Bostworld

About a year ago, I discovered a post on the Anti-Snob blog entitled “Because I Wasn’t There,” written by Will Tynor, aka Vil Vodka. Professing an odd outsider’s obsession with the late ’70s Phoenix punk rock scene (he didn’t actually move to town until 1988), Will set out to document those early years using whatever second-hand info he could find. Naturally, Will’s article stirred up my own memories, and it was all the excuse I needed to fish out some of my own ephemera from those days.

Perhaps my most cherished keepsake from back then is a beat up old cassette containing a live show from 1977 by three guys who used to call themselves The Liars. They were just some older guys from another high school who decided to put on thrift store sunglasses and take up instruments they didn’t play very well. But they were also the first “real” punk rock I ever heard, and though it seems like a stupid notion thirty years later, the Liars may have changed my life.

My friends and I first got to know John “John E. Precious” Vivier through our relentless search for a good pot connection. I no longer remember who introduced us, but it turned out that John not only had a taste for the good bud, but he and his pals also were into the same music we liked: cool obscure (for Phoenix, at least) groups like King Crimson, Gong, Eno and Kraftwerk. John’s band at the time was the Heavy Metal Frogs, a progressive sort of proto-punk noise outfit that would pound out abrasive renditions of “Helter Skelter” and “20th Century Schizoid Man.” They played at my high school once, but of course the students hated it. In fact, when they played one night at a local desert “boondocker,” John received a severe beating from one of our drunken redneck classmates who did not appreciate this “faggot” music.

To be honest, most of my friends hated it too. They preferred their good old Grateful Dead, Yes, Zappa or Crosby Stills Nash & Young. But I loved punk rock the minute I heard it, especially Los Angeles groups the Germs and the Dils, and of course the Sex Pistols. But it was John’s new group, the Liars — featuring John on guitar, Don Bolles on bass and Dale Smith on drums — that really got my blood flowing. They were the first band that really spoke my language. I don’t suppose you’d hear it any more, the passing of time having made what was so special about them commonplace now. But thirty years ago, their covers of Leif Garrett’s “That’s Rock And Roll” and Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” played with such nihilistic abandon, hit me like a bolt from the blue. Their original songs, “Science Teacher,” “Just Like Your Mom” and their signature “Bionic Girl,” became the archetypes for my emerging aesthetic. Even the endless between-song tuning was a revelation to me.

I was so star struck by The Liars, that when I finally met them, the experience was actually traumatic. The only time I ever saw them actually play was in John’s living room (I was too young to get into clubs). I was so self-consciously awestruck, I could hardly stand to be in the same room with them. I’m sure the good bud didn’t help.

The Liars didn’t last long. Don moved to the coast and landed a spot with the Germs. John quickly joined every other punk rock band in town, including the Feederz, Killer Pussy, International Language, the Cicadas, Chicken A-Go-Go and the Precious Secrets. And as the Phoenix scene grew, John and I began to hang out more, though I had to masquerade as a Meat Puppet in order to work up the courage. But we were never close. He was older, and had his own crowd. And, though I was too naive to notice at the time, he was also seriously addicted to hard drugs.

As my own band’s future began to grow brighter, the parties at John’s house grew darker. New “friends” began to show up that I’d never seen before. And as doors began to open for me and my band, doors began to close for John. He became a no-show in his own home, rarely emerging from his bedroom. I finally stopped going over there. I had begun to feel like I was intruding.

As it turned out, John didn’t last very long either. Complications from his self-destructive lifestyle killed him before he managed to reach the age of thirty. Word quickly circulated that anyone who’d partied with him should visit a doctor and get tested for hepatitis. His passing marked the end of an era in Phoenix. The same week they buried John, Phoenix’s first ever first punk club, The Hate House, was demolished. Shortly thereafter, Curt Kirkwood became the father of twins, and the Meat Puppets completed the record that would change our lives forever,”Meat Puppets II.”

And so, the world moved on, without Johnny Precious. John was one of the few “heroes” I ever had, and the only one I ever actually got to know. And now that the endless nights of my youth are nothing but fading memories, I’m glad I hung on to these old tapes. There’s plenty from my past that I’d like to forget, but my memories of John and The Liars are some I’d like to keep.

DOWNLOAD The Liars Live in Phoenix, 1977


Watch Don Bolles & Vox Pop play “Just Like Your Mom” on “New Wave Theater”

I couldn’t resist this calendar when I saw it last week during a visit to a local antique store. Not only are the photos exquisite, but each one comes with all the technical info – f-stop, exposure, film type, etc. Ironically enough, the photographers themselves are not credited! But here’s the real hell of it: the last page states that “prints suitable for framing of any of these calendar subjects…may be obtained free of charge by writing Union Pacific Railroad…!” Since I assume this offer is no longer valid, allow me to honor the spirit of their largess by offering them to you myself. Click on each photo for more info.

The day after Christmas, my wife and I attended a hockey game at the Jobing.com Arena. This state-of-the-art facility stands adjacent to something called the “Westgate City Center.” On what was once a quiet corner in Glendale is now erected this new mall “concept:” a pre-fab fake “town,” surrounded by lots of freshly bulldozed, freeway-accessible real estate: “Shop Here – Dine Here – Live Here – ONLY HERE!” “LIVE WHERE YOU LIVE!” I’m sure there are several of these sorts of places in your town as well.

This “multi-use destination” is mostly comprised of restaurants as big as city blocks. The “food,” served up in different shapes and “flavors,” is your typical modern corn and soybean based cuisine. What these places offer is not so much “nutrition,” as a Disney-fied, sports-bar kind of “atmosphere” designed to simultaneously stimulate and dull the senses.

As we stood huddled beneath five-story-high images of Carlos Santana and Mel Gibson, we watched a teenage fake-rock band supply the soundtrack to house-sized video displays broadcasting ads for local casinos and upcoming “tribute “concerts. At one point, an ugly long-haired dude in a shiny shirt came on the screen. He sat on a brand new leather couch, moving his lips inaudibly. Above his luminous head appeared this grave message: “$998.”

Spaces like the Westgate City Center make Phoenix’s older box malls look like palaces of subtlety and restraint. But the kids that milled around the grounds that night seemed just as enthusiastic about their current shopping arrangements as our grandparents’ generation must have been. And as these old photos from “Arizona Highways” clearly show, nothing evokes “civic pride” like a new retail innovation. These photos leave little room for debate on the matter, taken as they are from an article entitled “Phoenix – City Of Shopping Centers.”

Most of the businesses in these pictures are long gone, but if you look closely, you might recognize something of what remains.



People always ask me if I’ll ever do another installment of my “Report From The Country” series from a few years back. “More Connie Eaton,” they say. “More ‘Pass The Biscuits, Please.’” I guess I’ve been dragging my heels because the artist I want to honor is getting along in years, and I don’t want to jinx him right into the ground. But it’s almost criminal that Jim Ed Brown’s solo albums remain out of print, so I’ve decided to take my chances.

Despite lavish reissues devoted to his early work in The Browns with his sisters Bonnie & Maxine, and easy access to his duets with Helen Cornelius, Jim Ed Brown’s steady stream of solo albums from the late sixties and early seventies remains elusive to all but the most patient of Usenet users. One of two have shown up on the occasional share blog, but the majority are still out of reach.

The Browns were one of the first country artists to enjoy cross-over success, helping to define country music’s space in the mainstream. Hits like “Scarlet Ribbons,” The Old Lamplighter” and their smash folk-pop version of Edith Piaf’s “The Three Bells” were just as popular on college campuses as they were in Nashville. As a solo, Jim Ed Brown was a regular on the Grand Ole Opry, and even hosted his own syndicated television program for a few years. In 1967, his cheerful anthem to alcoholism, “Pop A Top,” became an instant classic.

After that, the hits were harder to come by. Unfortunately for Jim, he recorded for RCA-Victor and was often assigned to mainstay Elvis Presley producer, Felton Jarvis. Like Elvis, Jim’s records were suffused with the bland surface gloss that marks most of that label’s country fodder from the period. Just as they did with Elvis, RCA was content to churn out collection after faceless collection of commercial filler, overexposing the artist and bleeding his fans until the revenue stream dried up. But also like Elvis, Jim rose above the limitations of his output. The effect of Jim’s smooth control and sweet tone wedded to the wistful dark material provided for him produced unearthly performances of an odd ambivalence that sometimes borders on the surreal.

But don’t let my perverse assessment put you off these great records. The gems are plentiful and offer deep rewards. Even if all you ever hear is “Sunday In The Country,” “Barroom Pals and Good Time Gals,” or the essential “Ginger Is Gentle And Waiting For Me,” you’ll be better prepared to face the world. But if you want to mainline a full-on Jim Ed Brown overdose, you’ve found the right place.



(thanks to the LP Discography site for the cover scans.)