bothered. Flipside was a fast moving fanzine with many who did willfully engage freely in its creative life time.
I love Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. It is ironic to me, but Flipside’s created products become more precious with time. Everything Flipside “produced and created” is becoming more in demand.
In its publishing history there have only been two owners of Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine, its “living publishing time,” Al Flipside (Al Kowalewski) and me Hudley Flipside (Holly D Cornell).
I promise to do my best with all of Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine documented materials and all products over its full life. Yet now it is a defunct fanzine and we only see it as a history of what once was and so many of its creations still shine in many corners of the world.
In Greek religion, the staff was carried by the votaries of Dionysus. Euripides wrote that honey dripped from the thyrsos staves that the Bacchic maenads carried. The thyrsus was a sacred instrument at religious rituals and fêtes.
Light and shadow magic comes to visit at different times in life.
The wind was strong and pushed over my angel solar light. I just got home from shopping as I was looking up at Jupiter and the waxing moon.
I have been changing my routines a bit. I go shopping at dusk now and take my showers in the morning or in the middle of the day.
Taking morning walks is something different too.
When I saw the angel at an angle, I ran to fix it when I noticed the shadow playing on the wall behind it.
I said aloud, “A Ghost Mantis holding a Thyrsus.”
I will let the angel be.
I took a picture and played with the image on Adobe Photo Express.
“The Double does not exist only as an Ahrimanic shadow in individual men. There are members in this Doppelgänger sub-hierarchy of far greater power who act as the anti-spirits of peoples, nations, and races.
And finally, there is the World Doppelgänger, the Anti-Spirit of Humanity, which plays its historic role as a servant of Lucifer in opposing the rightful evolution of human consciousness.”
Pg. 291 The Spear of Destiny, Trevor Ravenscroft.
Taken from The Terrible Death Bubble Gum Comic A Flopside COmic!
“I am the spirit that negates,
And rightly so, for all that comes to be
Deserves to perish wretchedly;
‘Twere better nothing would begin.
Thus everything that your terms, sin,
Destruction, evil represent—
That is my proper element.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust – Part One
Friday night was time to go out and celebrate because my man was winning a Chess tournament online. Youngest son, my man, and I made three. We went to the local Pub and then bar to celebrate properly.
We played darts at the Pub and had some healthy “Humulus lupulus” while listening to real records. The hiss and scratches and well listened to 45s made the music more enjoyable to me. Soul, ska, and other melodies moved through the Pub and lots of hugs were shared.
At the next-door bar, we had some cocktails and enjoyed the slow ambiance of a well-loved bar. Nice and easy with an anime film on the screen. A break from the usual sports in most bars.
As we were finishing, I looked over to see a man with a beard. Brown and friendly looking. We smiled in what I thought was a happy nod of enjoyment.
He came up to us as my youngest son got up to take care of business. Then the man walked over to my man and me.
“Not just Jews were killed in WWII by the Nazis.”
We responded with a knowing agreement. Then he went on.
“My great grandfather saved a whole lot of people. Christians mostly and not many Jews.”
Seems this guy was reflecting upon his grandfather and WWII.
“You liberals think it was only Jews. You who voted for Biden and Kamala Harris!”
We then got a little confused and I said,
“How do you know who we voted for?”
Then he addressed me directly,
“Who did you vote for?”
“None of your business!”
We batted that back and forth a few moments.
Then came the flip into a world of conspiracies and insanity when he looked at me and addressed me singularly.
“You liberal voting people think only the Jews were killed in concentration camps. But you are the real Nazis.”
“How do you go from talking about WWII and then accuse me of being a Nazi?”
I then put my hand on the table with a whack. Telling him about how my dad got a purple heart as a captain pilot during WWII.
Then I explained myself by saying,
“I respect that your grandfather saved many lives during the war from concentration camps. Yes, there were all sorts of people who died there, and the people were also saved. Gypsies, Christians, Jewish people,
I really don’t think it mattered who you were or your faith. Hitler killed anyone opposed to his belief system of inhumanness.”
The man with the beard seemed filled with total contrary ideas that made no sense but only served to confuse and attack others who he found offensive. He is one of the “ministers of chaos.” Who spreads their hate talk.
It was a really sad moment of the evening, and when he told me he did not give a fuck about Iranian women’s demands for freedom I turned my back to him and walked away with hands up.
Youngest son confused him by saying,
“I didn’t vote for Biden.” (Just to see the bearded mans confused expression of an unexpected answer.) And added,
“Thanks for the story.”
Nothing that going to Denny’s didn’t wash away fast…
At Denny’s restaurant, youngest son was laughing and said,
“I was staring at the tiles in the bathroom and then I walked out, and you were talking to this guy. It was a weird thing to walk into….”
He really enjoyed the contrary people we met last night between the pub and the bar. We have not gone back since.
“Alister Crowley adopted different identities when the mood struck him-and, like Trump, did his best to keep his name in the newspapers-and chaos magick asserts that one’s identity is malleable, that one should “reinvent’ oneself often, play different roles. We should pretend to be someone else, to envision a “magical self” possessing all the qualities that we desire, something that some New Thought advocates also suggest .
Chaos magick also promotes the idea of using “shock tactics” saying something “outrageous” in order to “enhance personal power,” something that, as with much else about chaos magick, seems to come to Trump naturally.”
Pg. 76-77, Dark Star Rising, Gary Lachman
These chaos ministers are a part of
WE THE PEOPLE,
They are out there,
and it is something to be aware of,
Even at the local bar.
Does George Santos ring a bell?
He is a manifestation of this “Crazy un-Wisdom” of “Chaos magic!”
Seems it is what it is.
In a bar in the San Fernando Valley California
To the House of Representatives
And some Senators…
bewildering our beloved District of Columbia,
these dark spirits or anti-humans are hanging around,
spreading their chaos,
chanting their bullcrap chaos magic.
Using “shock tactics” saying something “outrageous” in order to “enhance personal power!”
May 7, 1945 … yesterday some celebrated Germany officially surrendering to the Allies, bringing an end to the European conflict in World War II. Churchill gives his V for victory salute! Yet in truth it is much more than that! If you don’t believe in magic listen up ! Some symbols are powerful.
This image or salute was given to Winston Churchill by Aleister Crowley, occultist, ceremonial magician, poet, to protect him ( his country.. the world) from the diobolical depth of the Nazi Party . History is what it is. I made up a few badges … I use it against Trump 👽
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
On Fallbrook and Victory in the San Fernando Valley
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.
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,
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
“Mr. Sandman (yes) bring us a dream
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.
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
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.
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
1976 -1977
HUD the young punk
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,
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
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.
