Flipside

#104 $3 (PO Box 60790, Pasadena, CA 91116)
by Nik Rainey

Geez-Burmese, what’s left to say about Flipside? The grandpappy of all U.S. punkzines remains densely teeming with torrents of tiny text and a far wider frame of reference than most any other ‘zine you’d care to name (check it out: Richard Hell! Rat Scabies [sans mumbles]! Director John Frankenheimer! Pluto [not the dog]! Tongue [not the organ]! Four live Pistols reviews! Dash Rip Rock! Scud: The Disposable Assassin creator Rob Schrab! Info on Ibogaine [the heroin withdrawal-easing drug, not the hair withdrawal-easing drug]! And far too many pictures of people with their pants down who really shouldn’t have bothered!), and the writing is as high-quality as ever. So what’s new and different? The paper! It’s smooth! It’s glossy! It melts on the page, not on your fingers! I believe we call that progress. Admittedly, I haven’t come close to absorbing all that lies between the covers, and I probably can’t hope to by the time the next issue comes out, but consider how rarely you can say that about any music mag, big or small. And anyway, I can’t get past that paper. Read it, rub it against your cheek (either definition), serve bacon on it, I don’t know, it’s still Flipside and I’m happy it’s still with us. So they can’t be bothered to write a different review of Lollipop or go to the trouble of spelling “chock” correctly. Give ’em a break. They’re busy people. And their paper’s nice and smooth.