Panic in the Produce Aisle

The new issue of Razorcake, the only nonprofit independent music magazine in the galaxy, just hit the stands and my copies came in the mail yesterday. 

I wrote my column for issue #116 at the end of March, a time when the teeth of the coronavirus were really clamping down, and I didn’t know what to do, much less what to say. I was reluctant to write about COVID-19 because I felt (and continue to feel) that whatever I said would be irrelevant a week later, so why bother? 

For me, the uncertainty has been the hardest thing about the pandemic, for which I am both grateful and fortunate. Being on a ventilator is hard, worrying about it much less so, but it still takes a toll. “I must not think bad thoughts,” is usually pretty good advice, but if you’re bad thoughts aren’t creeping in on the regular right now, are you even alive?

Once I came to terms with the fact that we’re in this for the long haul, my emotions began to normalize, which is another way of saying I no longer freak out at the grocery store. 

That said, I’m still haunted by the memory of my first trip to Sprouts when I panicked in the produce aisle because I couldn’t open the flimsy plastic bag for fruits and vegetables and my solution was to lick my fingers while standing next to the bean bin so I could open the fucking bag to fill it with Great Northern Beans, and even though small children had mastered basic instructions like “Wash Your Hands!” and “Don’t Touch Your Face!” there I was glomming on to things in the grocery store and putting my fingers directly into my mouth like someone searching for death, and what an ignominious way to die that would be, procuring beans for my family, like something out of a bad western movie or, even worse, the Dark Ages, which is not exactly new territory for me because I’m a recovering alcoholic and there are a lot of dark things in my past I wish I could fix or forget, but this memory from Sprouts fills me with a cocktail of dread and shame the likes of which I haven’t felt since I was in the Navy when my behavior was so routinely awful that dread and shame were always on the menu.

Anyway, instead of writing about COVID-19, I wrote about the time when I was in grade school and I came down with a mysterious illness that caused internal bleeding and excruciating pain. I was hospitalized while the doctors tried to figure out what was wrong with me, which they never did. Needless to say, it was a time of great uncertainty in my little life, and what got me through it was reading novels about the great American detective Nancy Drew. 

That’s all I’m going to say about that, except props to Bill Pinkel for the sweet image. If you’d like to read it, or any of the six columns I write a year, plus the occasional interview, get yourself a subscription. Never read Razorcake? I’ll put a copy in the mail to the first person who responds to this newsletter and asks for one.

The Brat

Speaking of Razorcake, they just released the latest installment of Eastside Punks a documentary series about influential punk bands from the eastern part of Los Angeles whose stories are often overlooked. 

The first one was about Thee Undertakers and the latest one features The Brat. It’s only about ten minutes long and the sound is fantastic.

Mutants

I’ve got a review of Mutations, Sam McPheeters’ book of essays and interviews exploring the many faces of hardcore from Rare Bird Books, in the Los Angeles Times today. 

If you’re into a hardcore punk and have a fairly expansive view of what that means, you might find something of interest in this collection. (The profile of the former singer for the Crucifucks is worth the price of admission.) Pitchfork made Mutations the inaugural selection in its first book club. 

McPheeters is an interesting writer. I don’t always agree with him but I really enjoy his writing. He’s written a couple of novels, but I’ve only read his first, The Loom of Ruin, and he wrote this great essay about Repo Man for the Criterion Collection. 

I think the timing of the review is going to make some people scratch their heads. The book came out in February, I pitched a review in March, filed it in April and here we are at the end of May. Time really doesn’t mean anything anymore. 

1,000 Memories with Michael T. Fournier

Michael T. Fournier is the author of Double Nickels on the Dime, which is part of the
33 1/3 series, and the novels Hidden Wheel and Swing State. He’s part of the Razorcake familia, a tireless book reviewer, publisher of the literary broadsheet Cabildo Quarterly, and plays in the band Dead Trend. He’s also provided me with behind the scenes assistance on My Damage and Do What You Want. In short, a good dude (even though he’s way into the Boston Red Sox). 

I knew that Michael was a big Bad Religion fan and was curious about how he came to find the band in New Hampshire. 

JIM RULAND: What’s your favorite Bad Religion record?

MICHAEL T. FOURNIER: I usually have a good sense of chronology, but my Bad Religion timeline is fuzzy. 

I know (or I think I know) that I started hearing rumblings about Sunday matinees at the Channel when I was in high school. Kids would cadge rides or take a bus from my hometown of Concord, New Hampshire to Boston. Bad Religion was one of the bands that played. I knew the name—I think because Thrasher offered Suffer as an incentive to subscribe—but hadn't heard them.

Somewhere along the way (see what I did there?) "Atomic Garden" started getting airplay on 120 Minutes, my first chance to hear them Every Sunday night I'd set a VCR to record the show, then watch when I got home from school on Monday. I remember spending a lot of time at this skateboard ramp in Bow my senior year—1992—with Generator and Steady Diet of Nothing and Nevermind playing. 

But I remember buying Against The Grain first with my friend Terry on a trip down to Harvard Square to record shop and get sophisticated-sounding coffee drinks at Cafe Pamplona. Maybe I wanted to backtrack instead of buying their new album (which I later bought on CD, even though I have no specific memory of this). 

I was the Ecology director at Wah-Tut-Ca Scout Reservation from 1993 to 1995, except the area was renamed Discovery. I took advantage of this loophole by blasting records during program time. My buddy John LeBlanc was (and is) a great guitar player, and was easily able to figure out how to play "Unacceptable" from Against the Grain. For the rest of the summer, me and John and our pal Kevin Shine would ask each other questions ("No Fruit Loops for breakfast?") fishing for “Unacceptable!” as a response. God, we must have been insufferable. 

Although I listened to Generator the most of any Bad Religion album, my favorite is still Against the Grain. Side two, in particular, is full of bangers. After I bought it, I remember feeling disappointed I had already taken my SATs: my verbal would have gone up if I knew the band earlier.

Countdown Continues

Do What You Want comes out in three months. Pre-order for the punk in your life, and if that punk is you play something loud and fast today until someone tells you to turn that shit down. 

A year ago yesterday I stood in front of the Guggenheim Bilbao Museum and had my senses deranged. There’s no substitute for that and I miss it.