Once in a rare moon I get together with some good friends for what we refer to as “Man Night”. Translation: a night without girlfriends or wives. It also means a chance to play DJ — two turn tables and a mixing board. Showtime.

Picking out the records is always fun — yet stressful. That’s because every song counts. And keeping within the spirit of competitive male bonding — someone always wins.

Throughout the week, I’m making out my set list with the hope that I will impress all my buddies with a rare Pretty Things LP or some out-of-print Badfinger album I picked up for $3 at a flea market in Maine. Phrases like: “Hey man, who is this?” or “Can I see the liner notes?” earn big points. Excessive talking during your set about other bands people are currently listening to is a bad sign.

It was on one of those nights a few years back that I came in contact with Chubby Checker’s psychedelic album, New Revelation. I don’t recall the name Chubby Checker ever conjuring thoughts of greatness, just “The Twist”. Before he slapped the album on the record player a fellow competitor declared: “This album isn’t what you think. After this, you will never again think of Chubby Checker as the dancing clod from American Bandstand.”

Initially, I was skeptical, and exclaimed, “I don’t know, dude. Chubby Checker is definitely not cool.”

Then he hit play and the song “Goodbye Victoria” erupted. That’s when I apologized. “I should have never doubted you,” I said.

The first track was a stirring groove that slapped me in the face with cool water, and then Chubby:  “We’ll be in heaven. In the light of day,” I don’t fully understand why this song is so good. There are organ solos that merge into piano interludes. Chubby’s voice is deep and powerful. Everything fits together in a room where nothing makes sense.

During the chorus, Chubby talks a little more about Victoria. He says, “Goodbye Victoria. Everyone is going to the moon.” That’s deep.

Either way, I like it. I don’t necessarily get it — but I sure as shit dig it. So here’s to Chubby. And here’s to “Man Night”. And here’s to you.

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How about VH1 Classics? I can’t get enough of the show Classic Albums, and was recently turned onto Deep Purple’s 1971 LP, Machinehead.

Since then I’ve been moving steadily through the early Deep Purple catalog, and have to say they are one of the coolest sounding rock/blues/heavy metal bands I never listened to. Damn, was I missing out. Tunes like Lazy, Space Cowboy, and Into the Fire have hooks that send me into a zone of unbalanced clarity. I love that that there is still so much undiscovered greatness out there. Half the fun is the chase.

Classic Albums is the perfect show to gain a quick peek into the inner workings of producing an album. The best part of the show is when they take you behind the sound board, while band members detail their recollections about about the making of a particular song. For example, I never knew the story behind “Smoke on the Water” and always had this more or less nauseated opinion of the song. The reality is it’s an interesting story about a fire at a hotel where the band was recording. Also, Richie Blackmore’s hooks on that song are far more complex than Joey GuitarHero thinks.Subtle nuances like that, along with a healthy dose of the rock, keep the casual listener like myself extremely engaged.

There aren’t too many quality TV shows out there — so it’s nice to come across a bit of media that puts a smile on this guy’s face.

Hey, have you ever heard of Fugazi? They’re a really cool band and I think you will like them a lot.

Here are several reasons why this song transcends the garbage heap:
1) The dual vocals of Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto.

2) When Mackaye says “outrage”.

3) The lyrics are a wake up call. I’m not much for political rants. But I have always made the exception when it comes to Fugazi. I don’t know why. It must be because they are an amazing fucking band. And is someone rallying me to “Do it now” — behind the support of ripping guitars and the snap of a snare drum — such a bad thing anyway?

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I’m about half-way through the John Joseph memoir, The Evolution of a Cro-Magnon, and have to say it is one of the most powerful stories of struggle and resilience I have ever had the joy of experiencing. Here is a man who overcame more by the time he was 10-years-old than I will in my lifetime. I wish I had a teacher like John Joseph in 10th grade, instead of that wang, Mr. Parky, who yelled at me for speaking out of turn.

I just finished a section in which John talked about when FEAR played SNL in ‘81. “With that Fear broke into ‘Beef Bologna’ and I hit the stage, launching out over the crowd in perfect stage dive form,” said Joesph. Fear is one of the best punk bands of all time, and this performance encapsulates a time we will most likely never see repeated on mainstream television. See it for yourself. Ian Mackaye was also in the audience.

via videosift.com

“Some days are better than others — this just happens to be one of those days.”
–Some guy I overheard on the subway

Here we go with Episode 4. This show is about getting by; I hope it helps.

Ryan, this one is for you, brother.

The Story:

Title: “Falling”
Artist: Kill Your Idols
From:This is Just the Beginning e.p.

Title: “Not Alone”
Artist: Krupted Peasant Farmerz
From: Everything Seems OK (collection)

Title: “Don’t Wanna Die In My Sleep Tonight”
Artist: La Peste
From: Better Off La Peste

Title: “Politics in America”
Artist: Bill Hicks
From:Philosophy - The Best of Bill Hicks

Title: “La Madres Lloran”
Artist: Los Crudos
From: discography 1991–1995 Los Primeros Gritos

Title: “Hi Pro Glow”
Artist: Dillinger Four
From: This Shite is Genius

Title: “The Ledge”
Artist: Paint it Black
From:New Lexicon

Title: “Sluttering (May 4th)
Artist: Jawbreaker
From: Dear You

Title: “Down in Flames”
Artist: The Dead Boys
From: Young, Loud, & Snotty

Title: “Goodie the Rat”
Artist: Fivehead
From: Guests of the Nation

Title: “Hyperventilate”
Artist: Pollen
From: Peach Tree

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There is something unnerving about the way people treat one another in NYC. The only way to experience it is to live here for awhile. I remember when I was 17 or 18 and I was at a show at 404 Willis, a hole-in-the-wall anarcho punk den in Detroit’s Cass Corridor. Somehow my friend and I got in a conversation with this guy, Rat, in an alley close to the show. Rat was the real deal, and we were angry youth from the suburbs. Anyway, we were talking with Rat, and after throwing a brick through the window of an abandoned Escort, he  mentioned that he lived in New York for awhile. He went on to say that it was the worst experience of his life. He said living on that “scumshit infested island” left him feeling dirty as a toothless bum. That wasn’t saying much. Rat didn’t smell much better than the lingering aura of urine billowing through the corridor.

At the time, I was a huge fan of the New York hardcore scene. Shit, who wasn’t? I had a dubbed copy of the “Where The Wild Things Are” comp on constant repeat in my car. I couldn’t get enough of bands like Underdog, Bold, Killing Time, and of course — The Cro-Mags, who are responsible for the greatest hardcore album of all time “Age of Quarrel”.

Digression: I’m hoping at this very moment some kid chewing on a vegan Popsicle is reading this and thinking something like, “Actually, my man, — SSD’s ‘Get It Away’ EP is a far superior release.” That’s the problem with making affirmations like, “Melon is throwing the greatest party ever ..” because there is always going to be some schmuck out there ready to knock you off your block and show you up.

Even though Rat wasn’t a big fan of NYC he spoke adamantly of his love for the NYHC scene. He talked about how the singer from Sick of It All, Lou, was a real nice guy.  “I crashed on Lou’s floor for 2-nights. That dude is a real bro.” He talked about how tight knit the hardcore community was, and how even though the Lower East Side was a wasteland of drug addicts and poverty — “The hardcore kids always had my back,” Rat explained.

That night after the show, I went home and cued up “Age of Quarrel” on my turntable and was instantly transported to the streets of NYC. My boots were laced up, and I was walking down Avenue D ready for whatever came my way. And when the second tune “World Peace” kicked in I listened intently as vocalist John Joseph barreled through the lines “world peace can not exist”. I thought about how living on the streets of ’80s NYC might have even led a sociopath like Rat to carry a pessimistic outlook about NYC. For some twisted reason I was intrigued and wanted to see what it was like for myself. Kids imagine all kinds of stuff when they’re laying in their beds staring up at a ceiling filled with flyers for the upcoming Feisty Cadaver’s show at Blondies.

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One of the first hardcore albums that I couldn’t get enough of was “Start Today”. I still remember sitting at the kitchen table writing Revelation records a letter, thanking them for putting out an album that spoke exactly to what I needed to hear. It was as if the dudes in the band knew every pain ailing my 15-year-old mind. To this day, I am always happy when a GB tune pops up on shuffle.

My letter went something like this:

Dear Rev Records,

You guys put out the coolest music. The Gorilla Bisquits are the best band ever. All I want to do is listen. This album rules my life. Enclosed is a check for 15 bucks, my ma is good for it. Can I get the green hoodie and also maybe a few stickers. Tell the guys in GB that they better come play Detroit real soon. I hope you know this music really helps.

Thanks alot,
–d

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I imagine when Bob Dylan sang this tune at the famous Cafe Wha? on Macdougal Street that many a woman approached him later that night at the bar. They may have said something like, “Hi Bob, will you take me home? You don’t even have to sleep with me — we can just hold each other.”

Or perhaps one of the gentelemen smoking a corn cob pipe and wearing a knit hat approached him sheepishly and said, “Uh, hey man, that line about living in a dream. Well, I know what you’re talking about, and sometimes I feel that way too.”

Here’s to yesterday.

Rorschach’s cover of King Crimson’s 21^st Century Schizoid Man is, in this writer’s opinion, one of the all-time greatest covers in the annals of popular and underground music for the past 40 years. Although other heavy bands have covered this song, (Entombed, Voivod, April Wine?!) no version has the stripped naked immediacy that Rorschach brings to the basement with acetylene torch and coat hanger in hand. Beginning with the authoritative/hilarious sound-bite of the Man lecturing on top of overdriven whine, the twin guitars drop a Mossberg pump and confidently steer the riff like a steam roller over hot asphalt, massive, deliberate and smoldering.

The overall production of the record is what really kills. The guitars are massive, static sails, swamping the sonic real estate in place of horns and keys and screws the buzztone rigging to the deck. When compared to the original song which had some attempts at experimental production (telephone vocals etc.) updated technology raises the violence with Charles Maggio’s distorted vocals sounding as though being screamed through a gag from behind a false panel. The lyrics as a front-runner of intelligence in rock based music still hold massive relevance in painting a dark picture of a megalomaniac and Maggio’s delivery burns the slightly “camp” skin of Greg Lake clean off.

The ending / outro / breakdown itself steers clear of trying to keep up with the jazzy histrionics of the original. This is a smart move not because Rorschach is not talented enough, (they are), but because to mimic the original would pander to it like a hessian in a cover band pining to learn a Stevie Ray Vaughn solo note for note. Instead, Rorschach plows their own path and tracks along without all the fancy dress and self-importance. This provides a brooding, disjointed atmosphere just before the final swing on arguably one of the greatest, heaviest riffs in rock music’s lexicon.

–P. Torque

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I want to welcome a new contributing writer, Peter Torque, to the Five Minute Convo family. Torque is a good pal that brings a wealth of experience to the table, and he also cooks a mean ass turkey chili.

In order to put food on his plate, Torque spends his days as a freelance journalist. He has worked for various publications such as Spin, Rolling Stone, Juxtapoz, Maxim and Sports Illustrated. “Reading Torque is like taking a trip through the Prado on ten hits of Crank.” says one of his long-time readers, Eddie Spank.

In his spare time, Torque enjoys buying jeans that are too tight, getting trendy tattoos, drinking PBR and riding the crappiest bicycle he can find. So. let’s all welcome ole’ Torque to the Convo, and come back later to read his first post.