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New short story for Vol 1. Brooklyn’s Sunday Story Series!

18 Mar

Sunday Stories: “Down on the Boulevard”


Down on the Boulevard
by Justin Maurer

NOTICE TO QUIT.

It was an eviction notice on my front door.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I peeled the scotch-tape off of my white wood door. It left a mark behind which would remind me, daily, that I’d be evicted unless I came up with a 1000 dollars in ten days.

Community College was out for a long winter break, and being an hourly non-salaried employee of the Los Angeles Unified School District, I was ready for a lean holiday. I wasn’t expecting a notice stating that my December rent check had been returned to the bank. So I took action, applying at every job imaginable.

After 100 resumes were thoroughly distributed around the whole of L.A. County, I got a call from a tour bus company on Hollywood Boulevard. A heavily accented female voice asked me to come in for an interview. I obliged.  The next morning I caught the Red Line train at Pershing Square in my suit and tie, feeling self conscious among throngs of homeless men picking half-used cigarettes out of the sidewalk’s steel grates.  The North Hollywood bound train pulled up and I hopped on, sitting next to a chubby Mexican woman with two small children on her lap. One of them, a brown-eyed little girl, tugged at the sleeve of my sportcoat affectionately.

I exited at Hollywood and Highland, and walked the gargantuan escalator upwards to street level. Upon entering the cavernous lobby of the tour company, I noticed a filthy red carpet, a jumble of wrinkled maps on the walls, and enormous mounted head shots of airbrushed Hollywood celebrities.  I was bluntly greeted by a tiny Chinese woman, Sharon. She wore a beige cashmere sweater, ancient bifocals, and neon orange Sketchers running shoes. The interview was brief and I was hired on the spot.

She tells me why. “I don’t just hire anyone, but I hire you because I like you. You speak a few languages, you smart. I can tell. You seem more European, more respectful. Americans much louder. We used to have more American customer, now only foreign people. They don’t speak English. Indian people, European people, nobody speak English. So stupid. Here only speak English.”

The next morning was my first day. I punched in a manila colored time card on one of those ancient machines. I’m struck by how loud it is. Sharon arrives work with a water bottle full of ginger and cinnamon sticks.  She informs me that the concoction keeps her healthy. She begins a relentless blitzkrieg of training while fingering a manifold of maps and manuals.

“Tell them they see Mel Gibson yesterday on one of the tour. Ninety percent of time they see celebrity on tour. This help you sell many tour. You sell many, make good money commission. Tell them where they go. Movie star home tour. Beverly Hills, Rodeo Drive, many famous star eating lunch outside.”

Sharon’s eight-months-pregnant daughter Julie is working as well. She’s a dullard. At best. Julie creaks over to me in a dilapidated office chair. She whispers, “You don’t mind yelling do you?”

A few moments later her mother begins ranting and raving when a tourist couple asks if their small child needs to buy an extra seat on the tour bus.

Sharon screams, “No free seat! Baby must buy!”

Another customer asks about parking.

“We in business 30 years! In Hollywood parking is expensive. Do not come without a reservation!”

After the tourist storms away fuming and muttering Sharon turns to me.

“Don’t you know nobody in Hollywood speaks English? Also, every time I walk outside, it smell like pee, I can’t believe these homeless people, just pee everywhere. Hollywood smell like pee. Disgusting.”

A Scottish man named Bruce Gilmore comes into the office also ranting and raving. He manages and repairs the tour buses.

“Fookin hell Sharon, tell those fookin idiots to park the vans properly.”

She begins screaming at Bruce Gilmore. Bruce screams back, they go into the back room. It sounds like an extremely localized earthquake. Various objects are hurled about the room in between obscenities. He storms out.

I ask my pudgy co-worker Frankie from Minnesota, “Did Bruce just quit his job?”

“No, he likes arguing with Sharon. They’re like a married couple. He’s been working for her over 20 years.”

A giant ponytailed metalhead with full sleeve tattoos runs into the office. He looks like Gaston from Disney’s cartoon version of “Beauty and the Beast”.

He addresses all of us in the singular. “Dude, I just hit OJ! Just smacked him as hard as I could in the face.”

“What happened,” Sharon asks.

“Dude, check it out, he was sitting there drinking and I kicked his chair out from under him. I warned him, the fucker still wouldn’t leave, so I slapped him in the face as hard as I could. He squealed, whydju hit me Jimmy, and ran off down the alley. God, it feltso good to finally hit that fucker.”

Sharon is delighted and pats the metalhead affectionately on his massive lattisimus dorsi, “Good, you punch him! You need punch more people. I give you raise.”

The metal head laughs and walks back outside to hand out tour bus flyers to the hordes of tourists swarming down Hollywood Boulevard on foot.

“Who’s OJ?” I ask.

Frankie from Minnesota leans back in his creaking office chair. It sounds like a blue whale’s mating call. The quality of office chair seems to decrease with the chain of command. “OJ is some dick who works for another tour company. This black guy. Drinks all day. Sometimes the other tour companies just hire street people to hand out their flyers. Tour guys are territorial. We don’t go on their turf and they don’t go on ours. Jimmy warned him to stay off our property and he didn’t listen, so he got it.”

“What’s Jimmy’s story?”

Frankie continues, “Jimmy used to be a heavy metal singer in a real big band. He played all the venues in town, the Troubadour, Whiskey, the Rainbow, all of those places. He’s a party animal; we go drinking at the Powerhouse like every night.”

Sharon rampages over to our side of the office. “Frankie, I not pay you to do nothing and talk all day, you talk too much. You and Justin go out back and clean up, there dead pigeon out there.”

Frankie and I reluctantly saunter out onto the back patio. It is filthy, littered with discarded tour bus seats, cigarette butts, fast food wrappers, dirt, and a dead pigeon stuck in a bit of wire around a drainpipe.

In this crossroads between glamour and gutter, I attempt rational thought. “We better get him before he starts to decompose,” I say.

“Fuck that, I’m not touching the pigeon,” Frankie says.

I convince him to hit the pigeon with a broomstick handle and I catch its solid body inside of a garbage bag, tying it shut before the smell hits me. “Rigor mortis has already set in,” I say.

We see another pigeon injured, flopping behind an abandoned bus seat. We attempt to catch him, but he tucks himself into a corner, and we give up. I wonder what else I have given up on. Another one of our co-workers comes in through the back alley smoking a cigarette. He’s a skinny, femmy well-dressed kind of guy. He says hello, puts out his cigarette and goes inside.

Frankie informs me, “That’s gay John, he was in gay porn back in the day. Man, he stays up all night ass-fucking dudes while high on crystal meth, and then comes into work. He’s crazy. But I’m crazy too. When you get to know me a little better, you’ll know how disturbed I am. I actually aspire to be a porn star in a bunny suit. People love shtick like that in porn. Imagine an out of shape guy in a bunny suit doing anal only. Just imagine me wearing these bunny ears, just spitting on a girl’s asshole then fucking her. It would be hilarious. I’d be a celeb at the porn conventions. I either wanna be a porn star or a comedian. I don’t want to brag, but I used to be a real big comedian back in the Minneapolis bar scene. It’s harder to get into the comedy scene in L.A. I actually have a comedy night next week at Laugh Factory, want to come?”

“Sure,” I tell him.

We go back inside. It’s a slow day so he tells me more gossip about the place.

“All the bus drivers here come from a place called Mulberry House. They’re mostly felons and ex-cons. A couple of them drive like real maniacs, but mostly they’re good drivers, reliable workers. Sharon works them to the bone.”

A black man with dreadlocks begins playing buckets across the street like a drum set. It’s pretty loud.

“Sharon hates that guy. She calls the cops on him every week trying to get him thrown in jail. She’s convinced that a rival tour company hires him to discourage customers from going on one of our tours. One time she kicked a bucket out from under that drummer guy’s feet. He spit on her and she spit back, then somebody called the cops. She was fighting two black guys one time. She’s completely fearless, raging temper. She’ll go from one to eleven in about five seconds. She caught Spiderman pissing behind the building one time. I thought she was going to kill him. The dude ran off with his Spiderman costume pulled down to his knees yelling fuck you at her. His junk was slapping all over the place.”

Sharon comes over as we hand a pair of German tourists tickets for their tour bus ride.

Sharon smiles, “German people very smart that’s why I like them. Good business people too.”

A group of twenty Asians walk down Hollywood Boulevard carrying crosses and handwritten signs reading, “Jesus Saves.” A well-dressed and hair-gelled man leading the procession wears dark sunglasses and holds his left hand outstretched as if he is blessing a congregation. The rest of them scream into bullhorns behind their stoic leader, chanting broken English slogans and marching as if they were in the military.

“TURN TO JESUS. COME TO JESUS. WORSHIP JESUS! JESUS IS YOUR SAVIOR!”

Sharon scoffs, “Those Korean people are just showing off. I don’t like Korean people.” She runs outside, shooing the Korean Christians, “Get outta here! Get outta here!”

An older Korean man tries to hand her a flyer saying softly, “Jesus is your savior.”

“Get outta here,” she screams again.

“Awww, Jesus is your savior,” the old man says again. He finally surrenders and hands his flyer to an Australian tourist waiting for our tour bus.

Sharon storms back inside and flops into her fine black leather office chair next to me. Across the road is a black man dancing with sandwich board advertising for Subway. He dances pretty well. Sharon does not approve.

“Look at him dancing like a monkey. Black people act like animals, I can’t stand them. They scare me.”

She changes the subject.

“Chinese people always try and get cheaper price. That’s why here is only English, I won’t speak in Chinese to them, if I do, they try and bargain with me, get cheaper price. No respect. They rich in China, lots of money, they come here on vacation, plenty of money. This isn’t Mexico, no bargain with me, they pay full price for tour.”

A barefoot homeless man with dreadlocks and two stumps for hands walks down the Boulevard screaming in anguish.

Jimmy the metalhead comes in to update us on the situation.

“Dude, that big fat rapper guy with gold chains stole the no-hands guy’s money! That’s fucked up,” he laughs. “Gotta love the Boulevard!”

At, this point, I need an oasis. I decide to check out the pool at the Roosevelt Hotel on my lunch break. On the way are scores of Spidermen, Batmen, Darth Vaders, Wonder Women, and Transformers. Sad people. Alcoholics and child molesters and failed actors.

Tourists are dressed to the nines, parading down Hollywood Boulevard in their hottest outfits as if there is a talent scout on every corner just waiting to scoop up sunburned Russians to star in next summer’s blockbuster. A midget Mr. T. decked out in gold plated chains and A-Team outfit struts by. Mini Mr. T. shouts into his normal-sized cell phone. In his hand, it looks enormous, “Mothafucka, I am calling you back.”

I bring Knut Hamsun’s Hunger with me and flop down on a folding chair poolside at the Hotel Roosevelt. Dean Martin’s “You Belong to Me” calmly trickles from the bar. Palm trees sway in the breeze as if Hollywood Boulevard doesn’t exist. I take a deep breath and sigh as I survey the clear blue water. It’s mostly old people, but a couple of young girls wearing thong bikinis unexpectedly walk over to the bar to order margaritas. I enjoy the view.

The blond cocktail waitress, an aspiring actress, is wearing a skintight stripy dress. She’s a white girl, but possesses a kind of ass that only a tall black girl would rightly have. It’s like a shelf. I marvel at its sinuous glory as she delivers gin and tonics on a tray to two male European tourists smoking cigarettes. As she bends down to serve the drinks, the penetrating magnificence of the California sun outlines her long legs and tight ass. Through the fabric of her dress I can see that she too is wearing a thong.

I close my Hamsun paperback and head back to the madhouse. A cue-ball shiny bald man with bushy eyebrows struts back and forth up Hollywood Boulevard singing old country songs. He goes into a Hank Williams tune as he passes our office’s wide open corridor, “I’m so lonesome, eyeee could cryyyy.”

Later, he’ll remove his shirt and do Kung Fu moves in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, right  by Marilyn Monroe’s handprints and Frank Sinatra’s footprints. He’s not trying to get any money.

People walk by sipping wheat grass and coffee out of paper cups.

I sneak around the block for a cigarette. I was told Sharon hates cigarettes and people who smoke them. I wind my way down to Sunset Boulevard. On the front lawn of Hollywood High School a homeless couple is sitting on their black duffel bags brushing their teeth.

I take Las Palmas back up to Hollywood Boulevard and see a man with one leg and one stump dragging himself along with a bucket and a rag. He is polishing every single star on the walk of fame. I see him scrubbing Rodney Dangerfield. He’s wiping down the pink star with vigor and looks up from his labor of love. “Happy Hanukah,” he tells me contorting his neck upward. “There’s Jews that practice Christmas, but those aren’t real Jews. But stop in a synagogue sometime, they have real good food in there. Food to die for.” He looks back down to Rodney Dangerfield. His face twitches a few times. He resumes his polishing.

Back at work, things are winding down. To everyone’s joy, Sharon is finally leaving.

“I go home now, but before I go, buy pizza. You want pizza? She hands me a twenty-dollar bill. I buy you dinner, I buy everybody dinner. I nice lady. Too generous.”

Before she leaves, I order the pizza. Sharon daintily nibbles at a slice then says goodbye leaving the rest for us. Sharon hugs everyone else goodbye, looks over at me and smiles sweetly saying, “Thank you, see you tomorrow.” She truly has the capability of being a sweet old lady, but she’s a real Jekyll and Hyde. The Boulevard has done it to her.

Outside, a strange serenity begins to unfold. A moment before the sun ducks away, the brown hills radiate, and a different flavor of madness begins to percolate. Before the chaos of the Boulevard catches a second wind, I duck into the metro station and head home on the Red Line train.

“And to all a good night,” bellows a homeless dwarf.  He parades down the train car shaking a rumpled felt hat full of change.

“Come on, chief,” he tells me. “Out of work actors gotta eat too.” I toss a quarter into his hat. He winks at me. “To all a good night,” he shouts again, swinging the door to the next car open violently. The door slams shut as I pull out Hamsun and flip the pages to a makeshift bookmark, my folded eviction notice.  The downtown-bound Red Line train screeches along and my fellow passengers brace and bounce in unison with the train’s erratic pulse, our final destination uncertain.

Razorcake interview with powerpop/punk legends The Undertones!

4 Jan

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing John ‘O Neill from one of my favorite bands of all time, The Undertones, for L.A.’s Razorcake Magazine. It’s finally live..

http://www.razorcake.org/interviews/interview-with-the-undertones-by-justin-maurer

Interview with The Undertones
By Justin Maurer

By Guest Contributor
Tuesday, January 03 2012

The Undertones, power pop punk juggernauts, recorded uncontested classics like “Teenage Kicks,” “Get over You,” “My Perfect Cousin,” and “Jimmy Jimmy.”

Formed in the late ‘70s, this Northern Irish punk band is once again standing strong. They recently toured Southern California in a short burst of high-energy performances. Thanks in part to the non-stop fandom and support of BBC’s Radio 1 DJ John Peel, they shared labels and tour dates with the top acts in late ‘70s / early ‘80s punk: Ramones, The Clash, and The Rezillos. During this time, this poppy, happy-sounding band resolutely refused to sing about the war in Northern Ireland, but would come to terms with the explosive topic in their later releases.

Between 1977 and 1983, The Undertones released four albums—The Undertones, Hypnotised, Positive Touch, and The Sin of Pride before lead singer Feargal Sharkey left the group to pursue a solo career. Some of the remaining members formed That Petrol Emotion.

Shortly before his death in 2003, John Peel directed a documentary for the BBC called Teenage Kicks, the Story of the Undertones. He traveled toDerry for an extensive look into the band’s history. The documentary re-ignited interest in the band—including a burst of enthusiasm from the band members themselves. The self-explanatory Teenage Kicks: The Best of The Undertones was quickly released in the film’s wake.

The band reformed and recorded in 2003 with a new vocalist, Paul Mcloone. Mcloone, to the surprise of many who didn’t think that Sharkey’s distinctive voice could ever be replaced, proved to be just as powerful and unique singer as his predecessor. Get What You Need and Dig Yourself Deep are both living, spinning truths of this fact.

I caught up with guitarist John ‘O Neill, The Undertones’ founder and principal songwriter, after their show in San Diego.

Interview by Justin Maurer of Clorox Girls & L.A. Drugz

Justin: Was this performance in 2011 The Undertones’ first trip to the West Coast since playing two shows a night at the Whisky-A-Go-Go for three consecutive nights in 1980? That’s actually six full sets in three days! What was the two-shows-a-night experience like?
John: Actually, we played some West Coast shows a few years ago. But, as usual, we were doing everything on a shoestring budget, so there wasn’t much promotion. It was definitely better this time around, though. There seemed to be much more of a buzz this time. No idea why. Admittedly, I don’t remember much about those shows in 1980. Our set was pretty short and sharp in those days. We were just happy to get the chance to play, especially somewhere with the history of the Whisky.
Justin: You formed The Undertones with your brother Damian and played your first show live in 1976 with covers of Fleetwood Mac, Small Faces, Dr. Feelgood, and the Stones. It’s an interesting choice of covers for a punk band’s first show. You recorded a great cover of the Chocolate Watchband’s, “Let’s Talk about Girls” on the B side of “You Got My Number.” What prompted you guys to kill the covers and start writing originals?
John: By the way, it was early Peter Green Fleetwood Mac, not the later shite! We loved early rock and roll, ‘60s beat stuff, as well the glam stuff which had its roots in rock and roll anyway. They were the only records we could hear or buy. Then later that year, we discovered a guy in Derry who had the Stooges, MC5, New York Dolls, and Nuggets records. We couldn’t believe it! That’s when we really started to learn. We never wanted to be just a covers band, so it was only a matter of time before I finally got the confidence to try out new songs; first playing them to the other members of the band and then performing them live.
Justin: John Peel called “Teenage Kicks” his favorite song of all time. Besides the Ramones, what was on your turntable when you wrote that tune?
John: Apart from the obvious Beatles, Stones, Dylan stuff, I first really started listening to music in the early ‘70s. T.Rex, Bowie, Roxy Music, Slade, they were all in the charts. Also, a lot of early rock and roll and uptown R&B stuff was getting reissued and charting again, like the Chiffons, Dion And The Belmonts, the Ronettes, and Gene Vincent. I loved it all. I was also very influenced by the film American Graffiti. I suppose it was an excuse to escape to a more innocent time compared to what was going on in Derry at that time—all the riots and shootings. Musically, I could hear the connection with punk and all that stuff. Our three favorite bands in 1977 would probably have been New York Dolls, Heartbreakers, the Ramones, and the Buzzcocks.
Justin: What guitar amp and guitar were you using on the recording of “Teenage Kicks”?
John: A H&H valve fifty watt amp and a Japanese Tele copy called a Zenta that I bought from a friend for about £25, I think.
Justin: Any fond memories of playing on the TV show Top of the Pops in September 1978?
John: It was great getting to see London and the inside of a TV studio.
Justin: Was it hard to come back home to peers your age in Derry after appearing on mainstream U.K. primetime television?
John: Punk was all about staying the same as your audience, so we had no problem coming back to Derry. Apart from our friends, who regularly came to see in playing in the Casbah, no one else took us seriously and I was happy with that.
Justin: Did you grow up watching Top of the Pops?
John: Top of the Pops was the only half decent music show on TV at that time, so everyone watched it.

Justin: I have to mention this. Your wife, in the documentary, Teenage Kicks mentioned that the Undertones, prior to the Top of the Popsappearance, were offered a dinner at any restaurant in London. While the other guys chose fancy French food, you and your wife (girlfriend at the time) chose McDonald’s because, at the time, you had never eaten there?
John: Actually it was all of us. This was the first time we came to London. We didn’t like the idea of a formal restaurant so decided it was better just to go to McDonald’s. Wouldn’t do it now, though!
Justin: The Undertones’ appearance on that other U.K. TV music-based TV show The Old Grey Whistle Test put you guys up there with greats like the Damned, the Adverts and others. What was that experience like?
John: That was great because we could play live. I really hated miming, which was what you had to do on Top of the Pops. Before punk, The Old Grey Whistle Test was really crap, full of metal or progressive rock bands, so it felt like kicking down a door.
Justin: How was touring with the Rezillos?
John: They broke up after about our second show with them so we never got to see them enough. They were great people though. We loved their records.
Justin: Best memories of touring with the Clash? Was that the first trip toAmerica for most of you guys?
John: It was our first time in America. Before we got signed, we’d never even been on an aeroplane! It was fantastic to see them play every night. We didn’t really get to meet them much, though. We were the first of a three-bill show, so they weren’t always around when we were playing. We were only used to playing small clubs in the U.K. and Ireland, so it was weird to play on really big stages. We also learnt to start writing out set lists! We used to play whatever someone felt like doing before that.
Justin: How did you find the American audiences as compared to the U.K. audiences?
John: The audiences were mostly good, even if the place was mostly half empty when we were playing.
Justin: You managed to play with loads of great bands like The Stranglers, Yachts, the Chords, Rockpile, the Modernettes, and others. Who were your top three favorites you managed to share the stage with?
John: The Clash, Orange Juice, and the Chocolate Watchband recently.
Justin: Any sleazy promoters try to rip you off back in the ‘70s or early ‘80s?
John: Definitely before we were signed. However, we were really lucky to get a great manager, Andy Ferguson, who really looked after things after we were signed.
Justin: Your third and fourth albums in the early ‘80s seemed to finally address a few political issues from a personal standpoint. In Teenage Kicks, (lead singer) Feargal Sharkey said living in Derry at times was like a warzone, being searched by police every day on your way to school. When you started the band, were people upset that The Undertones were playing songs about, well, “chocolate and girls” instead of addressing the political turmoil that was going on in Northern Ireland during the ‘70s and ‘80s?
John: Good question. You have to remember we were seventeen or eighteen when we were writing and recording those songs. On one level, we were aware of how bad things were—it was literally outside our door—but, as teenagers, we were also trying to have as “normal” a life as we could. It’s the only way you could deal with it and stay sane! We hated Stiff Little Fingers and their predicable sloganeering, so we didn’t want to go down that route anyway.
We were learning our trade as songwriters. We were trying to be as good as the Buzzcocks, the Velvets, and the New York Dolls. We wanted to stay clear of clichés and not do something because it was expected of us. Certainly, any one who came to see us play, didn’t expect us to start singing “Brits Out” and “Fuck the RUC” or whatever. That was too predicable. It wasn’t until the third record, Positive Touch, that I finally felt confident to start writing about the war at home and how it affected me and my friends. During the early ‘80s I certainly became a lot more political; it was the main reason behind forming That Petrol Emotion. By that stage, I was happy to support Irish Republicanism, not necessarily the armed struggle, but certainly do what I could to make people aware of the injustices British and Unionist rule was causing in the north of Ireland.
Justin: Who played the slide guitar or lap steel on Positive Touch? Is that a xylophone as well?
John: That’s me. I love slide guitar. Always was a big Elmore James fan. Yep, it is a xylophone. We tried experimenting with other instruments a lot more by that stage. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.
Justin: What is your least favorite recorded Undertones song and why?
John: I have to admit, I always found “More Songs about Chocolate and Girls” a bit twee. Good guitar riff, but that’s about it! Also can’t listen to the version of “True Confessions” from our first LP. What were we thinking? Certainly not a fan of TheSin of Pride LP either. We should have broken up before that. That whole experience was horrible.
Justin: Do you find new digital technologies inspiring, or do you think analog recording and tube amplifiers still have the best sound?
John: I got into sampling and Midi in a big way during the 90s. I loved Portishead, Tricky, Massive Attack. I even formed a band called Rare and made a record influenced by all that stuff in the mid-’90s. It’s arguably the best thing I ever did! Never liked those Britpop bands of that period. I use Emagic Logic for demos at home and find it great.
However, my first love will always be all the Nuggets/Velvets stuff, which is all analog. So, I definitely see why people say it is best for rock and roll anyway. The stuff that comes out of Toe Rag studios in London sounds great, so there must be something. The best thing I heard recently is the Sonny Smith’s 100 Records Vol.2. I assume they were all done analog, but they still sound great on my iPod dock. Great idea and fantastic songs. Now there’s a good songwriter! See, it always come back to the songs for me. I’m not a purist. It’s the songs that count.
Justin: I was fortunate enough to see you play here in Southern California. How did Paul Mcloone end up singing for the group?
John: We asked him and he said yes. He was in a band with Billy after The Undertones split up. We all sort of knew him anyway and it made sense to ask someone from Derry to join us.
Justin: Are you still on good terms with Feargal Sharkey?
John: Haven’t spoken to Feargal since we broke up. We live in different worlds.
Justin: Sharkey was quoted as saying that he was asked to play an Undertones reunion in a muddy field in Germany on his thirty-sixth birthday. He declined the offer, being as he didn’t feel right playing “Teenage Kicks” while turning thirty-six years old. How did you guys find the “reunion show” experience?
John: Funny he said that, as he has sung it once or twice since then with politicians calling themselves the MP3s (members of parliament). I know I’d rather be in a muddy field in Germany than do that, anyway. When we decided to reform, we never asked Feargal to join. We did it for the fun of it and because we thought that we had written some good songs that sounded even better when we played them live. And most people who have seen us seem to agree. As someone said, “Punk rock played proper!”
Justin: Your last two albums recorded in the last few years with Paul Mcloone on vocals—what was the reception? Are those albums available on vinyl?
John: Well, with U.K. media, The Undertones without Feargal is not The Undertones. Everyone still thinks he wrote the songs, so we have an uphill struggle to be taken seriously. Both records cost around £3000 to make and were recorded in a local studio in Derry, so we are not exactly on a big budget. They are what they are. They were fun to make. It’s punk rock, after all. Only out on CD at the moment. I think they will be available to download. The only thing on vinyl is a 7” song off the first (2003) record called Thrill Me.
Justin: John Peel, besides championing the band in the early years, travelled up to Derry in 2001 and did a great documentary film: Teenage Kicks, The Story of the Undertones. What was it like to physically go back in time doing the documentary?
John: I thought the doc was pretty good and it was fantastic to meet John Peel again. He really was special and we obviously owe him so much. He is very sorely missed.
Justin: Peel followed through with his famous promise and did indeed put the lyrics he found so simply profound, onto his gravestone: “Teenage dreams so hard to beat.” What would you say to John now if he was still alive?
John: He was a “one off.” I think we all got to say what we wanted to say to him when he was in Derry, thankfully. It’s a different time now with the internet. It seems to be harder now for young bands. We are definitely in a real slump as far as getting ourselves heard on national radio and TV. God, radio was always shit! They are still playing the same crap records they played in the ‘70s and ‘80s now. Even the term R&B is an insult to what it used to be. I just don’t listen to radio anymore.
Justin: Any regrets with The Undertones. Anything you would’ve done differently if given the opportunity?
John: As The Remains said, “Don’t look back!” There’s no point. I can’t complain. We were lucky to be in the right place.
Justin: Words of advice for some young kids starting a band and beginning to play some shows?
John: Keep it simple. Make sure everyone in your band has the same music taste. If they say they like AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, or Metallica kick them out! Listen to everything by the Stooges, Ramones, New York Dolls, Velvet Underground, the Fall and, of course, Nuggets. Don’t be afraid to do covers, especially if you can dance to them!
Justin: Future plans with Undertones? Any more U.S. appearances?
John: Really enjoyed that last tour so it would be great to come back. We never make any money when we go to the U.S, but it’s worth it. You are the home of rock and roll, after all.

A brief interview for ifc.com’s Portlandia blog

27 Dec

One Quick Question for Justin Maurer of Clorox Girls

122211-clorox-girls

The singer-guitarist recounts memories of playing shows around Portland in the mid-aughts.

Posted December 22nd, 2011, 1:12 PM by mpsinger
In the mid-aughts, there wasn’t a more furiously fun live band in Portland than the Clorox Girls. Comprised of three Oakland expats—none of whom were females, by the way—the group played ebullient, blink-and-miss-it pop-punk with roots in the Buzzcocks and Red Kross, a song by whom the band took its name. The Girls seemed poise for a breakthrough after the release of 2007′s J’aime Les Filles on seminal L.A. label BYO Records, but after years of international touring, singer-guitarist and, at that point, lone original member Justin Maurer found himself deep in debt. He put the band on hold and relocated to Spain.

Last year, however, Maurer returned to the states and started recording under the Clorox Girls name again. He didn’t forget about Portland, though. And earlier this month, he reconvened the band’s original lineup—himself, bassist Colin Grigson and drummer Clay Silva—for a one-off reunion gig at the proudly divey Southeast Portland punk club East End. Although he now lives in Los Angeles, Maurer remembers his time in the Rose City fondly. We asked him for memories of playing shows around town in the early days. He offered several.

“We had things happen, like, people would end up cutting their hands open and rub blood on my face like warpaint. One time, we were driving to a show, and we were in this phase where we were mooning everybody. So we were sticking our asses out the window and someone threw a cinder block at our van. It almost hit me, and it actually hit the van. We opened for that band Total Chaos one time at the Paris Theater, and we all wore short jean shorts that were so short the pockets were longer than the shorts. I had a Black Flag T-shirt that says ‘Make Me Cum,’ and I made it into a cutaway shirt, and we’re opening for these tough guy punks in Total Chaos. Lots of times we threw flour into the crowd. We played Beulahland and threw a bag of flour, and it got into the ceiling fan, and it just completely fucked up the sound equipment and the microphones. The bartenders were seriously going to kick our ass. We had to clean up the mess ourselves to avoid getting beat up by the Beulahland staff. We were young and stupid, but we always tried to have a good time. Lots of alcohol, some drugs, and a lot of soaking wet Converse All-Stars.”

 http://www.ifc.com/shows/portlandia/blog/2011/12/justin-maurer-clorox-girls

An essay on Portland legends Dead Moon for the Rumpus’ “Albums of Our Lives”

24 Dec

Albums of Our Lives: Dead Moon’sThirteen Off My Hook

  I was 19 years old when I first witnessed the achingly beautiful sounds of Fred and Toody Cole and Andrew Loomis. They were called Dead Moon.

One rainy San Francisco night, Fred Cole stood upright, momentarily motionless on stage left, looking like a deranged scarecrow. He smiled knowingly as he awakened, unraveling his various sticky black cables and plugging his guitar into his venerable amplifier for the ten thousandth time.

Drummer Andrew Loomis stuck a lit red candle into an empty Jack Daniels’ bottle fastened to his kick drum. Loomis lit a cigarette by leaning lips first into the flame that was dancing off the tip of the candle.

Toody took a swig of bottled beer, tucked the tail of her red cowboy shirt into her blue jeans and said something to Fred, her husband. He chuckled, and the couple made eye contact with Loomis as Toody swung the strap of her bass guitar over her head. They now looked serious. Guitar picks clutched between their thumbs and forefingers, pyramid-shaped triggers for their stringed weapons, their eyes glinted with purpose. They were ready to play. Fred swiveled around and asked the soundman through the mike, “Are we ready?” When the longhaired soundman in the back of the room nodded and gave a thumbs up, Fred belted, “We’re fuckin’ Dead Moon and this song is called ‘There’s a Fire in the Western World.’”

They tore into the jangly two-string intro then those three chords with such military precision and guttural defiance that they had my attention from the first verse. After a couple rockers, Fred was able to pull back and play a soft one, then they kicked in with another screamer. Toody’s bass playing and Andrew’s drumming were somehow connected, as if attached like a beating heart to a series of veins and lungs and living matter. These were Fred’s songs, and like a clean shaven Grizzly Adams, his mischievous eyes glinted like a child who is pleased about getting away with a petty crime. There were also moments of true anguish, a man who had been trapped and rock and roll was his only way out, his only vice, and he had used this escape for so long he almost wore out his welcome, then he did it again because it was the only way he knew how to survive. Dead Moon played their set and the blood red candle burned down to a molten stump, the flame dying during the death-throes of their last song, as if the candle was fueled not by its wax, but sustained its fire with the lifeblood of the music.

My first Dead Moon show was a spiritual experience. I felt more from that 60 minutes of music then I had ever felt in a church. I felt like crying. I wanted to give Fred a hug, I wanted to pat him on the back, I wanted to one day be able to play a song as powerful at the simply profound tunes he churned out so naturally.

***

A couple of years later I had the pleasure to see Dead Moon on Halloween night at a shit hole in Portland. The mixed drinks were stiff, and tall cans (“tallboys”) of ice cold Pabst were an even $2.

I knew a few of their songs by this point, and that familiarity, made me feel a joy I rarely felt. They played a set of their most memorable songs (including some of my favorites, “Dead Moon Night, It’s OK, Johnny’s Got a Gun, Walking on My Grave, 54/40 or Fight,  DOA, Graveyard, I Hate The Blues,”) and a couple covers: AC/DC’s ”It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ‘n’ Roll)” and Rolling Stones’ “Play with Fire.”

With the last chord played, and the club closing, there was an eerily comforting vibe I felt as I trudged home through the rain. Arriving home, I placed my sopping wet high top Converse All –Stars outside the front door. I stood there on the front porch for a moment, in my socks, looking out into the peaceful darkness, imagining Fred and Toody and Andrew loading their amps and drums into their charcoal black van and navigating the dark roads back to Clackamas, their hometown, named for the extinct language of the Chinook Indians. “Dead Moon night,” I said to myself. “Dead Moon night.”


“If you don’t like Dead Moon then you don’t like rock ‘n roll.”

Fred Cole has played rock ‘n roll since 1964. Originating in Las Vegas, Fred and his garage band, The Weeds were attempting to avoid the Vietnam draft by relocating to Canada when their van ran out of gas in Portland. While in Portland, Fred met his future wife Toody Conner who was working in a local club, the Folk Singer. The Weeds, changing their name to Lollipop Shoppe, staked a claim in Portland and hired the manager of Love and The Seeds. This led to loads of west coast dates including opening slots for Janis Joplin and the Doors. Their classic tune, “You Must Be a Witch” was showcased on the influential “Pebbles” LP compilation series in the late ’70s.

When punk broke, Fred had a punk band  called the Rats who played the same clubs as Portland punk greats the Wipers and Poison Idea. Fred and Toody, married since 1967, played together in the Rats and of course continued on with Dead Moon, recruiting drummer Andrew Loomis in 1987.

Fred Cole engineered most of the band’s recordings at their primitive home studio in Clackamas. Recorded and mixed in mono, he mastered the recordings on the lathe that was used for the Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie.” Their early records were released on their own Tombstone Records imprint.

Some people don’t really get Dead Moon. Fred Cole’s high-pitched croon, like a fine scotch or bourbon, is an acquired taste.  But like bourbon, it’s slightly bitter, slightly sweet, smoky and with a smooth finish.  His voice hits in the gut and takes you to the pits of sadness. You feel what he feels and become empowered to go out with all guns blazing no matter what you’re up against.

My favorite Dead Moon song is “Walking on my Grave.” From their 1990 record Thirteen Off My Hook, the song brilliantly encompasses everything about the darkness of Portland, the power of that long unbearable winter, the thoughts one thinks when going through the endless winter, the drugs and depression that hit that town from time to time and the futile feeling of protest. The line “giving direction without any plans” is even relevant to our present state, which conjures thoughts of our current political situation and financial crisis. Above all, “Walking on my Grave,” is truly about a man who doesn’t want to be forgotten. “There’s a new kid on the block, and he’s taking my place…walking on my grave!”

I used to see Loomis drinking at the Hungry Tiger on 28th and NE Burnside. He seemed to be there almost every night of the week. The locals and the bartenders respected him and filled him full of the poison that enveloped him.

Dead Moon broke up because of Andrew Loomis’ drug and alcohol abuse, but Fred and Toody formed a new band called Pierced Arrows with drummer Kelly Halliburton.  I’ve not checked them out yet because I’m nervous about putting them alongside the legend they created in Dead Moon. I should probably give them a chance.

I listened to “Walking On My Grave” the other night after 5 beers and broke out in tears.  Fred Cole, I love you man. Thank you.

A juvenile yet vintage interview with Clorox Girls circa 2004

9 Dec

Hello Everyone,

I’m starting to get excited about the reunion show with the “original” members of Clorox Girls, Clay Silva, Colin Grigson, and myself. We haven’t played together since 2005 when we toured Brazil together. So it’s been 6 almost 7 years!  Yeesh! The reunion is Saturday Dec 10th at East End on the South East side of Portland. (203 Southeast Grand Avenue, Portland, OR 97214).

In honor of the upcoming reunion, here’s an interview by Fungus Boy ‘Zine in 2004 at Chicago Blackout.  I think Clay steals the show…   Clorox Girls Interview, 2004, Fungus Boy Magazine  and here’s an interview I just did for Willamette Week Clorox Girls Interview, Willamette Week, Dec 2011

Bass player trivia is below…

Discography CD from Brazilian Tour, 2005. Cover was an homage to Black Flag’s “Jealous Again.” (L to R) Clay, Colin, and Justin)

Out of respect for the brief “original” bassists who spontaneously combusted I will name them here:

Morgan Stickrod, 2nd Clorox Girls Bassist (played on the first Clorox Girls U.S. Tour). Now resides in North Carolina.

Zack Lewis, 3rd Clorox Girls Bassist (Played on the first Clorox Girls album, the s/t LP/CD and 2nd 7″ single “This Dimension”). Now studying his PhD at Harvard!

Colin Grigson, 4th Clorox Girls bassist (Played on “This Dimension” LP/CD, “Novacain” 7″, “Eva Braun 7”, and world wide tour dates

Clay Silva (R), Original Drummer of Clorox Girls, played on first 2 LPs, first 4 singles, world tours, etc.

Clorox Girls in the Netherlands, 2005 (L to R) Clay, Justin, Colin

In honor of the upcoming reunion, here’s an interview by Fungus Boy ‘Zine in 2004 at Chicago Blackout.  I think Clay steals the show…   Clorox Girls Interview, 2004, Fungus Boy Magazine

 

 

 

HOLY GHOST REVIVAL TOUR DIARY, LONDON, JULY 2008

7 Dec

Okay, here’s an oldie but a goodie…

Holy Ghost Revival, Cowboy Vampires. (Photo by Roger Sargent) (L to R): Sebastian Sheldon, Jakes Bayley, Conor St. Kiley, Mikko Freeman, John 'O Donnell

Cast of Characters:

Sebastian Sheldon – Keyboards, guitar, fine food, fish oil capsules

Jakes Bayley – Bass Guitar, modeling career, worst smelling dirty socks of all time

Conor St. Kiley – Vocals, junk food, mad genius

Mikko Freeman – Drums, fine cheeses & wines,

John ‘O Donnell – Lead Guitar, solo career

Justin Maurer (not pictured) – Tour Manager, Latin languages

Tour Manager’s Diary #1 June 25th, 2008.

Hi! I’m Justin Maurer, Holy Ghost Revival’s tour manager here in London until December 2nd.

Back Story:  My infamous friends, Holy Ghost Revival, got signed to a British record label called 1965 Records.  Their new album is slated to be released September 1st, so the label had the idea of moving the band to London where they could play all around the UK for six months straight, promoting the new album, “Twilight Exit.”  The guys moved out of their house in Seattle, “The Bro Chateau,” and boarded a British Airways flight to London on June 2nd.

Needing a tour manager, driver, Au pair, roadie and all around organizer, I was offered a job in London for 6 months.  I left my job at a coffee shop, put my band Clorox Girls on hold, and flew from Portland to England where I’m living with the five members of the band in a four room council flat in the Vauxhall area in South London.

We’re all living on meager wages, but trying to artfully wage musical warfare, in the land where many of our ancestors fled from religious persecution, financial hardship, and the great Irish potato famine.

Wielding guitars and our American accents, we’re here to engage in discourse with the willing and unwilling.  We are Holy Ghost Revival…. And like a well oiled machine we march forward, bearing our human tragedy, and eagerness for a new tomorrow.

Like April O’Neil from the fabled Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles film, I will sketch these Teenage Mutants to the best of my ability.

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work; there is now no smooth road into the future; but we go round or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

– D.H. Lawrence

——————————————————————————————-

 Tour Manager’s Diary #2 

 Sunday the 29th of June

London @ 12 Bar, Soho

We did a last minute show at 12 Bar on a Sunday evening, the same night of the Spain vs Germany Euro Cup finals.  In the audience were about six people, including two Korean girls, two French, and a young English couple from the suburbs.  The stage was tiny, but the boys played their beating hearts out for the six people, who all had smiles on their faces by the second song.  This could have been because Conor was serenading each individual in his confrontational homo-erotic way, gyrating like a serpent, not unlike Jennifer Lopez in a smaller pair of jeans.

The sound man looked relatively unimpressed, but the couple from the suburbs was fanatic about the band, and bought some records.  When I thanked the owner of the bar, he told me gruffly, “Sunday night is pretty much amateur night.  It’s always empty in here on Sundays.”    We hit the streets of Soho, and celebrating Spanish football fans were shouting and honking car horns singing “Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole….Ole… Ole Ole Ole!”

———————————————————————————–

Tour Manager’s Diary#3

 Monday June 30th – London @ The Old Blue Last, Shoreditch

For a Vice Magazine owned bar, the staff was really normal, friendly, and laid back.  The crowds turned out in droves, and as expected, were wearing the usual “ironic fare,” but all the kids in London are about twenty years old, so you can’t take them too seriously.   The place was absolutely PACKED (because of the free drinks).  Conor freak danced a cameraman filming the show, and engaged the crowd, testing the mike cord to the limit that it’d stretch.  John and Sebastian had huge smiles on their face to the Jackson Five conjuring tune, “Arrogant Army,” but what really got people dancing was “Flowers of Evil.”

A few people walked out, a couple fatso punters were up front shaking their groove thang, a couple people threw beer and various liquids on Conor, but most of the onlookers had an amused, confused, or plain blank expression on their faces as they downed the Robitussin cough syrup-tasting free drink that was the attraction of the night.   This is the silence before the storm…… Embrace the hate, baby….

——————————————————————–

Tour Manager’s Diary#4

Saturday July 5th – London @ The Windmill, Brixton

The big news at this moment in time over here in the London fog is that Jay Z opened his set at the Glastonbury Festival with Oasis’ “Wonderwall,” singing and playing acoustic guitar. There was a massive controversy because the Glastonbury organizer had said that the festival wasn’t created for rap or hip hop music… and Jay Z apparently took  it all in quite elegantly, a class act.   He threw some party for his tour manager that cost hundreds of thousands of pounds….. as I read in the tube station.. along with Amy Winehouse on house arrest by her father in Camden,  who was quoted as saying something like “Crack will kill her.”   While another one-time crack smoker, Jared from Atlanta’s finest, Black Lips, was quoted in the NME saying “She’s got a lot of soul for a white girl.”

British sensationalist media aside, for the time being, non crack smoking Holy Ghost Revival were playing the Windmill in the fabled neighborhood of Brixton. We were singing the Clash’s “Guns of Brixton,” on the tube, but changing the lyrics to, “Guns of Vauxhall,” our neighborhood, the “up and coming gay area of London.”     We’ve befriended the bike riding Somalian and Jamaican drug dealers outside of our flat, as well as the rabid foxes who make mating calls in our garden all night long….  It’s a big deal to us watching the foxes from our balcony…  it’s provided hours of entertainment…   back to our story…

The lads and myself carried all the gear (massive keyboard, merch, guitars, etc) down the stairs and into the Vauxhall tube station.  Arriving Brixton, we must have looked like circus freaks with our tight pants clad crew of post modern dandy/ruffians – but there were plenty of colorful characters to greet us there as well.

After load-in, Jakes and I enjoyed some Fish n Chips from a place called “Chicago Pizza,” run by young men shouting in Arabic – although they were very friendly and seemed amused by our presence.   Conor ate some fried chicken, while Mikko wolfed a veggie burger, and John a chicken burger, respectively.  Sebastian met us at the chip shop with poet/musician Derek Meins in tow.  Derek informed us in his lovely Scottish accent that he would not be drinking gin because he lost his voice the weekend before (I assume from an abundance of shouting – possibly poetry – at passers-by and party people).

We enjoyed the view of a man eating fried chicken with low cut pants – his pubic hair clearly visible… and then headed straight for the off license across the street where we purchased some cans of Scrumpy Jack Cider – as we can drink six of them for the price of two inside the bar.  Jack we imagined as a rough and tumble sea faring man with windblown hair.  Scrumpy Jack was a man of few words and frequent fisticuffs.

Our friends from the Ripchord imbibed on the Cider with us, and we hung out with some Jamaicans before heading up to the Windmill, where on the benches outside, Saul from the Metros was shouting in some sort of unintelligible Cockney Rhyming scheme.  It’s like a mad mathematical equation, Cockney slang…  apples and pears, trouble and strife, taking a butcher’s…  I told Saul that the next piece of Metros merchandise should be a knife, to commemorate the record number of stabbings in their South London ‘hood of Peckham.

Derek Meins warmed up the crowd with his elegant and often hilarious poetry, and Lyons and Tygers from Liverpool opened for Holy Ghost.    Our very own heroes or anti-heroes depending on your perspective took the stage next, where St. Kiley tore up newspapers and tossed them into the audience.  By the end of the set the bar floor looked like the bottom of a hamster cage minus the wood chips.  Side note – hamsters often devour their young, and I imagine Conor St. Kiley would as well if he were to bear offspring.

Derek Meins (Photo by Azadeh Falakshahi)

Saul from the Metros DJ’d some great tunes including Dead Kennedys “Kill the Poor,” and Clorox Girls “Walks the Streets.”  After the show we got paid zero pounds and received zero complimentary beverages.  The dapper curly haired Liverpudlian promoter got us a few beers from the off license and apologized profusely, while on the other hand, the management of the bar acted like uncouth muscled Mafioso and didn’t seem to appreciate the presence of poetry and music and drink purchasing punters in their establishment.

Saul Adamczewski (The Metros) Photo by Gareth Cattermole

A little frustrated but never defeated, we said “fuck it,” and returned to our council flat in Vauxhall where we drank well into twilight with some Brazilian friends we met from down the hall.  Listening to Os Mutantes in their flat, filming the mayhem and chaos, and playing acoustic guitars, all parties involved had a blast.  Conor St. Kiley drank a little too much vodka and was crawling on his hands and knees tackling our guests in traditional American football fashion; rolling on the floor wrecking some furniture in our sparse dining room. Conor gained a new nickname that night, “Death Time.”

"Death Time" (Photo by TV Coahran)

In the morning one of our dining chairs had the back ripped off.  Mikko observed, “Now it’s an ottoman!”    Our living room was decorated in broken glass, and a sleeping guitar player (Johnny O.D.) blanketed in jean jackets was wearing cowboy boots while passed out on the couch.   Next time this tour manger will hide the vodka.

– Justin Maurer, Vauxhall, London, Sunday July 5th 2008

Berlin, Germany, 2008. Tour Manager Justin Maurer with Conor St. Kiley and Jakes Bayley of Holy Ghost Revival

L.A. Drugz in Hollywood tonight!

5 Dec

Tonight! LA DRUGZ! Hollyweird will never be the same…
Beauty is Pain (Records Ad Nauseam), 1443 N. Highland Ave., Hollywood, CA. 8pm sharp.

http://www.reverbnation.com/ladrugz

L.A. Drugz, house party in Echo Park, LA tonight!

4 Dec

LA Drugz tonight at an Echo Park house party! 10pm 2842 Hyans St. Los Angeles, CA 90026 (Near Temple and Rampart). Bring donations for touring bands, BYOB! XO www.reverbnation.com/ladrugz

L.A. Drugz live at San Pedro’s finest dive, Harold’s Place, on Friday Dec 2nd

1 Dec

If you dare, venture out this Friday evening December 2nd for a riotous occasion in San Pedro’s favorite dive, Harold’s Place. Performing rock ‘n roll music played from the gut and shot from the hip are: Sick Secrets (Seattle), White Murder, L.A. Drugz, Los Headaches (Mexico City), and Cochinas.  There will be an impossibly cheap door entrance fee as well as  strong drink and good company. Harold’s is proud of its decor: deer heads on the wall, beer-stained pool tables, and an impressive array of Budweiser football helmets dangling precariously from the ceiling. Harold’s is situated on 1908 South Pacific Avenue San Pedro, CA 90731-5530 (at 19th, across from the liquor stores and 7-11, just down the street from Angelito’s taco truck).

Here’s some back story on San Pedro.

My uncle’s friend Ed Gupta, a long time Los Angeles resident has warned me multiple times about avoiding the port town of San Pedro, California.

“You don’t want to go to San Pedro, the Croatian sailors will kick your fuckin’ ass!”

Perhaps he was warning me to watch out for Pegleg.

Joe “Pegleg” Morgan, was ex-godfather of the Mexican Mafia prison gang. “Croatian Joe” spent years in San Pedro. He was the link between the Mexican Mafia and West Coast Italian crime lords in the 1970s.

San Pedro was named for St. Peter of Alexandria, a Fourth Century bishop in Alexandria, Egypt.


The Tongva (Gabrielino) Indians called the San Pedro area Chaaw. I like calling it St. Petersburg.


Spaniard Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo “discovered” the area in 1542, and it soon became the main port of the Los Angeles area. All imported goods that were brought in by ship arrived in the port of San Pedro/L.A. and was transported by horse and wagon to the ranchos and settlements of Southern California.

Charles Bukowski lived there in his twilight years, moving to Pedro from his East Hollywood/Los Feliz digs.

“San Pedro is real quiet. It used to be a seaport full of whorehouses and bars. I like the quietness. They ask you how you’re doing, they really want to know.”

Unique punk bands like the Reactionaries, the Minutemen, F.Y.P., Toys That Kill, and the Jag Offs all hailed from Pedro.

San Pedro is a dimension of its own. It’s like being transported to 1974. Generally Pedro locals are a bit xenophobic, wary of outsiders, especially if the outsider is from a more affluent area of L.A.  Locals are even suspicious of people hailing from the neighboring South Bay city of Long Beach, half-jokingly referring to it as “wrong beach.” If there is a working class city in Los Angeles county, San Pedro is it. Pedro is home to Mexican families, military families, Croatians, Italians, troublemaking juvenile delinquents, and guys with baseball hats and missing teeth.

Some great films were shot in Pedro including: Raging Bull, Chinatown, To Live and Die in L.A.,The Naked Gun, The Hunt for Red October, Boyz n the Hood, The Big Lebowski, and Fight Club.

Twenty-Eighth Street in San Pedro, between Gaffey Street and Peck Avenue, is the steepest section of public roadway in Los Angeles. For about 50 feet (15 m), the street climbs at a 33.3% angle, although the rest of the street is less steep.

Prominent authors: Louis Adamic and Richard Armour hailed from Pedro as well as actors Patrick Muldoon (Starship Troopers), Sharon Tate (murdered by the Manson Family), and D. L. Hughley, who graduated from San Pedro High School.

Prominent musicians from Pedro: John Bettis (the Godfather III theme song), Minutemen ( Mike Watt, George Hurley, D. Boon), and Krist Novoselic (Croatian-American Nirvana bassist) grew up Pedro before moving to Aberdeen, WA.

For fans of “Mad Men”:

In “Mad Men” Season 2, Episode 12 -, scenes are shot in San Pedro near Point Fermin and Cabrillo Beach. The first wife of Don Draper, Anna Draper, is said to live in the area.

“Don disembarks from a bus at San Pedro, pauses to look around in a picturesque manner, and heads on his way.”

“It appears that Don and Anna lived for a time in the San Pedro area of L.A.”

See you in St. Petersburg Friday night at Harold’s Place!

Love,

Justin

Welcome!

29 Nov

Hello Everyone,

Welcome to my new website. Self promotion is a tricky business these days, but unfortunately a necessary evil. Growing up as a punk rocker I could never imagine the world would come to this, but I guess this is just like a more in-depth button or a bumper sticker or a t-shirt. My name is Justin Maurer and this is my website. This is where I am compiling my music and writing. I would greatly appreciate your comments or feedback. Generally I am a kind and empathetic person. Lately I’ve become a bit of a curmudgeon, but get a few drinks in me and I will awaken. I love my girlfriend and dog, my family and friends. I speak/sign a few languages. I am observant. I want to drink in the world, but often my great thirst is parched due to financial burdens. Here is my music and writing. I hope you enjoy.

Yours truly,

Justin Maurer

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