I lost my mind. It was so fucking nasty and sexy. Dirty music.

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“I was sitting there and watching the Cramps, they were out of tune and falling all over the place. It was a trainwreck, so when they finished their audition, Hilly told them that they had failed and they were practically crying. I told them they could play at Max's, as long as they showed up with a tuning machine. They came down a couple of days later and Jayne will tell you, people were looking at me with that expression of what the hell was I thinking? I said, "Just wait, you will see." Suicide played on the same bill as the Cramps and it was a perfect match up. You have the hillbilly version and the New York City Times Square version.” Lux Interior: "We opened for Suicide a lot. We couldn't believe it. Marty was great at what he did, but Alan ... if somebody got up to go to the bathroom, he'd leap up and take the mic stand and block their path with it. He'd do stuff like that all the time intimidating the audience. It could get really scary sometimes."

teenage motherhood: It’s like being grounded for eighteen years!

 

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I had no idea what any of these songs were referencing. What they really meant. How subversive they really were. I used the radio to disappear. To escape from my family. Enter another dimension. Melt inside a psychedelic sound stage which cascaded out through the airwaves filling my already fractured psyche with throbbing, slinky, funkified soul music, where soaring rhythms and strangled guitars took me out of myself and gave me goose bumps. “I break out … in a cold sweat” stimulated me in ways I could only express by shaking my ass, flapping my arms, and stomping my feet. Everybody was glued to the tube on Sunday nights. The Rolling Stones, The Animals, George Carlin — all penetrated my unformed psyche, courtesy of Mr. Sullivan. Music is the connective tissue between protest, rebellion, violence, sexual awareness, and community. The inner-city ghetto which I called home was brimming with hard-working people with attitude and conviction whose lust for life couldn’t be beaten out of them by piss-poor housing conditions, lousy pay, the police, or politicians. They taught me to keep the faith, and, when hoping for a better tomorrow isn’t enough, turn up the goddamn music and dance the blues away. I refused to allow them to strangle me by the ankles because even if I had to “Beg, Borrow, and Steal,” this “Lightning’s Girl” was going to be sure she was “Making Every Minute Count.” Just like the radio taught me.

phil ochs and darby crash. hanging and heroin. blue circles and nooses.

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bums don't bullshit, bums don't stick pick up chicks, they say every dog has its day, die tomorrow or die today. we were both looking for winter coats. the bum will tell me a story, if i have one minute, that's how long it takes, i didn't understand every word but one time this bum had twenty-two dollars so he wanted to buy this other guy breakfast, he turned out to be an fbi agent, and i think he took this bum's money, so when next he saw this government man, he gets him so mad he blows up and hits the bum. then the bum kicks his ass and the fbi agent loses his job. see, now he'll never make captain, that seems fair to me. bums grow disabilities, bad teeth, slow legs, no coats, and can't recall the right words, this one kept asking me, "what's the other word?" but he said one thing, that he's always liked me and once tried to tell me but i didn't hear him. bums don't pick up chicks, they don't bounce checks, don't pay rent, sore teeth, see too much of everything and don't have any body to tell.

She cranked the stereo up, Carl Perkins wobbled the posterboard walls

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He asked if I’d come along on a money run. Claimed an ex-buddy was into him for twenty-five hundred. Owed him for refurbishing the tattered remains of a shell-shocked Vespa. We’d be out of there in no time. Take the money and run. Maybe stop on the way back from Inglewood to catch the late set by Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson, who was doing three sets down in the Parisienne Room, a funky, rundown jazz club packed with older black couples who enjoyed a grind or two with their groove. Catch the 11 o’clock show if all went as planned.