13 Scars

Shattered Faith/13 Scars/Plexikill/Unglued
The Redwood, Los Angeles, CA
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Admission $8.00
Time: 9:00 PM

About a year ago I started talking to Shawn Durand guitarist from 13 Scars. I’m not sure how we met. Somehow on Facebook, a friend of a friend introduced us. Anyway, he’s cool as hell and he wrote me about six months ago to say his band was going to be headed to California (from Washington) in April or May. More than likely they were going to play the Punk Rock Picnic and that I should come out. Shit. Not that I didn’t want to see them, but the thought of enduring a hundred bands was too much for me. So, more than likely I was going to flake.

Well, the Punk Rock Picnic was cancelled or moved or whatever, the point is 13 Scars redid their tour dates and one of the shows was with Shattered Faith, how could I not go?

I left the house somewhere between 8:00 and 8:30 to get to everybody’s favorite pirate bar, The Redwood. Right down the street from me they were filming a commercial, so I was stuck trying to get to the freeway for about 20 minutes. Then I get to the 101 and there’s an accident as I get to Hollywood another 30 minutes. Needless to say I’m late.

Once I get there I see Shawn in the little outdoor patio area, we talk for a second, and then I notice a band loading out. I don’t know who they were or if they were good. So, I talk with Shawn and his cousin for a bit more, and then head inside to watch Unglued.

Unglued

I first saw Unglued a couple of years ago (they opened for Agent Orange), at the Malibu Inn. They are really good. Just a straightforward, bare-bones punk band. I dug ‘em. The singer pulled a good set despite hobbling around on crutches.

Next up was Plexikill. I went outside to get some air and heard them tuning up, saw Mike from The Gears, stopped to say, “Hi.” Next thing I know Plexikill is loading out. I will say that they are a cool band, I saw them a few years ago opening for Continental. I remember them sounding a bit like a mixture of the Ramones and a bit like Rancid.

13 Scars

Next up was 13 Scars. What I dig about these guys is that they can really play. They can do the hardcore stuff as well as the cool old sing-along stuff. Their singer, Bradley Petrovich, has a great voice and is a real good front man. He was all over the place, on top of the speakers; in the crowd. . . you name it.

The band is super tight. Overall, great musicians.

Shattered Faith

The last band of the night was Shattered Faith. Not sure what to say about these guys other than they were great. They did their classic Posh Boy tracks I Love America, Reagan Country and Right Is Right. They sounded, almost, better live than on album.

If you have a chance to see any of these bands, go. You won’t have a chance to sit down, nor will you want to.

All in all, a great show. The PA was good, clear view of the bands, and I had fun. My overall assessment, this one is for the record books!

Born Frustrated is available now: http://goo.gl/n9ofGb

This week we have a guest columnist, writer Marius Gustaitis, who some may be familiar with his great blog Trudging Through The Fire (http://mariusgustaitis.com/), if not check it out.

I love when my intuition turns out to be right. When it confirms my suspicions. Tells me my assessments are dialed-in. On target. I love it. It’s deeply satisfying. Makes me feel good about myself. Makes me feel like I know what’s going on. Like I might have a clue.

I met Michael Essington a few months back at a Reagan Youth/ 13 Scars show at Los Globos in Hollywood.
The music was so loud we didn’t get too much of a chance to talk. But I sized him up. I was a bouncer for a few years, and it’s just something I do. Maybe all guys do it. Size up a motherfucker. Try to figure out if they could take him.

Well, I wasn’t exactly at that point with Essington, since we hadn’t pissed each other off. I wasn’t at the deciding-if-I-would-win-in-a-cage-match phase of our relationship. I was just trying to figure him out. Trying to see if I could guess what he was all about.

He looked at ease. With himself. With his surroundings. Didn’t look like he had anything to prove. That told me a lot. If I ever did get any ideas about beating on him, this in itself would’ve given me pause. Guys don’t get like that without knowing they can handle some shit. And they know it… because they’ve handled some shit. You can’t fake it. Probably been through the chopping factory. Endured the blows of Life. But seems to have weathered it well. Call it character. Call it badassness. He’s got it. Like genuine.

Plus, he’s got that bull neck and Taurine shoulders so in fashion with debt collectors from Queens. Probably did some wrestling in school. Football? Yeah, maybe, some boxing, too. He’s a ground-and-pounder alright. Gets you on the floor and pile-drives from above while your limbs are pinned. Knows how to head-butt effectively. You have to resort to fighting dirty with guys like that. Use teeth. Table cutlery. Pull on the peach. All while taking thunder blows to the brow and jaw and trying to blink your way through the exploding green balls and vibrating purple parallelograms in your eyes. You’re looking at major war shit.

But there was no need to reach for the saltshaker, yet. He was just sitting there watching the show.

I figured he’s an ex-maniac, now settling into adulthood. I knew he had a family. I bet he’s easy-going and reasonable, until somebody really get’s under his skin. Then he blows. Yeah. Seems a little powder-keggish. Maybe some childhood stuff he’s still exorcising. Old stuff that fuels it. The Rage.

–I swear to you, these were my first impressions. Just from watching him. Now and then an occasional shouted exchange over the music. I had not read Life Won‘t Wait.

Well, needless to say, when I did, I was immensely pleased with myself. And my psychic powers.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I had him all figured out, or had known his whole story, but it turns out I did have a sense of the warp of the woof. I gisted it.

After reading his collection of autobiographical stories about life in the 818 (with interesting interviews with James Frey, Steve Jones, and Texas Terri Laird) I realized I had been right about a lot of things. Not like a jungle shaman high on Ibogaine right, but right enough to make beer money giving readings at a card table on the Santa Monica pier right.

Mike has been through some shit alright. Some quality childhood bummers. Family dysfunction. Suburban dissatisfaction. Valley Fever and its resulting health issues. A sensitive adolescence. An angry young adulthood, with its accompanying three handmaidens: Drink. Drugs and Violence. Sprinkle in some punk rock/metal, jail time, and a volcanic temper, and you know what you have?

Somebody who would’ve been a close friend. Are you kidding? Fucker’s from my tribe. Forget about it.

So the book was a dee-light to read. A lot of head-nodding and chuckling. Whether he’s going to jail, the hospital, or dealing with stupid things surrounded by stupid people, Essington makes a good tour guide. He doesn’t bore you with details. Just points out some of the interesting sights. Gives a few historical facts for reference. Moves on to the next landmark. He’s smart, funny, and insightful. His work is informed and readable. Never mind prolific.

But to me, one of the most badass things about Mike is that he doesn’t make himself out to be one. Oh, there’s this story and that one. Things happen. Shit goes down. But he lets you decide what to think. He clearly delineates his facts from his opinions. Again, like a guy not desperate to prove anything.

Look, I fancy myself a writer of sorts, so as I’m reading his stuff, I see how he’s stripped-down his line–keeps the sentences simple declarative. Doesn’t write in Proustian curly cues. He just prints it. But I was also impressed with how little editorializing he does. He’ll tell you what he thought, what he felt, but not go on and on about what he thinks it all meant.

Can you imagine how refreshing? Not to have some writer’s philosophy of life railroaded down your throat. My readers should be so lucky.

Anyway, both traits require discipline. To keep the line clean. And to keep the philosophizing to a minimum. It takes restraint in the writing, and some measure of faith in his readers–that they can fill in the blanks. Those qualities make Mike the writer he is. And the person.

And that makes running with Essington, as a reader or road dog, a low-maintenance for big payoff experience. If you haven’t gotten to know him yet, I wouldn’t wait too long. Life sure doesn’t. Neither does Death. So make a new friend. One that can handle himself if the shit goes down.

Born Frustrated: http://goo.gl/n9ofGb

Symbol Six/Scorpion vs. Tarantula/Focke Wolves/The Smoke Bombs

Symbol Six/Scorpion vs. Tarantula/Focke Wolves/The Smoke Bombs
Under The Wire, North Hollywood, CA
Saturday, February 20, 2016
Time: 8:00 PM

It had been about a month since I last snuck out and saw a show, so I was overdue. I’m not certain how I found out about this show, Facebook, phone call, I don’t know. My wife was heading to North Hollywood, so I had her drop me off. We ended up in some industrial neighborhood and I thought we were lost. We pulled up to the address on the GPS and I saw no clubs, just a giant fence. I got out and saw, from a distance a group of people standing around, one of them, overweight, staggering, holding a Pabst Blue Ribbon – I was at the right place.

The Smoke Bombs by Ginger Kuroishi

First up was The Smoke Bombs from Arizona. They did a great set of street rock/Social Distortion-type stuff. I attempted to get a copy of their demo to review, but nagging three band members and waiting three hours, it didn’t happen. They did a great cover of Panama by Van Halen. If you end up in Arizona, check them out.

Scorpion vs. Tarantula by Ginger Kuroishi

The second act of the night was Scorpion vs. Tarantula, also from Arizona. They were a great hybrid of punk and metal. The female vocalist had a real great Brian Johnson quality to her voice (Johnson is the signer from AC/DC, catch up). L. Hotshot’s in-between stage banter reminded me of old-school Paul Stanley, “North Hollywood, we love you!” Stanley is from Kiss, I said, “Catch up!”

Symbol Six by Scorpion vs. Tarantula by Ginger Kuroishi

Toward the beginning of the evening Eric Leach of Symbol Six gave me his new solo CD, Perfect Life, which I will review soon. Symbol Six treads this line between being a current band and remembering their old hits. I’ve seen them a couple of times where they have played the entire Posh Boy EP, and then other nights where they have only played unreleased stuff. I’m, kind of, from both camps, I like old stuff I can sing-along too, but if the tunes are good I dig hearing them first. One such song, Hell On Wheels, will definitely have the Uncle Fester of FM radio, Rodney Bingenheimer, playing this on regular rotation. “Hey Kim, check out that 14-year-old!”

Focke Wolves by Ginger Kuroishi

Last, but definitely not least, Focke Wolves! Definitely in that continued street rock vein that Smoke Bombs started. They topped off the night in grand style.

End of the night I pulled up a ride on Uber. It’s like a rent-a-friend service. “Turn up the music and take me to Del Taco.” “Yes, sir.”

This, by far, was the best evening I have spent in a while.

Born Frustrated is available now: http://goo.gl/n9ofGb

The Briggs

The Briggs/Cobra Skulls/Longway/Your Arsenal
The Troubadour, West Hollywood, CA
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Admission $13.00
Time: 8:00 PM

I have my 16-year-old Daughter, Breana, out from Hollywood, Florida, for the summer. And we’ve done movies (four), animal parks (two, Los Angeles Zoo, and Long Beach Aquarium), and I was trying to think of what else to do with her. So I searched online for Cobra Skulls, I had heard that they popped up at the Cobalt Café, in Canoga Park a while back.

Within the first few weeks of my Daughter’s arrival, I was plugging my mp3 player into her laptop so she could pluck all my music off of my two-gigabyte player onto her 40 plus gigabytes, highly advanced player. And one of the bands that she liked was Cobra Skulls.

So, after I did the above mentioned web search, I found a show coming up that very weekend. Pricing was reasonable, four bands for thirteen bucks if you buy in advance online. Sure, why not?

Here’s the thing, I haven’t been to a punk show since 1984, unless you count seeing Helmet, Suicide Girls opening up for Guns “N Rose in 2007, a punk show.

Let me tell you, the audience was 100% different from the 1980’s shows. No fighting, no attitudes, nobody was strung out. Everyone was just happy as hell to be there. I was originally worried about the rowdiness I would be subjecting my Daughter to. Even though I attended my first punk show at age 15, and survived.

Your Arsenal

First up was Your Arsenal. They hit the stage somewhere between 7:45 and 8:00. These guys need to be signed to a label, yesterday! They were the best surprise, musically, that I have come across in years. The crowd was sparse, but singer/guitarist Chris Wallace, and band mates Shaun Hale, guitar, Chad Sengstock, Bass, and Larry Wyatt, Drums, played as if they were in front of 100,000.

After the first or second song Wallace, mentioned that free demos could be picked up from their merchandise table in the bar of the Troubadour, my Daughter took off in search of this demo. Unfortunately, the table wasn’t set-up until after their set.

The set was tight, and energetic. It was a perfect opening for the next three bands. If you get a chance, check out their Facebook, or My Space page to listen to their demo. Lucky for us, we got to hear the three songs off of the demo live: Wouldn’t Trade This For Gold, No Place Like Home, and Trouble. They ended their set with a cover tune, called Son To No One, it was great.

As I said before, somebody needs to sign them quickly, in the mean time. . . go see them live.

After their set we picked up copies of the demo, and bought a couple of buttons. I have always believed if you dig a band, throw them a few bucks. So, by the time the next band was about to come on Breana already had a Your Arsenal button on.

Longway

Somewhere between 8:45 and 9:00, or maybe later than that, Brian Longway, vocals, guitar, and the guys from Longway, Mikey Pettengill, drums, Trevor Jackson, guitar, and Tim Abramson, bass, hit the stage.

Compared to Your Arsenal, these guys were old pros, Longway mentioned their various albums, singles, and videos on stage.

I can’t put my finger on it, but these guys came off as, somewhat, affected. As if they were a bit too cool for us. Maybe it was just me.

Anyway, the standout of this set was guitarist Trevor Jackson, tall, thin, covered in tattoos, and wearing an eye patch, this guy was hard to miss. From the moment they hit the stage Trevor was all over every inch of the stage, and when he ran out of stage, he was standing on the railing of the upstairs balcony, when that wasn’t enough; he hit the floor, and played from the center of the mosh pit. Fun guy to watch.

The mosh pit wasn’t really working during Longway’s set. Brian called out to the crowd, several times, to all come to the center of the room, and start moshing, and only three people would jump in.

Anyway, stand out cuts were Junkie, from their latest album, and their final song of the night, a cover of Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell. Rebel Yell is a hard one to cover; can you improve on Billy Idol’s vocals, or Steve Stevens’ guitar work?

Cobra Skulls

Somewhere around 10:00 or so, Cobra Skulls, Chad Cleveland, drums, Adam Beck, guitar, Devin Peralta, vocals, & bass, took the stage. I don’t know what to say about these guys, other than they play a flawless set. They played most of the tracks from their latest album, American Rubicon, on the Red Scare label. Absolutely no difference, sound wise between them on album, or live.

All three guys come off as real down to earth guys, joking, and genuinely having a great time. In between songs they took turns blowing one of those obnoxious horns that fans were using during the World Cup, only Devin could do it properly.

Much like people do at the movies, when watching trailers, my Daughter, and I would look at each other after each band, and review. Cobra Skulls received two thumbs up.

The Briggs

Last, but definitely not least, The Briggs hit the stage at about 11:00 or so. From the moment they hit the stage it was as if a bomb hit the Troubadour. The mosh pit, or as it was called in my day the slam pit, was full. The crowd was nuts!

Man-Mountain

One of the highlights of the pit was a huge guy, who was more, or less the Captain of the pit, a big corn-fed white boy, whose girlfriend wanted to mosh, and he would go out there to supervise, anybody that bumped her was leveled, then once she was safe, he would help the levelee back up. I believe he was half man, half mountain. But all in all a good sport through it all.

The Briggs played with the experience and ability of a veteran band with double the amount of years together. The Briggs boys, Joey LaRocca, vocals & guitar, Jason LaRocca, guitar & vocals, Jake Margolis, drums, and Alex Patterson, bass, were seasoned professionals.

Throughout their hour, to hour, and a half set, I don’t think, there was ever a moment where people stopped singing, and moving.

The absolute high point of the night came when The Briggs did This is LA, as their last song. If the place exploded when they first hit the stage, well . . . now it double-exploded. The stage had half the crowd on it, including the members of Your Arsenal. Everybody was singing his, or her lungs out, it was unbelievable.

After The Briggs finished This is LA, they left the stage. The crowd stood quiet for a bit, then started chanting “one more song, one more song.” Then low, and behold, Joey, and the crew came out, and did a kick ass version of their song Molly.

This, by far, was the best $13.00 I have spent in decades.

Born Frustrated is available now: http://goo.gl/n9ofGb

13 Scars

13 Scars
13 Scars
Release: 2012

Shawn Durand – Guitar, Vocals
Todd Hewitt – Bass, Vocals
Brian Fritts – Guitar, Vocals
Will Marcus – Drums
Bradley Petrovich – Vocals

1. No Last Call
2. Derby Girl
3. Name in Lights
4. No Alibis
5. Better Time
6. Stand and Be Heard
7. 13 Scars
8. Christian
9. Anti Recruiter

There are two things that, usually, make me hate an album. First off, Cookie Monster vocals will get you the worst review ever. I’ll probably say, “You blow donkeys.” Second thing, this is kind of iffy. If the first song starts out balls to the wall, I probably won’t like it. You see, for most bands they try to show you how “Hardcore” they can be, so the first track is usually somebody banging on pots and pans while somebody else pulls the dog’s tail. Nothing, but yelping and crashing, hate it. So, when I put this album on and it started out real fast, I went, “Oh shit, I like these guys . . . . now what?” Then the song got kind of catchy. Then I listened to the next song and then the next . . . and by the time I was done, I was hooked.

Much like the old British punk bands that I used to listen to 13 Scars has some big, bad-ass choruses. It’s punk through and through, but you can sing along with your friends.

Get over to their Facebook page or their Reverbnation page and give them a listen, they are the best thing to come out the Northwest in ages.

The standout cuts are: Name In Lights, Better Time and 13 Scars

If you can find it, buy it.

Rating: *** three out of three stars

On to the story . . .

Have you ever done something in your life that left somebody completely devastated? I’m sure you have. I know I have. Some things intentionally, others accidentally.

When I was eight or nine years old my dad started taking my brother and me for weekends, twice a month, as part of his custody. The visits started when I was eight. He left when I was six, and at eight, he would pick us up two Saturdays a month. Then after about a year he asked my mom if it was cool if he had us for a whole weekend, he wanted to take us to Palm Springs for the whole two days. She reluctantly said, “OK.”

We were all nervous, me, my mom and my brother. Good, bad or whatever, we got used to our routine. Two years together and now it’s getting changed. I don’t know what to say to this guy, you were and now you’re not. So, we ending arguing and fighting (probably, just me and my mom, my brother was a pretty low-key dude).

So, one time my dad comes over to pick us up and we’re bickering, my dad says, “If the fighting gets too much and you want to get away, just call me. I’ll pick you up and bring you back once everybody is calmed down.” What?! We couldn’t do that. It felt like we’d be selling out mom.

So, six or seven months later some shit popped off and everybody is fighting, crying and carrying-on. So, I say, “I’m going to call dad to come get us.” At that point my mom was like, “Fine, go ahead.”

Something happened during the time I told my dad to get us and the time when he arrived. It sunk in, I sold my mom out. The guy who ditched us was now my safe-haven.

By the time my dad arrived we were all crying and apologizing. My dad was cool about it; he let my mom know that we were going to run up to the newsstand, buy some comic books then we would be back.

Though I would have many, many more fights with my mom, I never forgot how devastated she looked as I dialed my dad up on the phone.

Born Frustrated is available now: http://goo.gl/n9ofGb