Regular readers of this blog, as well as my good friends, know that Marc Almond has godlike status in my record collection. I'm not just talking about Soft Cell here, I am also speaking of collaborations with the likes of Jim Thirlwell (he of Foetus and the most excellent score for The Venture Brothers), Bronski Beat and Gene Pitney, 12" solo disco singles and, of course, Marc and the Mambas (the primary subject of this post, which also included Matt Johnson of The The and tons of other cool folks). I'm not the sort of person who normally engages in parasocial behavior involving rock stars, but Marc Almond is another story. See, even though we never met, I always felt that we should just so that I could thank him because, if it weren't for Marc Almond, I never would have spent the past decade of my life working regularly as a club DJ. Specifically, it was this song that scored me my first residency.

Marc and the Mambas "Untitled"

At nineteen, I was DJing at KXLU and spending pretty much every night driving from the bluff to Hollywood, where we would hit mostly goth and industrial clubs. I kind of had this idea in the back of mind that I would make a good club DJ. Radio seemed to be working pretty out pretty well and I thought that could translate into a good club set. Plus, in a club setting, I wouldn't have to speak over a microphone and no one would have to endure my childlike voice with all of its San Fernando Valley phrasings. I didn't really pursue club gigs though, mostly because I didn't think anyone would take a 19-year-old girl seriously (even though I had a habit of fibbing about my age). So, I remained content just doing my radio show, playing stuff that I heard at the clubs mixed with relatively obscure items that I came across in the station's archives or sourced from one of my favorite record stores. One day, I played this set that was really no different from any other set: Nick Cave; PJ Harvey; Project Pitchfork and the aforementioned Marc and the Mambas track. I finished my show, went back to my dorm and started getting ready for class when the DJ after me called. She hoped I didn't mind, but she gave my dorm phone number to this guy who called in because she recognized him as the DJ from Helter Skelter and he sounded like he really needed to talk to me. I got all giddy on the other end and thanked her because, even though I had chatted up the DJs a few times over the year or so that I had been attending the clubs, I never really got to know any of them. I was just another kid with a dyed-black bob.
Later that afternoon, I got a call from Jason, who had just left Helter Skelter to start his own club, and he told me that I played his absolute all-time favorite Marc Almond song and was so shocked to hear it on the radio that he almost got into a car accident in the process. Then he asked if I could guest DJ at Coven 13. Naturally, I obliged. Then I hung up the phone and started screaming (and when I say "scream" I really mean it) for my roommates, Amy, Miko and Reagan, about the news.
Two months passed and it came time for my first Coven 13 gig (in the interim, I played my actual first gig, which was a last-minute job at an offshoot of Amagi's 80s night that managed to change locations three times before 8 p.m.). The club was at Mogul's, which is now called something else if it even exists at all anymore, and I played in the front room in a loft that required me to climb a rickety ladder in an unfortunately short dress and heels. Prior to the event, part of the speaker system went down, meaning that I didn't have a monitor and the music downstairs sounded incredibly thin. One of the other DJs got frustrated and said, "So, do you want to play the rest of the night?"
"Um, I guess so."
I had no idea what I was doing, so I just played everything that I knew people danced to every week at the clubs, including this number.

Marc and the Mambas "Black Heart" (12" version)

Keep in mind that this is the version from the single, not from the album Torment and Toreros, but, if you get the CD version of the album, it will be on the second disc.
I thought my set sucked. In fact, I almost started crying up in the DJ booth because I was so angry at myself for sucking so badly. The next day, though, I got a call from Jason telling me that people loved my set and he couldn't wait to have me back. By the end of winter, I was a resident in the front room with Frankie. I ended up staying at Coven 13 for most of its run. I left when I graduated college and started working my first 9-5, but ended up with a residency at Rodney's English Disco, also promoted by Jason, a month later. The rest is history.

Since we're on the subject of Marc Almond, I wanted to add this song that he did with Foetus.

Flesh Volcano "Slut"

In college, I had this friend, Dave, who played the straight man (literally) on Camp Stop the World at KXLU. This was (roughly) his recommendation of the album.

"Liz, I can't believe you don't have Flesh Volcano. It's like, eight minutes or something like that of Marc Almond screaming 'Slut.' You have to hear it."

Copies of Untitled and Torment and Toreros are available at Amazon.com, but they range from pricey to expensive. If you're a vinyl junkie, look around because both albums pop up periodically in the L.A. used bins (that 12" for "Black Heart" is another story, though). Vinyl Fetish on Cahuenga is probably your best bet. I think that's where I purchased both albums.

Flesh Volcano was reissued on CD in the late-1990s and it appears to still be in print. Again, I bought my copy at Vinyl Fetish, so unless you really like ordering stuff online, I suggest trying there first.

First of all, I went to check out Filthy at Fubar last night and it's so much fun. I can't wait to play there next week.

Second, today is 7/15, which means that this is the street date for the new issue of The Rockit (the new issue should be online soon, but it isn't yet). Having only seen the finished product as a series of PDF files, I'm pretty keen on holding the final result in my hand. Anyhow, this is what you will be able to find in the issue.

Features:
Rise Against
30 Seconds to Mars
Dirty Pretty Things
Hank III
Lisa Germano
Mardo
Black Lips
Rocking Scoundrels

Plus live reviews, record reviews, local radio and shopping spotlights and the funniest damn cartoon I've ever read, Animal Sounds.

Zoot Woman "Living in a Magazine"
(song removed)

I'm not going to assume that everyone here has heard this song, even though it received a healthy amount of club play earlier in the decade. Simply put, Zoot Woman hasn't reached a tipping point in terms of popularity (they aren't even playing in the U.S. this summer) and most people who have heard of Stuart Price probably know of him from his work with Madonna rather than his own stellar discography. As far as this discography is concerned, his remixes are probably more likely to be referenced, particularly the Grammy Award-winning mix of No Doubt's cover of "It's My Life."
Let's get to the point, though, five years after the fact, I still listen to Living in a Magazine on a regular basis and this title track remains a personal favorite. In fact, I would go on the record as saying this is one of my top picks for releases during the course of this decade. People like to refer to Zoot Woman as an "electro Hall & Oates," but that could probably be said about a host of bands. At the very least, it could refer to plenty of groups who follow what my friend Paul the ex-GGBW calls "The Hall & Oates School of Songwriting," wherein there are only three discernible lines in the song (example: "I can't go for that/Oh, oh, oh/No can do"). I think I picked up more than three lines in just the chorus of "Living in a Magazine" ("Advertise to lonely eyes/Living in a magazine/And no disguise you wear can hide/Living in a magazine"). Like Phoenix, Tahiti 80 and Aluminum Group, Zoot Woman walks softly but carries a big tune. Used copies are available at Amazon.com. If you're a vinyl junkie and in L.A., check Amoeba because I always see copies there.

Despite my fuschia arms and nose, I'm starting to look like more like a human again and less like a sweat-drenched, dirty being. Right now, I'm listening to an advanced CD of something that is so freakin' awesome, truly one of our city's top local bands, as the interview I was supposed to do with another L.A. band that I love was pushed back to tomorrow. I'm trying to think of some kind of interesting post for today, but sometimes I'm at a loss.

Anyhow, the new issue of The Rockit streets in two days. It's the first issue featuring yours truly as editor. Part of me is extremely excited and filled with pride over how the issue came together at the dead-on 11th hour. Another part of me, the Catholic-educated part that truly believes that pride will get me in the end, is nervous. Anyhow, if you're in Los Angeles, you can pick it up as of 7/15 at most local record stores, coffee shops, clubs and, I believe, Guitar Center and Sam Ash. I know there are always copies at the Troubadour, so if you're there this weekend, look for it. If you're outside of L.A., you can always read it online. I'll keep the content a secret for now, but there is definitely something for everyone in it.

Also, there is a new issue of Razorcake on the stands featuring my interview with Mad Happy.

The only thing more bizarre than the fact that the person who loathes sunlight (me) went to two major summer festivals is that this person went to two major summer festivals in one week. One thing that isn't so bizarre is the fact that I managed to sunburn in spite of applying sunscreen three separate times.
Overall, I prefer Warped Tour to Ozzfest. Musically, there is a bit more diversity (although 90% could be loosely described as emo or pop-punk). Plus, there is far less dust at Dodger Stadium and Warped Tour tends to attract a nicer crowd. The best idea there was a "reverse babysitting" booth, where kids could drop off their parents. There were a lot of youngins at this show and, unlike Ozzfest, you could tell that the kids dragged their parents out into the sun. As far as rock shows go, Warped Tour is fairly wholesome, which is to say that it's still definitely a rock show but you just don't have to deal with guys screaming "Show me your tits" every time a girl gets onstage. Plus, Warped Tour is very accommodating. You can bring in your own water and anyone can bring a camera on the grounds. I think skateboards and frisbees were allowed as well, since I saw an awful lot scattered throughout the various six stage areas.
Again, I spent most of the day working on interviews, but I managed to catch far more performance-wise than I did at Ozzfest. I'm not sure of everything I saw, as there were times when I wasn't sure who was onstage. At various points during the day, I can recall seeing Silverstein, Plain White T's, Motion City Soundtrack, Less Than Jake, Gym Class Heroes and The Randies. I can't tell you much more than that because the sun has completely damaged my memory.
I can tell you that it was hot and I felt pretty dehydrated all day. By 2 p.m., all I wanted was a Dodger dog, but the line was so long and I had an interview coming up in a matter of minutes that this became an impossible dream. So I just started smoking, wating around for my arms to burn more and the interviewee to arrive. One interview turned into five within the span of three hours. My arms burnt more and the flow of cigarettes squashed any hunger pangs left. I think I finished the last of this round of interviews by 5:45, at which point I stumbled back into the crowd and ended up at the Volcom tent, where there was some shade. My head was killing and I wasn't sure who the band was onstage, but it was a good one. I got up nonetheless to get a drink, saw some vendors walk out with fresh stacks of lemonade and ran, half ready to faint, toward the guy, pulled out a $5 bill and grabbed a massive plastic glass filled with the best tasting lemonade to hit my lips. I don't think I ever spent that much on a drink without throwing a fit before today, but this drink was so good, so what I needed, that I carefully sipped it for over an hour.
I was still hungry, but figured that the show was close enough to the finish line that I could hold off until Megan and I could split and go to Philippe's, which is exactly what we did after she finished shooting The Randies. Man, that French dip sandwich hit the spot.

(Sort of a tribute to Syd Barrett, 1946-2006)

Roundhouse Records was this hole-in-the-wall record store on Chatsworth and Balboa in Granada Hills owned by a cool guy named Gideon who had live photos of Siouxsie and Morrissey behind the cash register. Given its location, I could easily pass the store every day while driving my secondhand Chevy Corsica home from school. Whenever I had a few extra dollars, I would stop in, talk to Gideon and buy a bunch of music. Because of this store, I have an ample collection of material from the likes Kate Bush, Siouxsie, Lush and other favorites. This is also the store where I learned to stop hating Pink Floyd.
Yes, I flat-out despised Pink Floyd as a youngin', which I credit to hearing "Money," which I still loathe, on the classic rock stations non-stop throughout my formative years. One day, though, I came across a double-CD inside Roundhouse called A Saucerful of Pink. Released off a then-new label known as Cleopatra, A Saucerful of Pink was one of, if not the, first of a slew of tribute albums the label would unleash over the next decade. I don't even know what prompted me to pick it up, but when I noticed that the album featured tracks from Sky Cries Mary, who I loved at the time, and Spahn Ranch, another favorite, I had to have it. After heading home with this and a copy of a new Bikini Kill album, I put the Pink Floyd tribute into my CD player and found a new favorite song.

Electric Hellfire Club "Lucifer Sam"
(song removed)

Budding music geek that I was, I did my research, asked the good questions and found out that the song stemmed from the Syd Barrett period of Pink Floyd. This Syd Barrett is amazing, I thought. For years, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, was the only Pink Floyd album I liked. It's still the only one I own, although I later gained appreciation for later-Floyd tracks, most of which I later learned were inspired by Barrett.

To this day, I think A Saucerful of Pink is the best tribute album released, if only for the fact that it made someone who abhored Pink Floyd grow to appreciate the band. To the best of my knowledge, this CD is out of print, but look around and you might come across it somewhere.

Front 242 "Don't Crash"
(song removed)

There are very few songs that will force me to dance every time I hear them. "Don't Crash" is one. In all honesty, it's been years since I heard this jam at a club, but I'm well-prepared to run out to the floor and give it a big ol' industrial stomp should I ever hear someone play it.
Front 242 was one of a handful of pre-Nine Inch Nails industrial groups that L.A. kids could actually hear on the radio and see on video shows (the others being Ministry, Skinny Puppy and Nitzer Ebb). When it came to radio songs, though, "Headhunter" was the biggie, followed (to the best of my memory, because this blog is more of a test of memory than anything else) by "Welcome to Paradise." "Don't Crash" was one of the early singles, later compiled on Backcatalogue, which was released in 1987 and then reissued in 1992. (You can find used copies on Amazon.)
Front 242 is said to have started the whole EBM thing, which I like to describe as bad-ass Europeans embracing Depeche Mode. "Don't Crash" is a perfect example. Notice the melodies seemingly spit out in chant form. Notice the slow, steady beat that is just hard enough to make you think it's German, even though it's Belgian, which I suppose is close enough. It's not as threatening as Skinny Puppy or Ministry c. A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste, but it's still far heavier than "Work for Love" (again with the Ministry).
Now go stomp around your cubicle.

Balthazar Monsoon found this brilliant One Life to Live montage set to Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights." If you don't watch OLTL, like we do, you might not get it. If you are a fan of reformed-rapist/multi-millionaire Todd Manning, his conniving, slutty sometimes-wife Blair and psychopathic accountant Margaret, you will love this.

Part-Time Punks, full-time fun. That may sound like a line from a press release but it's the closest I could get to describing the weekly Sunday night club hosted by Michael Stock, Benjamin White and Samuel "Surfin' Sammy" Cooper in one brief sentence.

The club, which takes place at The Echo in...Echo Park, is nary a year old but has steadily grown in popularity over the past few months as the place to be for great music. Stock and White specialize in DJ'ing rare and obscure rock tunes like it's nobody's business (personal side note: this is where I first heard The Virgin Prunes). Not only that, but the club also features live sets by up-and-coming/unsigned/local/indie bands and last week was no exception.

I have been a fan of Midnight Movies for a few years now since I saw them open for Clinic at The Casbah in San Diego. I was immediately hypotized by their mellowed psychedelia and immediately jumped at the chance to see them live again, especially now that their lineup had changed (keyboardist Jason Hammons quit the band over creative differences). Gena Olivier and Larry Schemel are now joined by two new members and with a slightly different sound.

• 24 Hour Dream
• Coral Den
• Persimmon Tree
• Souvenirs
• Patient Eyes
• Hide Away
• Nights In White Satin
• Strange Design

Gena spent nearly the entire set (sans the last two tracks) behind a mic and keyboard as opposed to a mic and drum kit as she once used to. The music has changed in the sense that it's more like Stereolab in terms of tempo. Whereas their debut album contained a strong, dream-like psychedelic quality, it sounds like the new album will be more rock-oriented in its psychedelia.

Gena surprised long-time fans when she swapped places with her drummer and sang from behind the drum kit. It was during the last song, "Strange Design," that the true power of the band came forth as everyone, especially Olivier, cut loose. My only grief about the set: No "Blue Babies."

Part-Time Punks is free to anyone 21+. Otherwise, cough up five Washingtons.

Part-Time Punks.com

Midnight Movies

Sometime during college, I developed this obsession with Coil that prompted me to spend a hell of a lot of time and money tracking down various releases. I had to quit cold turkey before I could secure a vinyl copy of Love's Secret Domain, my favorite album from the revolving group of musicians led by John Balance and Peter Christopherson.

Coil "Love's Secret Domain"
(Song Removed)

This is the album's title track. Released in 1991, Love's Secret Domain was perhaps the closest Coil ever got to being considered a dance group. It's not so much a dance album as it is heavily influenced by acid house, but twisting around those influences to create something that probably, in turn, influenced the Warp Records crew shortly thereafter. This song was a major hit at the goth clubs that I used to frequent (and DJ) thanks to Jason, who not only trained me as a DJ but turned me into a Coil fan.
During my junior year of college, I took this class on metaphor in literature and somehow ended up analyzing this song, which turned out to be grade A work on account of the fact that it involved not only analysis of of metaphor, but also an analysis of literary allusions (William Blake "The Sick Rose"). Thank you, Coil!
Now that you have heard this song, I urge you to go here, where you can purchase digital copies of the long out-of-print album. You will thank me for it.

Coil "The Anal Staircase"
(Song Removed)

In the midst of the Coil obsession, I once screamed in the midst of a Mar Vista record store when I found a copy of this 12", limited to 1000 copies. I found this at right around the same time that I located a copy of the "Panic/Tainted Love" 12" (which I probably should try to post sometime soon as it's that good), so I was in this state of euphoria that only serious record shoppers can understand. I ran up to the KXLU studio practically hysterical and tried to explain to my friends why "The Anal Staircase" was a true find. The one who later became a hot-shot DJ looked at the copy and doubled over in laughter.

"Oh my God, it's a cat's anus!"

So, the staircase on the cover of the album is, presumably, a medical-type close up of a rectum. When you're in college, something like this turns a great record into the most important piece of vinyl you could ever hope to hold, if only so that you can start cracking jokes about feline rectums anytime you hear it.