Lick Us Back
Readers’ Response
A Lick and a Promise
There is no freedom. I hate this planet. I hate what goes on in my mind. I live in a homeless shelter. I once slept in a dumpster during a winter storm and got an ugly rash on my face called “shingles.” I have a college degree in English and live on disability checks. I’ve been in mental institutions several times. I am overweight, fat, and no longer young.
Since 1976, I have avidly followed Boston’s underground rock ‘n’ roll scene. I’ve also been 86’d from several choice watering holes for a long time now. I’m not “hip” or “cool” enough and I am an alcoholic. These days I listen to stuff like Current 93 and Death in June and subsist on used cassettes. But I do remember when concerts at the old Boston Garden and the Orpheum were 4 to 6 bucks a ticket. I also remember when bands used to play two or three sets a night at the Rat, the Club, and Cantones.
When Ronald Reagan was elected president in 1980, I wasn’t the only one who thought that WWIII and the end of the world were right around the corner. In fact, I’m still waiting for the apocalypse. I am full of fear and disgust. I am a sick person. But I do get a kick out of observing the fractured unraveling of our social structure. I haven’t paid any taxes in over a decade because I mostly lived below poverty level. I have taken pride in being one of the dispossessed since I believe the system to be inherently evil. I have no children and no mate or “better half.” I am pathetic. I’ve found nihilism breeds fear and regret.
For lack of anything better, I believe that Jesus will come back down and stop us from ultimately destroying ourselves. But there is a price; war, famine and disease will take their toll. And in case you haven’t noticed, our individual liberties are being chipped away at and we’re becoming drawn and quartered, simply fighting for our own health, sanity, and survival. But it’s like pissing into the wind. There’re too many of us. The values of life and freedom become obsolete.
However, as we continue on our downward spiral, the availability of quality music is astounding – as, perhaps desperately, there are many who choose to go out on a limb to find a form for their expression. It is of these people that I remain envious. My enjoyment of the artistic fruits of others’ endeavors is also a big reason that I have not opted for suicide, yet.
Alex Zerehykor
Anchor Inn
Box 240
North Quincy, MA 02171
Lolliflopfolk
Being that I am all too aware of how annoying it is to have one’s name – or worse, magazine name – intentionally misspelled in the fashion of implying an insult, I am all too often wont to employ it, thereby exposing myself as the jerk that I am. Even if I mean no harm (as in this case), I simply cannot quell my Tourette-stricken pen.
Anyhow, so as to balance out my all but useless sentiments, let me state that #34’s installment of “The Culture Bunker” was as brilliantly silly as was awful the glaring mistake made in the “Wave That Freak-Flag High” review wherein Chris implied that in 1966, there were loads of bands working with “cheap-shit 8-track studios” when there was no such thing as even an 8-track studio. Even the Beatles and Jimi Hendrix were still using 4-tracks by 1968, and they (the studios) were considered revolutionary because they were 4-tracks.
But dwell not on my insignificant details pointed out; it is merely the audio engineer in me (a “career” that I accomplished prior to my publishing endeavor).
Cheers,
Rev. Randall Tin-Ear
Angry Thoreauan
PO Box 3478
Hollywood, CA 90078
