Check out “Itchy Trigger Finger” in the latest issue of the Coffin Bell.
My first horror/western!
Philly Transit Chronicles Two: The Snowball Incident
I got off the Broad Street Line to do a corporate sound gig at a nameless, litigious four-star hotel in Center City. My happy ass needed to be there by six-thirty AM and the subway dropped me off on time, despite the snowy January weather. One would think that snow wouldn’t disrupt an underground line, but the drivers still need to make it to work.
Only a total moron would be out in that lonely mess that early in the morning. A lawless, isolated, vibe prevailed, the moment right before gunslingers say “draw!” in the Westerns.
My Payless dress shoes slid on the patches of icy sidewalk. This was in the early 2000’s before the proliferation of security cameras, cell phones, and Orwellian Big Brotherly love. So if I fell, it wouldn’t make it to America’s Funniest Home Videos. My thoughts concentrated on two things: coffee and where to obtain it.
As I waited for the light to turn, my eyes wandered across the street and focused onto a big dude carrying a gym bag large enough to carry at least two bodies. Unless the steroid convention was in town, I think he was on his way to Bally’s Total Fitness down the way to either lift weights or install even heavier ones. I looked away and minded my own business, like a good citizen. Soon after, I heard a powdery thunk.
The thunk originated from the impact of snow falling from the rooftop of a building directly onto the back of my man’s beanied head. His hand slid to the back of his head and confirmed the snow on his fingers. His eyes narrowed and trained on me like a rifle scope.
Oh no. He thinks I just pegged him with a snowball!
He changed course and his tan colored steel-tipped Timbs stomped in my direction.
Like Robin Williams on crack, I manically pointed to the roof, reenacting through pantomime the series of events that had brought our lives together that windy morning.
He paused and reflected, but then deemed further inquiry necessary. I was thinking of how I could explain that I don’t set my alarm and put on a suit to throw snowballs at the biggest dude I could find at the ass-crack of dawn. I looked at the icy patches on the sidewalk, preparing to book it. I remembered the crack I heard when I saw a guy get knocked out at Lucky Thirteen for sticking his tongue out at the wrong girlfriend, and didn’t want to hear it again. I’m a runner not a fighter. Feets, don’t fail me now!
One key delineation between journalism and fiction, since truth is stranger than fiction, is the allowance of the forbidden Deus ex machina ending. Considered lazy writing, the god in the machine ending is when either the capital G God or some other god swoops in out of nowhere at the last minute and saves our hero. Like He did that day when His holy breath blew another snow drift off the building, proving my innocence to the advancing behemoth.
When the guy saw the snow land in the same spot, he seemed a bit disappointed at the missed opportunity to stuff me into a trash can, but then went along his merry way while I pretended everything was cool, legs wobbling like Elvis. I expressed gratitude that I had already eliminated before I left my house.
I didn’t need coffee that morning.
I’m Never Reading a Real Book on the Bus Again
My bus stop at the corner of 15th and JFK reeked of blunt-weed and car exhaust. Right across the street was City Hall with William Penn perched on top, a classic example of covert phallic architecture. Mr. Penn’s hand transformed into another appendage at a certain vantage point, the same one where I waited for my bus after work every weekday, reading a book or using the Kindle phone app.
Audio Visual Technicians such as myself had to wear show-black in order to fade in the background: a black collared polo shirt, black cargo pants, black sneakers, and black socks. And yes, there were managers who noticed the flash of white socks like a fresh pink mohawk.
When the 27 bus finally snaked around City Hall, I put on my black N95 knockoff mask, climbed aboard, greeted the driver like any good citizen would, and then swiped my pass.
Bus seats aren’t easy to come by in rush-hour, especially ones that aren’t covered in fluids, bodily or otherwise, so I was grateful that I found one in the back of the bus. I made myself comfortable and pulled the paperback version of The Werewolf by Montague Summers from my black laptop bag. The cover features a medieval drawing of a werewolf holding a damsel in its jaws. The nice thing about e-books is that no one else knows what you are reading. It’s one less avenue for small talk. I’m not trying to make friends. I don’t even like the ones I have. That day, I broke my own rule and broadcast my reading taste to my fellow passengers.
I was just getting to the good part about the werebadgers when I heard a voice from across from me say, “Hey buddy, are you reading about werewolves?”
Oh no. I looked up from my book, and saw a middle-aged man, about my average height and pounchy build, staring at me.
“Yeah,” I said, my eyes breaking eye contact and returning to the page as a subtle hint.
Silence.
“That’s some occult shit.” He nodded to himself as if confirming a theory. “That’s crazy.”
He dressed like he had a loving family member who’d taken him to Goodwill and curated his outfits.
”That’s crazy,” he repeated, irritated this time.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, crazy.” There was a slyness in his eye, like a magician reaching into his hat. “Crazy coincidence that I was just talking to a lady up front about the occult and had to move because I’m a Christian now and can’t talk about that shit anymore. I’ve found Jesus again.”
“Huh!” I nodded.
As a policy, I rarely disagree with anyone crazier than me, unless they are discussing how spitting on me would be a good time.
He smiled knowingly. “And who do I happen to sit beside but some guy reading an occult book. Just goes to show you.”
There was an awkward silence before I caved in and took the bait just to end it. “What’s that?”
I never felt afraid of the guy, which was good because I’m about as menacing as celebrity chef Alton Brown in lederhosen. He had kindness in his eyes, but the kindness dimmed with apprehension. The look of a formally gullible person who had been burned before. He reminded me of somebody.
His smile grew as he finally showed his hand. “Just goes to show you. The devil is everywhere.”
Wait. Hold up! Did he mean . . .? I looked down at my all black wardrobe, like a business casual Johnny Cash. Oh great. This man thinks I’m a demon. Fallen angels tend to be handsome, but to be fair, I had a mask on. How am I going to bullshit my way out of this one? How do you explain that you are not a hand of Satan, but just a nerd reading some book that Misfits/Samhain frontman, Glenn Danzig, said was cool in an interview?
To get into character I glowered and then smiled a wicked grin beneath my mask as if I were downplaying my anger after his cunning defeated of me. As if I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Yeah,” I said, adding an artificial twinge of disappointment and balefulness to my voice, eyes on fire.
“Enjoy your book, buddy,” he said to the blue-eyed devil holding the bad book before turning his attention elsewhere, signaling that I had been dismissed.
And I did enjoy my book. He didn’t bother me again for the next half an hour. I pondered if Philly had wereroaches, because one of those little suckers can carry a whole Italian hoagie away. When I got off of my stop— which in retrospect was stupid, because I should’ve gotten off a couple before or after so he wouldn’t know where I lived— I heard him yell “Hey, buddy!”
He waved goodbye naughtily and his voice trumpeted confidence.“Have a good one!”
“Have a good one, ” I echoed, but my tone inferred, “I’ll get you next time, foolish mortal!”
I also told the bus driver to have a good one, like a good citizen in my human voice, and then stormed off in defeat with a gait of devilish arrogance, not breaking character until the bus disappeared.
When I told my coworkers the story the next day, they agreed. “Steve is totally getting stabbed with a curvy knife soon. Something ceremonial looking.”
So far, so good though. I’ve never seen him again.
Danzig’s Book Club is a Lot Different than Oprah’s.
First, there is no Gayle and second, there is less prosecco. Tucked deep inside his London dungeon in Hollywood California, Glenn Danzig’s (The Misfits/Samhain/solo) bookshelf oozed with enough forbidden fruit to make Tipper Gore, the mother of all helicopter moms, clutch her pearls. During the filming of his documentary Home Video (1990) Danzig gave us a tour of his house, which basically included a weight bench and his collection of books and comic books. When he got to his books, he had the grin of a juvenile delinquent showing off a switchblade stolen from his mom’s boyfriend. It’s like an episode of Reading Rainbow where every color is black.
The Werewolf
Author: Montague Summers
Published: 1933
“There’s lots of great werewolf stories— all documented all true— and there’s
one in particular that’s great where they’re looking for this guy who was
accused of being a wolf and he comes out of this clearing shaking a baby in his
mouth. That’s pretty cool. That’s the kind of stuff I like to read.”
-Danzig
Clergyman Montague Summers, the author of The Vampire, compiled this exhausting collection of storie, from folklore to ancient eyewitness accounts about werewolves , werejaguars, werelions, werefoxes, werebears (known as berserkers to the Norse) and yes, even werebadgers. To refer to Mr. Summers as “thorough” would be like calling Dave Attell “kinda funny.” This guy even translated into English a witch hunter’s manual from the 1500’s named the Malleus Maleficarum. The Werewolf is the perfect reference book for any horror writer.
The Occult Roots of Nazism
Author: Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke
Published: 1985
“Every school child should have this book.”
-Danzig
“Nazis. I hate these guys.”
-Indiana Jones
This book explains all wacky occult justifications for the Third Reich.. The Thule Society, founded in 1918, had a profound effect on the Nazi movement. This secret society is where a young Adoft Hitler got to rub elbows with his mentor, antisemitic playwright and author, Dietrich Eckart. Just goes to show how small groups wield great power and that if you want to do something extra heinous, you need creepy white dudes to put on robes and light some candles and shit.
The Anthropology of Evil
Author: David J Parkin
Published: 1985
You can’t have good without evil, and you can’t have evil unless you define what it is. The Anthropology of evil breaks down what is and isn’t. Evil is dissected through the different lenses of Confucianism, Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism and Islam. Even God Himself is put on trial. I think all major religions can all agree that Thrall-Demonsweatlive is pretty evil.
The Lost Books of the Bible and The Forgotten Books of Eden
Author William Hone
Published: 1926
“. . .Stuff that I guess most churches
wouldn’t want you to know about it
doesn’t fit in with their ideology of
Christ”
–Danzig
According to the Lost Books of the Bible, the little lord Jesus was a bad boy, smiting the neighborhood kids whenever they pissed him off and generally acting like Superman unhinged. No one told Mary that raising the Christ child would be easy. Whenever she spanked him, he’d just turn the other cheek. Some people believe these books are like the unearthed deep tracks on the Beatles Anthology. Others consider them blasphemy. Danzig considers them “light reading.”
A Dictionary of Angels
Author: Gustav Davidson
Published: 1967
“. . . Tells you all the angels, their names, the
days they preside over, their hours, what their
functions are. If you believe in any of that
stuff.”
-Danzig
If you want to go to heaven, it’s probably a good idea to know the staff’s names and their hierarchy if you don’t want to step on any sandaled toes. This book also addresses the fallen angels, the cheeky ones who said, “non serviam” to God and got booted from paradise. They gave a completely different Glassdoor review of working for the man upstairs (still beats working for Elon Musk). Remember, every time you read a Danzig book suggestion, a demon gets her scaly wings.
-end
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What do Zappa, Bowie, Talking Heads, Cyndi Lauper, and King Crimson All have in Common? Guitarist Adrian Belew’s Bizarre Animal Noises.
Few guitar players make a living imitating animal sounds on guitar, let alone boast a rock n’ roll resume that would impress the snobbiest music dorks, including Talking Heads, Frank Zappa, Cyndi Lauper, Tom Tom Club, King Crimson, and David Bowie. The Mary Poppins of sidemen, Adrian Belew never stayed with one project too long before raising his umbrella and flying off to the next scenario, coming at you in stereo like an infectious disease breaking out of your headphones into your membranes. He’s even got his own Parker Adrian Belew signature guitar, wishing in at a featherweight five pounds, and a Liquid Foot pedal board that can recall his crazy tones from 30 years ago. Here we take a deep dive into his music and enjoy a bit a of gossip along the way,
Sweetheart
“I was in every kind of band you could have, and none of it had made any difference success-wise. There I was, 27 years old, feeling that maybe the world had passed me by.”
-Adrian Belew”
Belew got his start in a cover band named Sweetheart, sneaking his unique style into other people’s songs to the delight of the audience, the ultimate “man, what are you doing here” guy. Then one day, while Sweetheart was playing a gig at Fanny’s in Nashville, a tall mustachioed man named Frank Zappa sauntered in along with his bodyguard.
Frank Zappa
Albums: Zappa In New York, Sheik Yerbouti, Baby Snakes, You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. 1, You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. 6 , Frank Zappa Plays The Music Of Frank Zappa,and Quaudiophiliac
”I didn’t think anything like that could seriously happen.”
-Adrian Belew
Brian Eno had hipped Zappa to Belew’s. Buzz about Belew’s playing had even reached Zappa’s chauffeur driver who drove him to Fanny’s. After making Belew sweat it out for 6 months, Zappa finally called as promised and paid to fly Belew out to audition, marking the first time the Kentucky native ever flew on a plane.
Belew said of the experience:
“I watched some really tough auditions, especially for keyboard players and percussionists. I didn’t see any other guitar players, but I was later told that he auditioned 50 guitar players.
“At the end of the day, when it all calmed down and people were finally leaving, I finally got my time to speak to Frank again. I said simply this: ‘Frank, I don’t think I did so well. I imagined this would have happened differently. I thought you and I would sit somewhere quiet, and I would play and sing the songs for you. And he said, ‘OK, then let’s do that.’
“We went upstairs to his living room, and we sat on his purple couch. I placed my Pignose amplifier face down on the couch so I could get a little bit of sustain, and I auditioned all over again. At the end of it, he reached out his hand and said, ‘You got the job.’ We shook hands, and that was an absolute turning point in my life.”
David Bowie
Album: Logan
Reprinted from Mr. Belew’s Facebook in his own words:
“In 1978 I did my first tour of Europe as “stunt” guitarist and singer for Frank Zappa’s band. The night we played in Cologne, Germany. Unbeknownst to me, Brian Eno was in the audience. Brian knew David Bowie was looking for a new guitarist for his upcoming tour. He called David after seeing our show and told David he should come see the guitarist for Frank’s band.
The next night we performed in Berlin. There was a part of the show where Frank took an extended guitar solo and most of the band members, including myself, left the stage for a few minutes. As I walked to the back of the stage I looked over at the monitor mixing board and saw David Bowie and Iggy Pop standing there.
Wow! I couldn’t believe it!
So I walked over to David Bowie, shook his hand and said, “I love what you’ve done, thank you for all the music”. And he said, “Great, how would you like to be in my band?” I motioned back towards Frank and said, “Well, I’m kind of playing with that guy.” David laughed and said, “Yes, I know, but when Frank’s tour ends my tour starts two weeks later. Shall we talk about it over dinner?”
David said he would meet me back at our hotel and sure enough when I arrived back at the hotel David Bowie and his assistant, Coco Schwab, were sitting on a couch in the lobby. As I walked past them they whispered to me, “Get into the elevator, go up to your room, come back down in a few minutes, and meet us outside. We have a car waiting.”
It was like something out of a spy film.
When I came back down and went outside there was a black limousine waiting. The driver opened the door and I got in the back with David and Coco. David immediately launched into all these plans for his upcoming tour, the songs we would play, the staging, and so on, and how much he loved my guitar playing! It was so exciting! He said they were taking me to one of his favorite restaurants in Berlin.
How many restaurants are there in Berlin? 25,000?
We arrived at the restaurant, went in the front door, and who should be sitting at the very first table but Frank Zappa and the rest of the band! So the three of us sat down with Frank and the band. David, trying to be cordial, motioned to me and said, “Quite a guitar player you have here Frank.”
And Frank said, “Fuck you Captain Tom.”
(note: Frank had demoted David from Major Tom to Captain Tom.)
David persisted, “Oh come on now Frank, surely we can be gentlemen about this?”
Frank said, “Fuck you, Captain Tom.”
By this point I was paralyzed. David said, “So you really have nothing to say?” Frank said, “Fuck you, Captain Tom.”
David and Coco and I got up and went back out the front door. Getting in the limo David said in his wonderfully British way, “I thought that went rather well!”
Talking Heads
Albums: Remain in Light, The Name of this Band is Talking Heads.
Belew met the Talking Heads when Zappa played with them on their Remain In Light tour. He is credited on the “The name of this Band is Talking Heads,” a collection of live recordings from the Remain in Light tour. He was probably closest with guitar player Jerry Harrison, since he played on all Harrison’s solo albums and still tours with him to this day. Belew also co-wrote Talking Heads side project, The Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love” famously sampled on Mariah Carrey’s “Sweet Fantasy.”
King Crimson
Albums Discipline, Beat, Three of a Perfect Pair, :Vrooom :Thrak, Thrakattak, the construKction of light: Vrooom Vrooom, Happy with What You Have to Be Happy With, The Power to Believe
“Hello Adrian, I know you’re not one to go raving so I figured it was safe to call you early. Did I wake you up? I did? Well look, Bill Bruford and I want to start a band with you.”
Robert Fripp to a very hungover and Adrian Belew
The new band in question was called Discipline They later decided to continue under the King Crimson umbrella, naming the album Discipline instead. Belew was the first guitar player in King Crimson whose last name wasn’t Fripp. Belew also got to write and sing his own songs in this version of King Crimson, which was the catalyst for his leaving the Talking Heads. That and apparently David Byne was a bigger diva than Mariah Carey back then, even making venerated bass player Tina Weymouth audition to keep her role in the band, which pissed her husband and Talking Heads drummer Chris Frantz off to no end. This might help explain why the Talking Heads passed up a huge payday of 80 million to reunite.
Cyndi Lauper
Album: True Colors
“When you’ve got great musicians, just let them play. I told Adrian, ‘Can you play like this guy?
Saying that to Adrian Belew, what the heck was I thinking? In my defense, I was under pressure and at the time not used to working with such great players.”
-Cyndi Lauper
As green as she was, Lauper knew when to put her foot down when it mattered. In her words:
“I remember Adrian Belew saying to me, ‘Cyn, what happened to the girl that wanted to have fun?’ “He was looking for that fun thing, and he was right — it kind of wasn’t there, you know? But I didn’t want to write ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Part 2’ — because I was afraid if I did, I would be stuck there forever.”
And the rest is history.
NIN
Albums: The Downward Spiral, The FragileGhosts I–IV, Hesitation Marks
Trent Reznor had the unfortunate and rare opportunity of firing his favorite guitar player. The rest of the band threatened to quit unless Reznor gave Belew his walking papers.
Here is what went down, according to Belew:
“Here’s my version of it, “Now, you might ask someone else, and then they’d say something different, but when Trent called me, he was very excited about the idea that he and I would reinvent Nine Inch Nails. “And he even told me, ‘Don’t worry about learning the songs verbatim. Just get to know them.’ So, I listened to the songs, and I really didn’t try to figure parts out. I did a little bit just out of curiosity. So when I got there, we had 12 weeks of rehearsal time. I thought that’s the amount of time I had with Frank Zappa. I could learn anything in 12 weeks.”
“I don’t mind talking about it now. But at the time, it was so upsetting to me. But after 17 days, he said that some of the guys in the band weren’t comfortable with me. They didn’t feel like I was doing my parts right and that I knew the songs as good as I should. And I said, ‘Listen, I can tell you for sure – this is 17 days in. I’m still working out ideas of sounds and things. I’m not even worried about the songs.’ But those were ‘LA kind of players,’ you know? And in my mind, they have very little imagination, I’ll put it that way. So he said, ‘It’s time for you to go.’”
Solo Albums
Albums: Lone Rhino,Twang Bar King, Desire Caught By the Tai , Mr. Music Head, Young Lions, Inner Revolution, The Acoustic Adrian Belew, Here.
Belews voice is reminiscent of David Brynes, which makes sense after singing backup for him, with a Touch of Here come the Warm jets era Eno, but his guitar playing is still incomparable. In addition to singing and playing guitar on his solo albums, he also played drums. If Adrian Belew never made it as a guitar player, he would have had a smash career as a session drummer. All that time in King Crimson must have made odd meters a snap for him. He has a very strange approach to the kit, but he really makes it work for himself.
See What Adrian Belew is up to today on his blog.
Further Reading:
https://www.guitarplayer.com/players/adrian-belew-frank-zappa-audition
https://www.billboard.com/music/pop/cyndi-lauper-interview-true-colors-35th-anhttps://guitar.com/news/music-news/adrian-belew-reason-behind-nine-inch-nails-dismissal/niversary-9645206/
https://www.billboard.com/music/pop/cyndi-lauper-interview-true-colors-35th-anniversary-9645206
I Finally Paid for My Reaper Subscription. And McAfee Sucks.
Sometimes you just need someone to cut you a little bit of slack, a helping hand, an alley-oop. I had no disposable income. I thought it would take me two months to get a new job. Six at the most. Nope! Instead of income, I had eleven months of outgo. Choices had to be made. Belts tightened. Niceties jettisoned.
The first thing I got rid of was my McAfee antivirus. McaFee is the kind of friend who won’t take no for an answer, showing up hours early to the party while you’re still in the shower. No matter how many times I tried to delete McAfee, even after using their uninstall program, it would just reinstall itself and give me pop ups like this.
McAfee is the most aggressive of panhandlers
Meanwhile, I got a 911 call from my buddy Jay. Director Brian Wild tapped rockabilly singer and collage artist Mighty Joe Castro to provide the soundtrack for a booger monster called The Boog,” Joe needed collaborators to write and record the theme song.
Of course I was in. Who wouldn’t be? I already had everything I needed to record us in my basement, except for a reliable program like Pro Tools to mix and master the audio. I looked up programs like Cubase, and Studio One but they are all subscription based, and cost more than a month of Netflix. I didn’t have the money for that.
Reaper is nagware. On bootup, a prompt asks you to pay the piper, with a five second delay to let the guilt soak in. You are expected to pay for it, but they aren’t going to shut the lights off on you if you go past the trial period. I figured that I was only going to be unemployed for a couple months, so why not? I promised myself that I’d buy a subscription with my first paycheck.
Oh wait. McAfee is chiming in again:
Stalker -”A person who harrasses or persecutes someone with unwanted and obsessive behavior.”
Reaper has a really cool backstory. The reason that the program is so affordable is because its developer, Justin Frankle, isn’t in it for the money. After selling Winamp, a legendary media player from the file sharing days, to AOL back in the early 2000’s, he didn’t need a paycheck anymore. Reaper is a pet project for him, just for funsies.
He says that he “programs out of frustration.” If a product isn’t up to his personal standard, he writes his own. He also picked up recording music as a hobby, and wasn’t feeling the existing software like Logic. Instead of complaining about it, he created Reaper, his take on the Digital Audio WorkStation (DAW). And he charges reasonable prices. $60 for private use and $225 for commercial economics if you make more than $20,000 a year on music. Its stock plug- ins gave me all the compressors, and eq, and reverbs that the Beatles had, and much, much, more. I had no excuses.
In this killer interview, Frankle asks the question,”Why can’t art also be functional? Carpentry can be art. Why not software?”
My answer is that he can call it anything he wants to, as long as I get to use the end product for my stuff. As symbiotic as Doozers and Fraggles.
Puting the “fee” in McAfee.
There is a difference between someone working for cash and someone doing it for more esoteric reasons, not only with affordability, but with functionality. When the focus isn’t on pulling every last dime out of your digital wallet, it falls into craft. Reaper is going to be my eternal DAW of choice. Not just because of them hooking me up with a deal. I love how customizable and light weight the software is. You can even put adorable little VU meters on every track and mixer channel. When you don’t need to bog it down with anti cracking software, or resource sucking animations, everything runs quickly. Rendering is almost instantaneous.
I was able to utilize my downtime mixing the soundtrack for a cool movie. I got to learn a lot about recording due to their great tutorials. And I would have never been able to do this without the program. Oh and with my first paycheck I got the license, just like I promised. The Boog is doing well at screenings such as the Asoria Horrorfest, and TerribleFest in Toronto. And we couldn’t have done it without Reaper. Hopefully, these tools will fall also into the hands of more talented musicians than yours truely.
As for McAfee I wrote a poem:
McAfee, Get Away from Thee
By Steve Levandoski
McAfee, get away from thee
You’re like a stalker in bar
Who follows me to my car
Always popping on my screen
A toothy puppy that will not wean
And no matter how many times I hit delete
Who comes back to my screen as if on repeat
McAfee, get away from thee.
,
Check out “Nut Job” in the Latest Issue of Grim and Gilded.
I’ve been Published in Today’s Issue of Flash Fiction magazine.
Thanks to the staff at Flash Fiction Magazine for being an absolute joy to work with. I’m so lucky to have horror published this close to halloween. Check it out and leave a comment about how great I am!
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I’ve gone Country. But not Western. Special thanks to everyone at Scribble Scrab Sounds for their undying support.
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