What's the Word, Johannesburg

Die Antwoord se rympies sal jou fokken kop skop.... we came, we saw, we skopped fokken gat,” 

Watkins Tudor-Jones aka Ninja of rap/rave provocateurs Die Antwoord calls it "the ultimate style, that ultimate flex and it's fokken South African" Yolandi Visser the better half of Die Antwoord elaborates further "zef is, you're poor but you're fancy. You're poor but you're sexy, you've got style"  South Afrikaan rapper and sometime Die Antwoord collaborator Jack Parow defines zef as "kind of like posh, but the opposite of posh"  Zef is an attitude and a stance that embodies South Africa's uniqueness.

It's a convergence of cultures, languages and musical influences synthesized through the eyes and minds of  Cape Town's mostly white, lower-middle class. The crooked path of enlightenment runs through the heart of Capetown, the heart of South Africa's burgeoning zef inspired rap music scene. Capetown is the birthplace of zef and judging from videos shot in and around the city, it has a white trash appeal that is both Gulf Coast Redneck Riviera and SoCal seaside ghetto.

It's not totally clear if racial harmony is the majority opinion around Capetown's zef devotees. Racial co-existence has been the official party line in South Africa since the end of apartheid, but is it an integral part of the zef philosophy? Die Antwoord preach racial and cultural diversity at every turn, but are they at odds with their fellow Afrikaaners? This could be what feeds the backlash against Die Antwoord, though for the most part it's veiled as slanderous complaints questioning their authenticity and street cred.

Glancing across the U.S. cultural landscape, there's only a few social groups in the U.S. that you could classify as zef (the parameters having been set by Jones, Visser & Parow's definitions)The low rider/cholos in the Western states, possibly the West Coast surf & skate punks, the hyphy scene centered around Oakland, Ca. and of course the Juggalos. Each group has its own ideal of what is posh and "so, so fres"

To be poor is not to be without style, it just means that you take what's at your disposal and create style.

To a certain degree, the British version of zef would be the Chavs, who in turn were the British version of what Americans once referred to as "wiggers" While those terms (Chavs, Wiggers and the Aussie expression, bogan) can all be construed as derogatory  zef by comparison is a positive term.  The American personification of what is zef, would be Vanilla Ice, who is also the   prototype that Waddy Jones molded Ninja around. Mix in a scoop of Robert Van Winkle with a dash of Brian Bosworth and a smidgen of Prime Minister Pete Nice and you have Ninja... the lyrical assassin.

The Chavs, though prone to violence and the subject of ridicule and derision, represent those same ideals. The Chavs cling to what they are... poor working class yobs with a sense of style that sets them apart. The term "chav" has its roots in the Romani word "chavi" meaning child. Popular use of the word to describe a specific working class youth subculture in England began around 2002.  Burberry, the makers of check patterned clothing favored by Chavs, claimed that by 2007, their sales had dropped due to counterfeit versions of their clothing being sold across the U.K. Mainly to chavs with limited income at their disposal.

A Burberry spokesman would later say "I'm proud we had such a democratic appeal" but the clothing line went on the offensive, pulling items such as their iconic checkered hats and footwear off the market to discourage Chavs from buying them. All across Britian an anti-chav backlash started to pick up steam. The term became deeply offensive to some, rejected as "sneering and patronizing  slang sensationalized by the media. It shows the "inbred hatred of the white working class by the middle class", the neo-snobs who maintain their place in British social strata by thumbing their nose at those beneath them.

In perusing through an astonishing number of  anti-chav website that popped up in the U.K., most complaints centered around young chavs loitering at shopping centers  drinking and accosting passersby. The bashing of punk rockers, metal heads and especially goths & emos  seemed to alarm a large portion of non-chav society across England. "the Burberry effect baseball cap placed at a jaunty angle, sometimes called a snidey", "pregnant Chavettes pushing prams to the nearest McDonalds to lounge about while their baby daddys (sic) mill around the entrance glaring about"

"It's that brother from another mother's gwarra, rap-ster met n groot fokken stywe piel

In the States, an approximate equivalent would be the Spanish word "cholo", which applies mostly to urban, low income Mexican Americans with a very definable manner of dress. Cholo has its origins in Mexico where it was used to distinguish culturally marginal mestizos from the ruling criollo class. The first known use of the word in the English language was by Herman Melville in "Moby Dick" to describe a Spanish speaking sailor. The word can be interchangeable with "gang banger" though the use of cholo to identify bangers is dying out.  

The final scene in Robert Altman's "Prêt-à-Porter" features two minutes of nude models walking the catwalk, as a poke at fashionistas. Zef is essentially a narcissistic concept and the human body is the ultimate canvas. Clad in a pair of boxer shorts adorned with Pink Floyd's Darkside of the Moon album cover, Ninja is practically naked to his audience.  It's not new, Henry Rollins fronted Black Flag, barefooted and menacing, dressed only in gym shorts.  Ninja who judging by appearances is well endowed, bristles at rumors that his endowment is not all real. .

Ninja works hard to project menace, but once DJ Hi-Tek ( he owns a PC Computer and he makes like next level beats) kicks in the bass heavy beats, he transforms into a kinetic, gangly contortionist, all arms, elbows and knees. Yolandi (she spells her last name Vi$$er) with her bowl cut bangs and black contacts that make her look like one of those doe eyed paintings from the 70s (or Roger the Alien from American Dad), is disarmingly sexual. Though at least thirty, "she looks like a diffident, highly sexualized 12 year old" Yolandi rap/sings in an Afrikaaner accented helium whisper, that judging by the lurid comments on YouTube is highly arousing.

She has a potty mouth that would make a good mother wince and a bad mother proud. Die Antwoords' use of profanity in fact, is what first rankled South Africa's mainstream music press. It also earned Die Antwoord their first dose of notoriety (think back to 1990, Broward County, Fla., 2 Live Crew & Luther Campbell)  The presentation is fast paced, as Ninja clocks suckas and spins logic at hyper speed. Ninja & Yolandi are casting into a sea of young disenfranchised white youths that have been waiting around for, (as Ninja puts it) "the next level shit" 

I'm zef like a young Hugh Hef, of yes!... may my enemies live long so they can see me progress

As I alluded to earlier, Die Antwoord gets under the skin of the press. Some factions of the South African press operate under the assumption that "when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail" Roger Young's review of $O$ opens with vitriol "By most accounts Waddy Jones was always a bit of cunt. And now Ninja, with the fame rushing to his head, is starting to display the same paranoid cuntish tendencies" Young writes for Mahala, a South African music, culture & reality magazine that strives to "represent what's really happening along the fault line"

Represent or just create some static, Young continues, "Witness his FB statuses of late, they read as a desperately insecure little stabs at hardcoreness; which is strange because if $0$ is anything to go by Ninja and crew have nothing to be insecure about" But who can blame them for growing paranoid about wankish cunts like Roger Young, right? "Asshole-ish behaviour is often a necessary function of “the heartlessness of ideas” but how much leeway to be a prick does $O$ give Ninja?" I dunno.... "Blood on the Tracks" gave Bob Dylan a lifetime pass, the same with da' Boss and "Born in the USA"

Young examines “Wat Kyk Jy” a track off the $O$ album, "it's Robin S. on Crack with Ninja doing super laid back and creepy nasal styles. It’s like being an ecstasy dealer in the 90’s and getting caught cutting your pills with speed" his attempt at ironic cultural references fall flat with a resounding thud. Sean Jacobs who writes for the blog "Africa is a Country" chimed in on the controversy surrounding " “Fok Julle Naaiers” "Waddy Jones’ defenders will probably says he was in “character,” the whole thing satire (original video and ‘apology’ alike), and that he is being ironic and deliberate. Perhaps the fact that I am writing about their charade now will also be read as evidence that they’re good" Perhaps too... glamming on to controversy helps Jacob's cause.

Wat Kyk Jy. (Watkykjy.co.za) is the website that lit a fire under the whole zef thing in the first place.  Ninja & Yolandi took their early cues from Wak Kyk Jy. The track is an ode to "die beste Afrikaanse blog en website in die heelal" Wat kyk Jy literally translates to "What are you looking at?" or more specifically (as explained on the website Kameraad Mhambi) "It's the menacing words that you hear when you walk into a bar in Parys Free State and you fix you gaze on one of the patrons for too long. In other words, it's the last words you hear before you hit the floor.

 All my fokken life,  I lived a normal fokken life, till I went and got myself caught up wif da mic

In order to understand what Die Antwoord is, you have to know what Ninja was. The thirty something Watkins Tudor Jones has a convoluted history that stretches back to primal days of South African hip hop music. Jones first surfaced with The Original Evergreen, a rap act with a distinct stoner vibe, noted for sounding just like Cypress Hill. From there Jones segued into Max Normal, a live hip hop act not radically different from The Original Evergreen.

In 2002, he disbanded Max Normal and relocated to Capetown, working with Felix Laband and Yolandi Visser on a project that eventually became The Constructus Corporation. (a proto version of MaxNormal.TV) Along the way Tudor-Jones has adopted and dropped a number of different names and personas such as, WAD:e, Waddy, Yang Weapon, McTotally Rad, The Man Who Never Came Back, Max Normal and most recently Ninja.

Tudor-Jones revived the Max Normal character (he took the name from the Judge Dredd comic) as MaxNormal.TV.a bizarre multi media mix of performance art  channeled through David Byrne, Vince McMahon,Tony Robbins, Mr Rogers and Bob Ross. Joined by Yolandi Visser (in the guise of his personal assistant) Jones dressed in three piece suits, and delivered motivational raps. This also included art lessons (ala Bob Ross of PBS or Mark Mothersbaugh on Yo Gabba Gabba)

As the only holdover from Max Normal in MaxNormal.TV,  Waddy Jones was asked about his former band mates, he explained that Mark Buchanan & Sean Ou Tim were very nice about saying no, while Simon "Sibot" Ringrose was a little nasty. MaxNormal.TV's first album "Good Morning South Africa" was met with "confused and somewhat cautious acclaim" Tudor-Jones downplayed it saying it was a "fun little pop-art experiment"

Vuilgeboosted Gang$ta

Perhaps presaging MaxNormal.TV's eventual transformation to Die Antwoord,  Tudor-Jones added "it's really just an attempt to be coloured, I like coloureds, I want to be coloured"  Jones and the band branched out into stuffed animals, releasing a line of toys called dassies, which resembled a tennis ball with ears, stubby arms & legs. The Oppikoppi Festival chose "dassie" as its mascot in 2007. Tudor-Jones was invited to produce his stuffed animals during the pre-musical performance part of the festival. 

The dassie is a real animal indigenous to South Africa, it's said to resemble a fat cane rat, they are genetically related to the elephant!!!) Even as he stuffed his fat rats, Ninja was already scheming on his new project, which came to be called Die Antwoord (The Answer) which was sure to rake in the euros, dollars or rands. "mad fuckin gangster rap mafia for life" is how Tudor-Jones described it then. 

At the end of Die Antwoord's "Zef Life" video, the interviewer asks Ninja what does Die Antwoord mean? Yolandi gives Ninja a look that says this guys is fokken clueless. Ninja's response "the answer" the interviewer asks "what does that mean" Ninja and Yolandi look at each other like the bloke had just shat his pants. Condescendingly, Ninja tells him "What ever man, fuck" if you have to ask, then you won't get it anway. Die Antwoord evolved out of all of Watkins Tudor-Jones different projects... throw enough shit at the wall and what sticks is bound to be some good shit. 

It's a blender mix of electro techno beats and old school gangsta rap. Ninja asks that age old question "What happened to all the cool rappers from back in the day?" By going back and rediscovering, a style a music that some had come to regard as trash, Tudor-Jones has hit on a winning formula. "Now all these rappers sound exactly the same, It's like one big inbred fuck-fest" Dregs like Lil Wayne & Kanye West is what passes for rap music now. "Just because the whole world's gone dwanky, Doesn't mean we fuckin' gonna go out like that too"

To defeat the devil, Ninja becomes a devil

The stupidest argument surrounding Die Antwoord is whether or not they're real or legit. I mean who the fuck are they supposed to be,  NWA? For what it's worth, neither Watkins Tudor-Jones or Yolandi Visser have ever attempted to hide or distance themselves from their past,  non-gangsta projects. "Ho$h pagamisa! raak fokken wys (word 2 da streets, wize up!) Fuck crime, these days rhyme fuckin pays" and after all these years, they are getting paid. 

Of course, every rap group worth its salt must have controversy. Die Antwoords' came courtesy of the 'Mother Monster" Peeved that Gaga asked them to open for her during a series of shows in South Africa, Die Antwoord decided to poke fun at her with the video for their hit "Fatty Boom Boom" The zefsploitationist crew dressed up a man as Lady Gaga, put him in a meat dress and had him/her go through a series of grueling adventures (car jacking, giving birth to a prawn and then finally being eaten alive by a lion)

Gaga, who should have better things to do, struck back via Twitter, here's the exchange:

@ladygaga 

i fink u freaky but you don't have a hit. hundred thousand tIckets sold in SA. #thatmyshit

@ladygaga 

i guess its not a good idea to tell someone you're a fan. never mind! we get it, you're not a little monster. WE GOT IT.

Never ones to back down from controversy, or schoolyard tactics, Die Antwoord responded:

@DieAntwoord 

lady... even tho u r 'larger' than us... we still cooler than u... plus we don't have prawns in our private... 

U won't last 2 minutes in my world bitch

That's quite mild compared to the  accusations of sodomy and other assorted perversions that Dr. Dre, Eazy E & Ice Cube tossed back and forth at each other.  Which brings us to the other controversy surrounding the group... the song  “Fok Julle Naaiers” (fuck ya' all) ends with Ninja summoning forth the hideous DJ Hi Tek from the depths of hell (his arrival is preceded by creaking doors)   "Yo dj hi-tek where u at my nigga?"

DJ Hi Tek, wears a mutant mask that could be fashioned after the face of Mike Tyson.  The "lyrics' are the transcript of Mike's rabid response to a rather stupid reporter who suggested that Tyson should be in a straight jacket.... within earshot of Mike. Needless to say the reporter wilted in face of the onslaught and fled, which was a better fate than what Mike had in mind. Here's Tyson's actual uncensored words:

"White boy, faggot, you can't touch me you're not man enough, I eat your ass all alive, you bitch, can't anybody in here fuck with this, this is the ultimate. Fuck you, you hoe! Come say it to my face, you bitch. Come on you bitch, you're a scared coward, you're not man enough to fuck with me, you can't last two minutes in my world bitch. (At this point the reporter backs away deeper into the crowd) Look you scared now, you hoe. Scared like a little cracker bitch. Scared of the real man! I'll fuck you till you love me."

The song led to accusations of homophobia and the glorification of rape. Interscope, the American label got cold feet. Die Antwoord quickly announced that they were splitting with Interscope.  Ninja explained, "So anyway... Interscope offered us a bunch of money again to release our new album TEN$ION. But this time, they also tried to get involved with our music, to try and make us sound like everyone else out there at the moment"  "So we said: 'U know what, rather hang on to your money, buy yourself something nice...we gonna do our own thing. Bye bye"

"I'd like to set the record straight here once and for all. Number one: DJ Hi-Tek is gay. So there you go. Now you all know. Number two: Dj Hi-Tek says the word faggot doesn't hold any power over him. Hi-Tek says faggot all the time cause he's like, kind of taken that word and made it his bitch. Number three: Just to be fucking clear, the Antwoord is not homophobic…"  If  you consider that it's never been made clear just who DJ Hi-Tek actually is and the general consensus has always been that it's a role played by a revolving cast of DJ's, then Ninja is simply spin doctoring the facts.

Say "Crunk" again. I dare you. I double-dare you

Hot Topic finally has its own R.Kelly, a villain who loves to hate himself, who returns our scornful gaze with an eager mirror   August Brown, L.A. Times Music Blog "Pop & Hiss"

Time to revisit Brokencyde, just in time for the holidaze and the release of  "Best of BC13" ... which is  a misogynistic, bukkake spooge fest  of "Albucrazy, Hot Topic screamo", designed to rankle the sensitive sensibilities of sensible folks, who may not otherwise give a fuck! and to separate some more suckers from their hard earned dollars. Seventeen delightful tracks from these Albuquerque gangsta poseurs  shamelessly fronting about pussy they've never had and a libertine scene that they're not really a part of.

AWWW WAIT HOLD UP!... WAIT A MINUTE!, wouldn't "BEST OF"  imply that this shit is actually good?

It would and it isn't..... What you really have  (all in one neat package)  is a crap fest of attention grabs guaranteed to make someone threaten to kick your ass if you play them too loud. (available at iTunes, Best Buy and other distros with low standards and no qualms about selling shit like this)

Love 'em, hate 'em, hate 'em, hate 'em, they're not going away just yet. There are no grey areas with Brokencyde, you either hate them or despise them. This inane vomitorium of crunk and chunks isn't something that's going to grow on you without some effort.

the absence of evidence, is not the evidence of absence

Here's a lyrical sampler from BC13, yo! ...."I'm a celebrity baby, Brokencyde is my crew..Hand me the forty ounce! Let's get crunk in the club, cuz you make my pee pee hard, shake it mommy give it to me and I'll teach you how to scream. Freaxxx and scenez girlz at da house party sipping on 40oz. and we're still the kings, let me see you pop and lock it,  schizzo.. always go hard with the sex toyz and you'll have them squealing like a pig... bree,bree! let's get these bottles poppin' like they came with no caps, hofosho... eenie meenie, minee, moe... No matter where we go, I got them hoes all over me.

Hey chicken chokers!, a hoe is a farming implement,  I guess we still need crotch grabbing gobstoppers like Brokencyde to balance out all that's good in the world. "Mongo only pawn in the game of life" even despicable life forms such as cockroaches and rats have a place in the grand scheme of things. Mongo, in his right mind...  would crush the spleen right out of these lint lickers. 

Their first album (I'm Not a Fan but the Kids Like It) was designed to provoke and infuriate anyone and everyone within earshot. I'm Not a Fan, debuted at #87 on the Billboard Top 200 album chart. They set out to do the same with their second album (Will Never Die) which was a flaccid dismissive effort that basically repeated everything on the first album and yet it debuted at #86, selling 6,000 copies in the first week alone.   

Perhaps sensing that they aren't getting any younger, their third album went in a slightly different direction, "Guilty Pleasure" was anything but and hardcore fans declared that Brokencyde had sold out. More crunk less core and fewer screamed vocals. Predictable motherfuckers, can't even get that right.

They now have the life expectancy of a fruit fly, but they do get the last laugh on the critics that panned them, as they roll wheel barrows full of cash money to the bank. For all the ridicule that these guys get heaped on them, they have been successful, maybe more so than any other musical group to ever come out of Albuquerque not named The Shins. 

Against all odds the protagonists, David Gallegos (Se7en) Julian McLellan (Phat J, he's actually sorta fat) Michael Shea (Mikl) and Anthony Trujillo (Antz, who according to Wikipedia operates the fog machine?) have persevered in the face of overwhelming critical lambasting.  In fact they seem to feed off the barbs and slings thrown at them and flip the bird right back at ya'

Los Angeles Times music writer, August Brown is the authority on BC13, having actually written about them in serious tones that would suggest that they have some sort of redeeming value. Brown is a failed actor "who's ideal band would probably be Kraftwerk fronted by Nina Simone, with Dr.Dre as the 5th mensch machine" That's just his way of saying that he's weird in a strange way or strange in a weird way. 

On the subject of Brokencyde he writes, "This 'Albucrazy'-based band has done for MySpace emo what some think Soulja Boy did for hip-hop: turn their career into a kind of macro-performance art that exists so far beyond the tropes of irony and sincerity that to ask 'are they kidding?' is like trying to peel an onion to get to a perceived central core that, in the end, does not exist and renders all attempts to reassemble the pieces futile"

C'mon Man! dumb it down, macro performance my ass... these chuckleheads are as pre-fab as N-Sync or The Backstreet Boys. Brokencyde is Albuquerque's version of Menudo, just targeted at a slutty and sleazy pre-teen demographic that most boy bands stay clear of. 

Se7en, Mikl & Phat J didn't just stumble their way to success. They occupy a niche, deftly carved out by their management company. Brokencyde is a diabolical twist on an old formula, but they're only close approximations of the real thing, they ain't gangsta, they are wanksta.  

Expatriate 'Burque blogger Samara Alpern said about Brokencyde,  "This is you Albuquerque"  A thought somewhat echoed by August Brown. In effect they both imply that Brokencyde is merely a mirror that reflects who we are (or would wish to be) Maybe so, but they're not getting a key to the city from Mayor Marty Chavez (and yes!, he's always the Mayor)  

Sleaze Rock

This edition of Sleaze Rock breaks from the format, three videos so astonishingly bad, that a mere four lines can't contain them.

OMG! they killed Kenny!, no such luck, he's still alive, although Billy Squier should kill Kenny (Ortega) for flushing his career down the crapper with one epic video. Ortega (of High School, the musical fame) directed Squier's Rock me Tonite, which is often cited as the worst music video ever made.

Rasheeda is a thirty something female rapper who likes to get nasty. The YouTube comments were so good that I added nothing, the lyrics & comments speak for themselves. Sadly the best comments have been purged from YouTube.  As a matter of personal choice, I would prefer Kelis' Milkshakes to Rasheeda's masticated Bubblegum.

Last and certainly least, some random shirtless dudes totally screw the pooch with a cover of Sweet Child 'O Mine. The best part of the video is at the end, when the guitarist looks at his "band mate" as if to say "We fuckin' nailed it!" the drummer then gets up to turn off the video recorder and he has a look on his face that says "This one is a keeper!"

You know it!, keep making them and I'll keep slaying them... Sleaze Rock, there ain't nothing else like it! Durrrrr! Durrr!

Billy Squier "Rock Me Tonite",  Mike Kebler of Captiol Records called this "a whopping steaming turd" The fallout from this dayglo abortion, (directed by foppish choreographer Kenny Ortega) stopped Billy's career in its tracks and ripped  his manhood in under four minutes. Billy was caught a big off guard,  "When I saw the video, my jaw dropped. It was diabolical. I looked at it and went, “What the fuck is this?, I was a good looking sexy guy, but in this video I just look poofy"

Billy went on "It was traumatizing to me, but I had nothing against gays, I have a lot of gay friends" Turn off the waterworks Billy... you did go along with it. I mean, grown ass men don't crawl around on the floor and skip like a girl. Low lights include a pink wife beater worn ala Flash Dance and a pink guitar!! Damn You Kenny Ortega, you are diabolical!  Top You Tube comment: -This is what Richard Simmons has eternally been trying to channel,  Rush P

Rasheeda - My Bubble Gum, Top YouTube comments: "First things first, I 'sheeda mess around wit no man who won't eat her" "I'm the type of girl, you wanna chew under my bubble gum" "Rasheeda needs to sit her lame ass down and be a wife and baby momma .. i mean seriously bitch you rapping about bubble gum" ...  "got the good good, you wanna eat it like desert"  "So does he eat her "bubblegum" first then take her to his mama house?" "I wish my son would bring some trashy hoe like her to my house talkin bout her stale bubble gum. pfft...."    EyeCandeeeeeeee  

Guys Without Shirts- Sweet Child O' Mine, It starts out sounding like the Guns 'n Roses megahit,  Within seconds it degenerates into a crapfest that sounds like Capt. Beefheart and Wild Man Fischer gang raping a mechanical cat. You know how a boombox sounds like when the d-cells run low? These guys replicate that sound live. Without realizing it they enter into a new dimension of noise as art, as they deconstruct the pop/rock  idiom in ways that The Residents, Godz (NYC band), Beefheart or Zappa never dreamed of. 

As fucking horrendous as these guys are, you have to wonder about Ana Lucia C. or Chaassi as she calls herself, she uploaded the video to YouTube and  now 560,000 video views later, she's riding that mule till it drops. Her attempts to glam on to these poor suckas is the musical equivalent of rounding up a bunch of homeless guys and staging bum fights for the camera. No amount of Hail Marys will save you from the fires of hell now Chaassi! 

Old Gray Mule- Like A Apple On A Tree

 Old Gray Mule's new album "Like a Apple on a Tree" is where I'm headed to and I do apologize for taking the long-a-bout way of getting there.   This poppin' fresh collection comes  on the heels of OGM's second album, "Forty Nickels for a Bag of Chips"  which C.R. Humphrey recorded with drummer Kinney Kimbrough at Delta Recording Services in Como, Miss. .

"Like a Apple on a Tree" continues with the food metaphors, for reasons that I'm not privy to.  I did find out that the album title "Forty Nickels for a Bag of Chips" comes from Jon Spencer/ RL Burnside's collaborative album "A Ass Pocket of Whiskey" at one point Spencer is heard asking Burnside for "forty nickels for a bag of chips"

I also perused a review of "Forty Nickels for a Bag of Chips" written by Jim Caligiuri of the alternative weekly, Austin Chronicle.  Caligiuri sounds like he's  a contrarian and I realize that's a fashionable  thing  to be in the People's Republic of Austin.

He sums up the album by stating "One could argue whether this (the unrehearsed live takes) makes the results authentic or wankerific, only 10  tunes of repetitive guitar and drum riffs sans vocals settle the score by growing tiresome about halfway through"

Kudos to Jimmy  for working "wankerific" in there, probably been saving that one up since he stumbled upon it in the Hipster's  Dictionary.  Caligiuri sounds like a man who would wander into a juke joint and then complain to the management about the music being too loud. 

The repetitiveness is inherent in the North Mississippi hill country blues, it's a drone based  rhythm that elevates the listeners (or preferably dancers) into a trance like state of bliss.  It's the "Burnside Style" Mr. Jones, or maybe you didn't get that memo?  

As for "Forty Nickels for a Bag of Chips" making a damn good soundtrack for the movie adaptation of  a Larry Brown novel, my choice would be his unpublished manuscript about a man-eating bear terrorizing Yellowstone Park.  Starring Rutger Hauer with a shot gun... of course! 

The problem with alternative weekly  music writers is that they suffer from attention deficit disorder and  they  tend  to take on the solemn tones  of  folklorist, ethnomusicologist and archivist whenever they broach the subject of blues music. (Austin Powell of the Austin Chronicle being an exception to the rule)

 We have Alan Lomax, John Hammond Sr. and probably John Hammond Jr. to blame for all that.  "It's the blues, fellas it's not the solemnities of Epiphany and Ascension"  Climb on off your high horse and hit the dance floor, mufuggers

 Let's pop 20 D Energizers in the boombox and give  "Like a Apple on a Tree" a turn. 

Come On In – (RL Burnside cover) – featuring: Cedric Burnside - drums and vocals, CR Humphrey - guitar       C.R. does what he does best... lays down some brawny riffs with his beefed up Squire Telecaster. Cedric  (RL Burnside's grandson) is a propulsive and dynamic drummer, who for my money is one of the best  regardless of genres.  This is the title track off RL's 1998 album.  It's-a-meaty, beaty, big and bouncy.

Cotton Patch Disco – featuring: Snooks La Vie - harmonica and vocals, CR Humphrey - guitar and bass, Lightnin Malcolm - drums   An intriguing track for sure,  Snooks, the former lead singer for The Hiptones (who a writer described as "formidable - an oasis in an R&B drought called Australia") added his vocals and harmonica to the backing track all the way from Adelaide,  SA,  Australia. You'd think he was in studio, C.R.'s ties it together with some low key but gritty licks and that's some solid work on the drum kit by guitar virtuoso Lightnin Malcolm. 

Blue Front – featuring: CR Humphrey - guitar, Jason ‘JJ’ Wilburn - drums    A dose of Bentonia blues for ya'  The song title refers to The Blue Front Cafe in Bentonia MS., a historic  cinder block  juke joint on the Mississippi Blues Trail. It's owned by   blues musician Jimmy "Duck" Holmes. Nice meaty  tones from C.R.'s self described Franken-Tele,  or as C.R. puts it, "a telecaster I built out of parts" What parts? different parts!.... parts is parts.

Sexy Mufuggin Dance Party – featuring: CR Humphrey - guitar and bass, Lightnin Malcolm - drums    A rockin' Memphis style tune, C.R. does double duty on this track and he still  works  in  a nice impression of Duck Dunn on bass, if this don't make you dance, then you must've been declared dead. It's a tune that's tailor made for some Sugarfoot Hustlin' 

Break For Me – featuring: Lightnin Malcolm - vocals, CR Humphrey - guitars, Jason ‘JJ’ Wilburn - drums    Lightnin hands off the drum sticks to JJ Wilburn, this songs rolls out with a swagger that Jim Caligiuri would probably find downright intimidating. Someone should hawk this song to Kurt Sutter for the  Sons of Anarchy. Great vocals from Lightnin and C.R.'s Squire Telecaster spits out hot chords like an Ak-47 spits out spent shells. 

Thanksgiving – featuring: CR Humphrey - guitar and bass, Cedric Burnside - drums   I ain't going to lie to you, when Cedric plays the drums I get goosebumps. C.R. breaks out the amazing Guitbass again (my apologies to Junior Brown) this has all the uneasy energy of Thanksgiving  in the Eastern New Mexico oil patch,  where half of the guests are in the bathroom shooting meth and the  rest are working on each others last nerve.  "Pass me them rolls, you son of a bitch"

Someday Baby – (RL Burnside cover) – featuring: CW Ayon - drums and vocals, CR Humphrey - guitar   From R.L. Burnside's A Bothered Mind album, it's a great song  and my homeboy CW Ayon does it justice, Northern Mississippi Hill country blues meets Rio Grande Valley blues.  A tip of the hat to CW, this certainly isn't an easy song to sing.  That's some tuff guitar from C.R., that's tuff as in "cool, in a rugged wrong-side-of-the-tracks way" (thank you S.E. Hinton)

Issaquena – featuring: CR Humphrey - guitar and bass, Lightnin Malcolm - drums    This song  has kicked around a bit, it was also included on the "Forty Nickels" album and there may be another version out there. Issaquena County, Ms.  the birthplace of Muddy Waters, more folks are stuck in a one mile stretch of Los Angeles freeway traffic than live in the entire county (1,400) For some reason this song reminds me of Jimi Hendrix's Peace in Mississippi, maybe it's the geetar. 

Standin There Cryin’ – featuring: Snooks La Vie - harmonica and vocals, CR Humphrey - guitars, Dave Sims, Jr - drums  Wicked verging on evil vocals from Snooks, there's an underlying sense of malice to this song that would make it perfect for the motion picture adaptation of  Frank Bill's "Crimes in Southern Indiana Stories" starring  Rutger Hauer with a shotgun.... of course!  "Pulled the hammer back and she said please don't kill me baby"

Banda de Gypsies – featuring: CR Humphrey - guitar, CW Ayon - drums  Jimi Hendrix's Machine Gun, in a chingon Hill Country style. "Well, I pick up my axe and fight like a farmer, but  I play guitar like a gawd dang Texas Ranger" never could understand what Jimi was singing.  You can always tell just how good a guitarist is by how well he plays Hendrix.  C.R. passes muster and then some, CW when he's not having to play drums, guitar and sing all at the same time, is a bad ass drummer. 

I don't know about ya'll, but I'm still hungry for more... but damn! if my D-cells haven't run out of juice, before I head down to Dollar Tree to demand 20 D-Energizers mufuggers! let me wrap this up. 

Now we've come full circle, with the hill country blues the past is every bit as important as the present.  A new generation of bluesmen have sprouted forth from the flood plains, hill country and beyond. Youngbloods ready, able and worthy of carrying on the legacy of R.L. Burnside and Junior Kimbrough  

Never mind Muscle Shoals, the swampers are pickin' you up when you're feelin' blue, right in Central Texas. Old Gray Mule's "Like a Apple on a Tree" is top effort for what the Austin Chronicle calls "Mississippi thunder and Lightnin’ with Lockhart shit-kickers"  These are songs ready made for a night on Greasy Street, but what would they know about that? 

Oral tradition was vital to the spread of the blues in the 1930s, and that still hasn't changed. Facebook, Twitter and the internet are nothing more than an updated version of "word of mouth" Put these words in your mouth, go forth and spread the gospel.

Old Gray Mule is C.R. Humphrey of Lockhart, Tx. "BBQ capital of the World!" 

 

Old Gray Mule is NOW ACCEPTING PRE-ORDERS

Like a Apple on a Tree is available for purchase and download right now!  Hard copies won't be out until Nov. 9th.  Preview tracks and pre-order at http//www.oldgraymule.com/ or go to Old Gray Mule's Facebook page and click on the new album link. 

Death By Misadventure- Robert Johnson

Both Johnsons' (Tommy & Robert) implied association with the devil, may have been an early, though rather crude attempt at self marketing. Controversy equals curiosity which results in more paying customers.  The concept of meeting up with the devil at the crossroads was borne of Yoruba pantheon. Papa Legba is a horned spirit associated with Haitian and Southern  voodoo.  Legba opens and closes doorways and serves as the voice of God. Papa Legba also facilitates communication, speech & understanding. 

Both Papa Legba and Ellegua are known as the gods or guardians of the crossroads. Thus grew the legend of "going down to the crossroads to make a pact with the devil" Blues scholars would have you believe that when African Americans in the South spoke of "selling  their soul to the devil" that they meant something other than the Satanic version that we know so well.  Maybe so, but as a church going man that he once was, I bet that Robert Johnson had the horned red devil holding a pitchfork in mind as he composed his lyrics. 

 "I got to keep moving, I got to keep moving,

 Blues falling down like hail"

The Mississippi Delta was and is the cradle of American blues, a flat bottom nebulae that gave birth to the Hill country blues of Mississippi, the deep blues, the Delta Blues.  The  blue  devils of melancholy and sadness are never far away  and if you've lived your life with demons  nipping at your heels or with hell hounds chasing after your scent, then you're well versed on the subject.

The blues musicians were shrouded in mystery, swallowed up by their obscure circumstances and surroundings. Juke  joint messiahs howling deep into the Mississippi night. The music continues  to  live,  even as the musicians have returned to the soil that spawned them.

Son House played a National resonator guitar using  a 3/4" copper pipe as a slide. He would glide the slide across the  fretted  strings with a frantic energy,  alternating between gentle picking and slashing effortless strumming.  Charlie Patton deftly interjected spoken word passages around his slurred vocals without missing a beat.  It's said that his  voice could project five hundred feet without amplification.

Tommy Johnson was a raging alcoholic, so addicted to drinking methanol from cans of Sterno that he wrote and sang about it "I woked up a-this mo'nin with canned heat on my mind" The song "Canned Heat Blues" is a vivid portrait of a sick and desperate man. When there was no whiskey to be had, Tommy would also drink shoe polish filtered through a piece of bread Tommy  Johnson cultivated an evil persona,  often hinting that he had "sold his soul to the devil" in return for a wealth of talent, most likely he sold his soul for a bottle of whiskey.

"I went down to the crossroads and fell down on my knees,

 asked the Lord up above for mercy, save poor Bob if you please." 

Robert Johnson (no relation to Tommy) fostered a similar image. Johnson was the most influential of all the Delta blues musicians and if he made a pact with Ol'Scratch in return for fame and fortune, he got screwed in the process. Fame never came for Robert Johnson until long after he had paid the Devil his due. As described by Son House, Robert Johnson was  a  mediocre musician who suddenly channeled his meager talents and became the best there ever was.

Son  House, who knew Johnson as a boy said that he "was a competent harmonica player  but  an embarrassingly bad guitarist" That would change once he hooked up with Ike Zimmerman,  an obscure musician rumored to have learned his guitar technique by playing in graveyards while sitting on a tombstone at midnight.  After a few trips to the graveyard with Zimmerman, Robert Johnson was suddenly possessed with an unearthly talent.  Johnson supposedly said that   they preferred to practice in the graveyard, so as not to bother anyone.

A churchified  man at first, Johnson set out to do things the right way, he married  Caletta Craft in May 1931 and  settled down in Clarksdale, Ms. Caletta is said to have died during childbirth while Johnson was on the road playing music. Her family condemned him  for playing "the devil's music" and blamed him indirectly for her death. He abandoned all attempts at living a normal life and took to the road as an itinerant musician. Whether or not, this  led  him to associate himself with the devil in his music or enter into a Faustian bargain is up for debate.

 "Early this morning,  when you knocked upon my door

 and I said hello Satan, I believe it's time to go"

While performing at the Three Forks Store in Quito, Ms. according to a statement from David "Honeyboy" Edwards, who was there with Johnson. Robert drank from a jug of corn liquor placed near him by the barkeeper (the woman's husband?)  He immediately took ill and was transported to nearby Greenwood, Ms. where he lingered near death for three days. His suffering was immense as he was wracked with convulsions up until the moment of death. It remains a mystery as to what type of poison was used.

The symptoms and prolonged agony would discount theories that strychnine was used. (it has an odor and taste too strong to mask, a large dose would kill a man within a few hours) "Robert loved whiskey and women and some women you got to leave alone, you know what I mean?" declared David  "Honeyboy"  Edwards, his traveling companion and friend.  Robert Johnson cultivated women the way a farmer  cultivates his crops.  He had any number of women that would take him in when he was traveling. 

Musicologist Robert "Mack" McCormick claims to have interviewed the man who poisoned Johnson and that he confessed to the deed, however he didn't name the man or offer any type of proof.  "This man had a good looking woman, and he didn't want to lose her. And  Robert was about to take her away," says Honeyboy Edwards. He also tried  to  warn Robert about drinking from unsealed bottles offered as gifts. "Don't you ever knock a bottle of whiskey out of my hands!" Johnson had told him. 

"You may bury my body ohhhh down by the highway side, 

so my ole evil spirit can catch a greyhound bus and ride"

The following transcription was published in Mother Jones, part of  an article by Joe Kloc titled "Fact-checking the Life and Death of Bluesman Robert Johnson" It's mostly conjecture and speculation told in a cheesy, offhanded manner, but there is a gripping account  supposedly from Robert's own mother as  related to musicologist  Alan Lomax. 

"When I went in where he at, he layin up in bed with his guitar crost his breast. Soon’s he saw me, he say, "Mama, you all I been waitin for." "Here," he say, and give me his guitar. "Take and hang this thing on the wall, cause I done pass all that by. That what got me messed up, Mama. It’s the devil's instrument, just like you said. And I don’t want it no more." And he died while I was hangin his guitar on the wall. “Some wicked girl or her boyfriend had give him poison and wasn no doctor in the world could save him, so they say."

There's also an unfounded rumor that  Johnson got up out of his deathbed on all fours and started howling, a sign some people saw as evidence that he had made a pact with the devil.  Johnson died in a Greenwood shotgun shack (109 Young Street), as if the subject of  some dark blues song, he was laid out on the cooling board, possibly covered in an indigo blue shroud  and  was buried in the Mt. Zion churchyard in an unmarked grave.

  

Later, his body was dug up (at the bequest of his sister) and  re-interred at Mt. Payne  graveyard near Quito. (the Johnson family plot) Another account says that he was buried under a pecan tree at the Little Zion cemetery in Greenwood.  Today, the exact location of his grave in unknown. Three different markers have been placed at the grave sites mentioned. It appears that even in death Robert Johnson had to keep on movin' in order to throw off the hell hounds on his trail. 

This edition of Death by Misadventure is an offshoot of the prep work I've been doing for a review of Old Gray Mule's new album " "Like a Apple on a Tree"  It started out as an introduction but it grew all out of proportion.  This is nothing more than a primer, nothing that hasn't been written before. I can't really explain it, but I think the devil made me do it.

Old Gray Mule is NOW ACCEPTING PRE-ORDERS! PREVIEW TRACKS AND PRE-ORDER on the website http://www.oldgraymule.com/ or contact C.R. Humphrey at 512/227-4515 or theoldgraymule@gmail.com      Old Gray Mule's  homebase is in Lockhart Tx, BBQ capital of the world, 28 miles southeast of Austin.

Sleaze Rock

a mixed bag of sleaze, these purveyors of bad taste show us that sleaze crosses over into all genres of music



This Sleaze Rock special is Pitbull - Hotel Room Service.  Pitbull, does this thing where he arches one eyebrow and smirks, that in a nutshell is what he does.  He can't sing, rap or dance for shit and yet this human floater pops up everywhere. That recent Walmart  ad campaign (Let's send Pitbull to Kodiak,Ak!) was as fake as Joe Arpaio's hair.   Top YouTube Comment: 99% porn 1% music  0% hair   Arda Kilic



This Sleaze Rock specials is Girl Gone Wild (Remix) by Madonna. Flamboyant homos sans chemise (actually Ukranian boy-band Kazaky) and enough gay imagery to make Don Cathy spit out his Chik Fil A milkshake and touch himself in an inappropirate manner.  I'm in total agreement when she sings "I know I shouldn't act this way" the old skeezer should act her age. Top YouTube Comment: Gays gone wild with a tranny granny  GeeZe Madii



This Sleaze Rock special is "Disrepect" which pairs up Dutch hardstyle DJs, Headhunterz (Willem Regergen) and Psyko Punkz (Sven Sieperda & Wietse Amersfoort) The homophobic slurs are disgusting and their phony gangsta posturing ain't fooling anyone. Hardstyle is the Euro version of the dubstep beats that we've grown to hate so much. Top YouTube Comment:  i fucking hate skrillex, and i listen to headhunterz a shit load    Ginger O Packy



This Sleaze Rock special is Jars Of Clay's Five Candles (You Were There), tis'  bland, innocuous generic Christian rock that you be wanting? From the album "Much Afraid" based on Hannah Hurnard's  allegorical  novel , "Hind Feet on High Places" Not much to be afraid of, these boys are harmless (though pretentious as fuck) Top YouTube comment: This is a song about a really crappy parent  Miss Tam65

Empire of Dirt

In 1992 one of my regular stops during the "pre-digital downloads" music era was to the Sound Warehouse located on San Mateo between Menaul and I-40.  Their selection was shit, the clerks were elitist music snobs and the store reeked of desperation (with good reason) Within a year Sound Warehouse was history, swallowed up by Blockbuster and transformed into Blockbuster Music, resplendent in all its trashy corporate trappings. (as if Sound Warehouse wasn't)

It was Empire Records  playing out in real life, minus that pussy Rory Cochrane who made that movie so unwatchable.  I continued to make regular trips to the store after the rebranding, same pricks behind the counter, just wearing a different corporate logo. My only real reason for going there was to pick up a copy of  a free music tabloid that nobody else in town carried.  For the life of me, I can't remember the name of the publication or who wrote for it, with one sole exception... Ivo.

It was a well produced, pseudo fanzine in the style of Greg Shaw's Phonograph Record magazine (which was copying Rolling Stone) that he edited for United Artists in the early 1970s. For in-house publishing, offering in-house branding this newcomer was quite good.  Although the writers were on the payroll of either CBS or Columbia Records it didn't stop them from being profane, sarcastic, witty or funny. The album reviews were slightly acerbic, at times mean spirited and yet right on the money. 

They steered clear of the mainstream and were hip to all the latest happenings on the  grunge and industrial metal  scene. The staff whether by design or not, championed the  British shoegazer shit that was coming out back then, and pushed it on the masses like crack (which was also quite popular at the time) There was a coolly affected irreverence to their writing that said  "Fuck You! multinational conglomerate that bankroll us, we do what we like" so, it  was just a matter of time before the corporate powers pulled the plug. 

The best writer on the staff was Ivo, a style transcending writer, who was equal parts Creem era Lester Bangs, Phast Phreddie of Backdoor Man and Legs McNeil of Punk Magazine. Ivo was usually right on the money, Fudge Tunnel-Creep Diets, Manic Street Preachers- Gold Against His Soul, Suede-Suede, Swerdriver- Mezcal Head. Ivo went off the beaten path with his recommendations, The Obsessed, Royal Trux, Pavement and a band nobody had caught on to just yet, Green Day. 

Naturally, everything they reviewed or featured was accompanied by a multitude of adverts.  For all their 'tude, they were corporate tools, but I didn't care. In early 1994, having picked up the latest issue, an article caught my attention, "Farewell  Ivo" it said.  Upon further perusal, I discovered that it was essentially an obituary. "We bid farewell  to our close friend and colleague Ivo, who flew off into the sunset piloting his attack helicopter over the desert sands of Iraq"

So, I was to believe that Ivo was a reservist, a gunship pilot at that, who had been called to duty to enforce the no-fly zones over Basra & Kurdistan? No more information was forthcoming  and shortly after, Blockbuster Music stopped carrying the publication. I didn't know what to think, but it didn't sound right. As an avid news hound, I would buy and read up to five newspapers every day, there was no mention of a U.S. attack helicopter having gone down. 

The few issues that were saved up  became templates for a handful of album reviews, music critiques and failed  proto-zines that I wrote and tossed away in disgust.  My heart wasn't in it, my writing was little more than an Ivo rehash.  I abandoned every issue of that obscure tabloid in some shitty apartment that I fled just ahead of the sheriff who was coming to evict me (I had several outstanding warrants) 

Who was Ivo and what happened to him? Many links and Google searches later and I still don't have a clue. I imagine that he was a hard wired, intense guy who sported tribal ink and zubaz long before that became a cartoonish stereotype.  I could be wrong, after all for years, I actually thought that Capt America (Albuquerque's iconic zinester) was a grumpy old guy who wore a bandanna, smoked Lucky Strikes and lurked around clubs. 

I've surmised that Ivo was either a composite character created by the staff or a real person, who saw the handwriting on the wall and bailed on the publication. Either way, when they killed off Ivo, it was in an honorable fashion, a Viking's funeral and the entire tabloid soon followed him into oblivion. With the world wide web, there is no longer a need for in-house publications. If Ivo is still alive, you can be certain he has a music blog. 

Every writer has his reasons for writing, for me it's as necessary and vital as oxygen. A writer feels better about himself (or herself) if someone, i.e. anyone, reads what they write, although not having an audience isn't a deal breaker.  Writing for a blog is like having a baby in the house, it must be fed and nurtured. Feeding and caring for a blog can become a chore, there are times when writing becomes a burden and it starts to feel like an obligation. 

You just don't go Mike Vick on something that you love. Nor can I bring myself to abandon Dirt City Chronicles and let it wither on the vine (i.e. Luna Explorer) Thankfully, none of that is really necessary, for there's another option.... syndication! There's over 200 posts in the Dirt City Chronicles archives, why not make like I Love Lucy and repost the hell out of them?

Dirty City Chronicles as its name implies is a throwback to a time when people would read more than a handful of words at one time. The small pond of readers is drying up, internet browsing habits have changed, Twitter is now the dominant force. As strange as it sounds, thanks to texting and twittering, reading is no longer in vogue. So, what does one do when they don't feel the love? I've pondered this for the past month.

The times they are-a-changing and I prefer to change with them.  The irony is that in my quest to find Ivo, I've become Ivo.  So, is it time to kill Ivo? Perhaps a sudden deployment to Afghanistan during which he's last seen hiking into the Hindu Kush  with a backpack full of hashish? LOL! Fucking Ivo gives the brass the bird, pops Tool's Undertow into his Sony Walkman and strolls off into the mist. In heaven everday is Feb. 1st. 1995. 

Just like a redneck who throws a sofa & mattress out by the dumpster and then raises hell and calls the cops when some welfare momma stops to claim them (true story) There's a twofold  method to my madness, re- posting allows me time to watch and write about football while getting the Google Plus masses caught up on Dirt City Chronicles with  some of that funky old cheese. Once the auto-pilot is engaged, Dirt City Chronicles will be in a holding pattern.

Rerun: Femme Fatale/ Lorraine Lewis

Femme Fatale

 Femme Fatale blasted out of Albuquerque, quickly landing a record deal with MCA.  They would sell 200,000 copies of their debut album, the videos for "Waiting For The Big One" and "Falling In and Out of Love" received massive airplay on MTV. Then just as rapidly it all fell apart and the band dissolved.  Femme Fatale  was best known for the big voice, big hair and sex appeal of lead singer Lorraine Lewis (former lead singer for Babe Ruthless) who along with  her brother Rick Rael and guitarist Mazzi Rawd (that's a great 80's metal name) added Bill D'Angelo and Bobby Murray (both from Durtie Blonde) to form the band. (with D'Angelo replacing original member Michael Downey.)

Is was all about sexual innuendo, as Lewis sang about, "The Big One" "My Baby's Gun" or begged for some of that "Touch and Go" (what the hell does that even mean?) Lewis played the heavy metal rocker chick, but her stage persona and vocals were more Tina Turner meets Pat Benatar. Even by 1988 standards, they were cheesier than a can of Cheese Whiz, and between them they used enough hairspray to totally damage the ozone. But Femme Fatale received more airplay and recognition than any Albuquerque band ever had, it wasn't until The Shins hit the scene that anyone would match or surpass their success

Lorraine Lewis

Lorraine Lewis was the face of Femme Fatale, Albuquerque's aborted big time glam metal band. It would probably be safe to say that many of that band's fans were drawn to it, not so much by the music, but rather by Lorraine's sex appeal. Femme Fatale and Lewis did not shy away from dishing out the sexual innuendo, the comely Ms. Lewis had her slutty schtick down pat and the guys just ate it up. Yeah, her milk shakes got the boys to the yard...making her the fantasy queen of many a wet dream in the process. 

It was mostly an act, Lewis was not the rough and ready rocker chick that she played. In fact on stage she was more Tina Turner than anything else. Just think Tina as the Acid Queen in the movie version of The Who's Tommy but dressed in denim, lace and black leather. Her vocals were somewhere between Tina Turner and Pat Benatar without the power or range of either one. 

However from the start her looks if not her voice took her beyond  the ordinary. Lorraine Lewis had grown up in Albuquerque and cut her teeth playing the local bar circuit with Babe Ruthless. From there she teamed up with her brother Rick and they put together the group of musicians that became Femme Fatale. They moved to Hollywood and almost landed the big 'un, thanks mostly to the rock press' instant love affair with Lorraine. 

Ultimately, the band was flawed and after just one fairly successful album they broke apart faster than a Yugo.  What happened? the success of the first album was enough to warrant another two albums and a few rounds of touring. Lorraine offered an explanation in an interview with a Spanish metal music 'zine "The days of the big hair metal bands were finished, it was all about timing." Their label MCA felt that they had peaked after just one album, and the band was cut loose.

Lorraine stepped away from the music scene for a few years after that. In 2000 she returned as part  of Snowball, which was a messy mash-up of styles: metal, growling vocals, soft indie pop and electronic beats, all thrown together and mixed with loud guitars. Two years later she came out with her first truly solo album, "Lorraine Lewis", which lo and behold was a country album. Lorraine tried to explain the sudden departure from her rock foundations: "  "It's a little bit country, a little bit rock n' roll, I was born and raised in Albuquerque New Mexico and I love music with a twang, I used to listen to Linda Ronstadt and Lynyrd Skynrd." It was an all out effort by Lewis to crossover to the country market, but nobody was buying it, the album got decent reviews but sold poorly.  With Lorraine's initial dreams of country stardom dashed, she teamed up with country rocker, Tonya Watts to form Betty Sue on the Strip, which sounds like a musical version of Thelma and Louise, with a much happier ending of course. 

Lorraine Lewis is "Gypsy Femme", while Tonya Watts is "The Calibama Kid" together they go searching for their Hollywood dreams. Lorraine is a rocker who secretly dreams of being a country girl. Tonya is a country girl who dreams of livin' the rock and roll life style. It might've made a good sitcom on Fox but it came up craps when the Dixie Chicks stole all their thunder.  Not one to give up, Lorraine then teamed up with Jan Buckingham in the aptly named country chix duo, BuckinghamLewis. Lorraine's quest for a crossover to country was hampered by one small but significant detail, she was not a country singer!  Though raised in Albuquerque, her twang is not genuine, her country is not cool and she winds up sounding like what she is, a rock vocalist aping country vocals. 

Lorraine came to her senses in 2009 when she teamed up with former Vixen's drummer Roxy Petrucci to form the unfortunately named Roktopuss.  Lorraine has never been that subtle when it comes to sex, after all, she was the one who was Waiting for the Big One. Roktopuss is as subtle as a frying pan to the head, and that also describes the music the two produced. That's not to say it was bad, it's actually pretty good retro heavy metal, too bad it's not 1988 all over again. Roxy Petrucci was an "on again/off again" member of Vixen, an all female metal band from St. Paul, Minnesota. Their biggest claim to fame was an appearance in Penelope Spheeris' film "The Decline of Western Civilization II: The Metal Years" Vixen was signed by EMI and scored a hit with "Edge of a Broken Heart" a song written and arranged by Richard Marx. In 2010 Lewis hit the unemployment lines and put together a band made up of castoffs from bands long gone. 

The very unfortunately named L.A. Nookie consists of  Lewis on vocals, Alex Kane on guitar (U.K. band AntiProduct) guitarist Lisa Leveridge (Courtney Love/Hole) Share Pedersen, bassist (Vixen) and Jeff Bowders a drummer she found at Trader Joe's.  It seems that Lorraine's reasoning behind the band's name is "Sex Sells" and if you beat the public over the head with sex it'll sell more. Lorraine Lewis has firmly established herself as a heavy metal icon, and at the age of 52 she still has the looks, although now she's more gilf than milf.  I don't care, flaunt it if you got it...hmm!...I wonder if she's still up for some of that Touch and Go?