Suspect Parts, An Introduction

“Apocalypse Pop…waiting for the Apocalypse to…drop.”

– Suspect Parts biography.

About 10 years ago my band Clorox Girls fell apart and I moved to Madrid after an 8 week Euro tour that involved 3 van breakdowns, blood, sweat, tears, and debt (Sex, drugs, and alcohol are a given. Exhaustion beyond belief a more accurate description. I’m working on a book called “Clorox Boy” about it. I’ve also been to therapy.)

Another American expat Chris Bell, from Seattle band The Briefs, was living in Berlin and he suggested that we start a side project and record a 7″ single. That winter we found ourselves rehearsing in sub-zero concrete Berlin. Smail from The Shocks recorded our debut single. Gangly and dapper Englishman , James “Sulli” Sullivan from Ripchord, was recruited on lead guitar. The stylish and punctual German Smail Shock agreed to play bass. Our Apocalypse Pop super-group was formed. We semi-promptly released 4 singles and toured Europe.

2 years ago, Smail dropped out of the group to focus on his analog recording studio. Andru Bourbon from Berlin punk band Radio Dead Ones was enlisted on bass.  We toured Germany, France, and Spain with L.A. punk band Maniac and recorded our debut album in the biting chill of another Berlin winter in Smail’s analog studio.

October 2017 found the release of Suspect Parts debut album on independent labels Taken By Surprise Records (Germany) and Oops Baby Records (USA). I procured a $550 round-trip ticket from L.A. to Berlin and we hit the autobahn once again.

Stream or order Suspect Parts new self titled LP in North America here

Stream or order Suspect Parts new self-titled LP in Europe here

Leaving Los Angeles

“Los Angeles is a constellation of plastic.”

– Norman Mailer

I found a new roommate to help me cover rent while away on tour and had a bunch of pre-tour chores including renting a U-Haul, hauling furniture to a storage space, doing laundry, packing and picking up merch. I criss-crossed Los Angeles, completed most of my list, and grabbed a Lyft to LAX.

My cheap flight was on Air Lingus, an Irish airline that I hadn’t flown before. The merch suitcase was overweight by a few kilos and they wanted to charge me $100 to check my backup guitar. I stashed a few things in my guitar cases and told Air Dingus that I was going to the parking lot to put my backup guitar in the trunk of my car. I checked my free bag and clandestinely boarded the plane with 2 guitars and my carry-on suitcase.

Surprisingly, security at LAX overlooked the half-full bottle of Jimador tequila in my guitar case from a recent Maniac  show in Long Beach.  Jimador and Sprite went down a treat.

During my layover in Dublin, I stopped by the Guinness gift-shop where the Irish kid working the bar informed me of oblivious American tourists ordering “Irish Car Bombs” not realizing the harrowing bloody history with the IRA (embarrassingly enough, in my early 20s I made this same mistake in London and a massive fellow who was in the army ripped my copy of Don Quixote in half while saying repeatedly, “I had mates killed by the IRA.”). Moral of the story, while abroad, if you want to drop a shot of Jameson topped with Kahlua or Irish cream into a Guinness,  call it a “Baby Guinness,” not an “Irish Car Bomb.”  Or just a Guinness will do.

Days 1 & 2 Berlin, Germany

“You are crazy, my child. You must go to Berlin.”

– Franz von Suppe

 

Sulli came in from London Heathrow and Andru and Chris grabbed us from Tegel in Berlin. Of course Andru Bourbon brought some beers and a bottle of pfeffy to greet us. What a gent.

In Berlin, we spent most of our first 2 days rehearsing. We also found some familiar sights, excellent Turkish and Syrian falafel, classic Berlin graffiti, and some quintessential Kreuzberg rock n roll bars like the Franken, Wild At Heart, and Rock N Roll Herberge.  Daniel Distraction stopped by our rehearsal room and made a video of us practicing “Alright With Me.”

Andru our bassist is vegan, and always has excellent vegan spreads on-hand.  We had breakfast most days at his house, but splurged on the last day on a band favorite, the “Bon Scott Breakfast” at Rock N Roll Herberge which costs about 4 Euros.

British Airways lost Sulli’s bag and so he had to borrow my clothes for a few days. Luckily, the bag was delivered to Cortex Records right before we left. I also had some severe tuning problems with my guitar and we stopped by our friend Martin’s flat for repairs.

It was good to see our old friend Ricky as well as our new album for sale at Cortex Records.

 

After 2 long days of rehearsal and a long night partying with old friends, both Sulli and I were on the verge of losing our voices, but we hit the autobahn, hoping for the best.

Day 3: Dresden, Deutschland @ Chemiefabrik

“There was a big number over the door of the building. The number was five. Before the Americans could go inside, their only English-speaking guard told them to memorize their simple address, in case they got lost in the big city. Their address was this: ‘Schlacthof-funf.’ Schlacthof means slaughterhouse. Funf was good old five.”

– Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Slaughterhouse-Five

Our first show was in Dresden at Chemiefabrik where we founded the Down With Dons Movement 2 years earlier. Our friends Red Dons were simultaneously on a European tour playing many of the same clubs, so we started a Blur-Oasis online rivalry which was a lot of fun.  The Down with Dons Magnum opus was our Citizen Kane, shot and directed by our Minister of War, Andrew Zappin. Check out #downwithdons if you want to witness the havoc we wreaked on our old friends during the wartime of fall 2015.

Chemiefabrik was exactly as we remembered it, a shack on the outskirts of the city, not unlike a militia compound. On the inside is a bar and a few Foosball tables as well as a ton of band graffiti and posters.  The sound-man called himself “Flash” and proceeded to mike everything. The tiny concrete room was LOUD.  We sound-checked, had our dinner which was a vegan pasta (Andru opted for the spicy pasta sauce option which I opted out as I was already suffering from diarrhea).

The first band were called Tanning Bats from Berlin and had really interesting time-signatures and cool changes in their songs.  Usually opening bands in Germany are quite unimaginative, so Tanning Bats were a pleasant surprise.

Our set in Dresden went down really well and the crowd especially knew the familiar tunes towards the end of the set, “Run For Your Life,” “Change Your Mind,” “17 Television,” and “Flowers Of Evil.”

We played some Foosball, chatted to a few Frauleins, and slept in the band flat which was walking distance from the club. In Europe, many of the clubs have an apartment just for touring bands to spend the night in. If only the US and UK could follow Europe’s example.   The crowd seemed to really love our show and we sold a bunch of records and shirts which always helps out on the road.

The DJs were fantastic and played mostly Canadian hits including The Modernettes, Teenage Head, The Tranzmitors, and the non-Canadian standout was the Village People’s punk tune “Food Fight.”

At the band flat, I slept on the top bunk and in the middle of the night couldn’t find the bathroom, it was pitch black.  I managed to find the room where Tanning Bats were sleeping and was having a true middle-of-the-night-midlife crisis.  With luck, I finally found the bathroom and the crisis was mostly averted.

Day 4 Brno, Czech Republic @ Kabinet Muz

Opakování matka moudrosti.
Repetition is the mother of wisdom.

– Czech Proverb

 

On a typical Suspect Parts morning, we hit a supermarket and/or a bakery to stock up Mobicool Maxi which is our cooler filled full of vegan and vegetarian supplies. Sulli and I opened up a kitchen in the back seat where we learned to excel in the art of sandwich making.

There was some serious traffic so we took a detour through magnificent Prague, one of Europe’s finest cities. Prague is located in what was formerly known as Bohemia, and the general feeling of the place is for lack of a better word… Bohemian.  They appreciate art, culture, music, fashion, and sex perhaps better than anyone else. The architecture is breathtaking, the women are beautiful, and the men sure know how to wear a scarf.   As Kafka said, “Prague never lets you go…this dear mother has claws.”

On the Czech highway we noticed that the billboards every few feet had nothing but Czech flags.  Later we found that the Czech government banned roadside advertising. The Czech mafia was upset about this and in retaliation, installed Czech flags to replace them, as it is illegal to take down any Czech symbols (no doubt a reaction to the heavy hand of Soviet rule).

Brno is the 2nd largest city in Czech after Prague, and we found our venue Kabinet Muz  to be a very civilized cafe/beer bar.  The local beer was creamy and delicious.  We sound-checked and checked out dinner backstage which was an interesting vegan goulash. It had something similar to falafel balls in it. Not bad at all.  The opening band was called Wasted Whatever, an early 80s style energetic punk band. They hung out in the dressing room smoking and drinking white wine out of plastic bottles with their friends. Nice kids.   Sulli and I shaved in the venue bathroom.  We have come up with a few pre-show routines to survive the grueling tour schedule.

Pre-Show Routine #1: “The Triangle”

The triangle consists of 3 things in this order:  food, coffee, alcohol.  To realize its full effect, the triangle must be completed in the correct order and ideally at least 2 hours before playing. If whiskey or cognac or schnapps is placed inside of coffee, this can reduce the triangle to 2 steps. Caffeine must be consumed at least 1 hour before playing, followed by beer or liquor. Beer will make you sleepy, so liquor is ideal.

Routine #2: “Triple S” (Shave, Shiesse, Schnapps)  Sulli and I found that to feel fully awake and look our best, we shave after eating as well as change our shirts and shoes.   This is followed by evacuating the bowels (which is harder than you might think in a crowded club that often has only 1 bathroom),  some vocal warm-ups, some stretching, some high kicks, and some schnapps.

The men’s bathroom sink was right next to the urinals where folks kept coming in and it made it nearly impossible to shave, so Sulli and I shaved in the hallway next to the women’s bathroom which lead to some people laughing at us.  No big deal, our mission was accomplished and we successfully completed all of our pre-show rituals.

Martin the promoter filmed us through a triangle-shaped hole in the backstage curtain.

The Czech kids danced and only knocked over the microphones a couple of times. We drank some more delicious creamy beers at the club then went to the promoter Martin Slovak’s flat to sleep. I stayed up all night with Martin listening to 60s Czech ye ye which was fantastic, but not great when I discovered staying up til 8am made me nearly completely lose my voice.

The best part about staying up all night was listening to Marta Kubisova. She was a Czech singer who was perceived as being anti-authoritarian and anti-imperialist and is still an inspiration in the Czech Republic. Her music is absolutely beautiful. Her song “Prayer for Marta” became a symbol of national resistance against the occupation of Warsaw Pact troops in ’68. During the Prague Spring, she recorded over 200 SP records and one LP which was immediately banned from stores. In 1970, the government falsely accused her of making pornographic photographs leading to a ban from performing in the country until 1989. (Disclaimer: I plagiarized much of this from Wikipedia)

Martin told us a story about the first time he went into Germany with his parents in the 1990s. He said that the Germans had made signs along the way that said “Czechs, don’t steal,” and “Czechs don’t stop here to clean your teeth.”

In the morning, I started drinking immediately to help the hangover. Martin joined me. Unfortunately, Andru’s cell phone was stolen from the driver’s side door which was unlocked when we were loading our gear out from the venue. Ox-strong Andru took it in stride and didn’t have a phone on the rest of the tour.

Day 5 Vienna, Austria @ Rhiz

Vienna is a handsome, lively city, and pleases me exceedingly.

-Frederic Chopin

Austria was home to many famous folks including Sigmund Freud, Arnold Swartzenegger, Falco (“Rock Me Amadeus”) and some bad ones who we won’t mention.

Rhiz is a very civilized little cafe underneath a railroad bridge. Members of the opening band “Bad Weed,” were present and served us a civilized Viennese coffee before soundcheck.  When the train went by overhead, the sound in the club made this wacky little buzzing. The sound-man had worked there for 20 years or so, and wore one of the best sweaters I have ever seen. Wish I had a photo of the man and his sweater.

We were reminded of the derogatory term that the Germans call the Austrians, Schlucten Shiesse, which means “valley shitter.” Remember the Austrian Alps.

I have neglected to mention how cold Deutschland and Austria were. Being used to California weather, the central European October cold chilled me to my bones and made me feel like I had a constant cold or flu. Paired with the jet-lag and my new mandatory vegan diet, I felt like I was constantly being sat on by a large Germanic man.  Thankfully we had our pre-show routines to save us, as the show must go on.  In the bathrooms, a few African men were coming and going. They locked themselves into bathroom stalls presumably to organize some drugs that they were selling. I’m not trying to racially profile Austrian drug dealers, but this touring rock and roll musician knows a drug dealer when he sees one.

The shaving situation in the bathroom was again a tough one. A bespectacled middle-aged man in a brand new 500 Euro leather jacket commented, “Shaving, that isn’t very punkrock.”

On the contrary,  shaving in a cracked bathroom sink in the venue bathroom shortly before playing your set may in fact actually be “punk rock,” but that’s another argument for another time.

Arno, the drummer for opening band Bad Weed was formerly a promoter in a small town called Klagenfurt where Clorox Girls and The Feelers played in 2007. It was nice to see him again. Also bumped into Tom Jirsa and some other familiar faces.

Afterwards, there was a unmistakable tension in the club for the free DJ night when a few sketchy characters piled into the tiny smoke-filled bar. The tension was so intense it was almost physical, like you could reach out and touch it. It seemed like a fistfight was inevitable. A grade-school mating ritual unfolded where men wearing camouflage pants, hair gel, and cologne would dance uncomfortably close to a woman they were attracted to. If the woman danced with him, it was on, if she didn’t, most of the time the man didn’t seem to get the idea and kept coming back again and again to harass her. Most of the women seemed to go to the bar in groups, and so usually it was up to her female friends to shoo the humping greasy harasser away.

The other guys went to bed and I went to an 80s night with some folks and danced to songs like “Ghostbusters.” I danced with a school teacher who unironically had tickets to David Hasselhoff the following week.

At the 80s night I met some nice folks from Antwerp where we were soon headed to, and then stumbled through the freezing Alpine rain and finally jumped in a taxi when I couldn’t find our sleeping place.  Luckily, Andru woke up to the sound of the buzzer, and let me in at 4am as there wasn’t any wifi and I didn’t have any cell service. It would have been a bad night to sleep on the sidewalk in Vienna.

Day 6 Munich, Deutchland @ Kafe Kult

Of one thing there is no doubt: if Paris makes demands of the heart, then Munich makes demands of the stomach.

-Rachel Johnson

Our Euro record label Taken By Surprise Records is located in Munich. Our drummer Chris has his screen printing shop Flatland  in the same building as Black Wave Records which is located near the Augustiner Brau Haus. We picked up some merchandise from the record store and screen-printing shop and headed over to the venue Kafe Kult, which is an old WWII military hospital. The caretaker’s name is Herbie, and he is a wild-eyed hippie who fishes Nazi memorabilia out of the river. His collection is pretty insane, if you ever stop by Kafe Kult it is well-worth it to take a look.

 

The Kafe Kult backstage is full of black-markered penis drawings and band-tags, as many of our friends’ touring bands have played here in the past.  Suspect Parts played one of our first shows in 2008 here.

 

Dinner was a vegan “almost burrito,” which actually wasn’t too bad. Europe has improved on the availability of spicy food these days. A particular bottle of spicy sauce at Kafe Kult almost killed Andru and I.

Kafe Kult’s bathroom is nearly impossible to shave in. The mirrors are covered with band stickers. We used my cell phone as a mirror. I held it for Sulli as he shaved, he did the same for me. Yes, yet another low pressure cold water shave for the ‘Parts. The bathrooms also have a permanent shiesse smell which proves that the place reeks of authenticity.

The openers were a grunge band from Vienna called Baits.  They were extremely friendly folks. They had to drive the 3 hours back to Vienna after the show and then go straight to work the next morning. The drummer even had to get on a bus to Zagreb, Croatia afterwards to play another show. That is dedication.  Baits sound reminded me of growing up in the 90s in Seattle.

One of the bartenders was a foxy girl with bangs named Veronica who plays in a noise-art kinda band called Friends Of Gas. She hadn’t heard of the Archie comics, and I told her about them. (Maybe it has something to do with my days living in Portland.  I’m a sucker for a dark-haired girl with bangs.)

At the beginning of our set my guitar amp stopped working which led us to scramble around, find a backup, and hastily commence our set. Sulli and I had almost completely lost our voices and were really pushing it as the vocal monitors were barely audible. We tried our best to play well, and sold a bunch of merchandise but my band mates told me afterwards that we played the worst set of the tour so far. Our Euro label boss Michl Krenner seemed to like the show (or he was lying to make us feel better). I gave him a kiss.

My crush, the bewitching beauty Veronica, left without saying goodbye much to my chagrin and we slept in the band room which was dirty, dusty, dark, and cold.  With all of the lights turned out, Herbie the caretaker’s handmade creations seemed to creep up the walls. A trip to the bathroom was like a barefoot walk in some filthy post-apocalyptic construction site. Luckily there was a space heater and it finally started to work as we drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn and contemplated what was going wrong with my life. A few hours later, I accidentally took one of the Kafe Kult volunteer’s sleeping bags which wasn’t the one that Michl loaned me. It apparently was a 200 Euro thermal sleeping bag for Alpine camping. Whoops. Luckily Chris lives in Munich and was able to bring it back after the tour.  The shower was grubby, located in a storage room full of Herbie’s ongoing projects and various broken appliances. It was covered in black muck. Andru was brave enough to take a shower, but Sulli and I opted out. The friendly volunteer who slept in the band room with us made us breakfast which we ate in sub-zero temperatures and we packed up the van and headed out to pick up Chris and his wife Laura at their place.

Touring is hard on the body.

Day 7 Cologne, Deutschland @ Sonic Ballroom

In Köln, a town of monks and bones, And pavement fang’d with murderous stones, And rags and hags, and hideous wenches, I counted two-and-seventy stenches, All well defined, and several stinks! Ye nymphs that reign o’er sewers and sinks, The River Rhine, it is well known, Doth wash your city of Cologne; But tell me, nymphs! what power divine Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?

– Samuel Taylor Coleridge

This was only the 4th date of tour and our 6th day in Europe but it felt like we had been on the road for ages.  Me and Sulli’s voices were nearly gone and I felt like I had a constant flu. This was the longest drive of tour – 6 hours (which is a relatively short distance compared to US Tours), and I took the opportunity to try and sleep in the back and get my voice back.  Our van kitchen was fully powered and Sulli had become a sandwich making gourmand. Our vegan spreads and veggies and cheeses were truly delectable.

At most Deutschland gas stations, they have paid bathrooms with attendants – which usually ensures that they are cleaned on a regular basis.  I was out of change and tried to sneak into a bathroom by ducking and rolling through the child-sized free entrance and was promptly caught by the bathroom attendant. She was not impressed.

The last time we were in Cologne, we filmed a short episode of our web-series “Guten Morgen Deutschland” at the Dome as we had filmmaker and Minister Of War Andrew Zappin in tow.

Sonic Ballroom is another classic Deutschland venue.  Small, great little bar, band flat upstairs and it has it’s own kitchen and bathroom. Roman has been the promoter there for many years and a strong supporter of ours since 2008. It was his birthday and so he was off somewhere enjoying it. Happy Belated Birthday, Roman!

Sonic Ballroom’s staff made us a nice vegan lasagna in the oven, soundcheck went smoothly, and we continued with our pre-show routines.  In Cologne the local beer is called Kolsch and this is ordered as opposed to Alt which is the rival beer from nearby rivals in Dusseldorf. Our kuhlshrank was filled with Kolsch.  The local cheap schnapps is called kettenfett which is like a black licorice shot. Not too bad. One of our biggest local supporters Frau Mony filmed a few of our songs.

Another local supporter, a 60 year old woman from Greece, knocked my microphone over a few times when she was dancing too hard. She apologized afterwards by kissing me on the neck and face. Suspect Parts’ German groupies are primarily women and men between the ages of 50 and 70.

The audience under 60 didn’t dance much but seemed to enjoy our tunes. We had some more kettenfett and Kolsch and went to bed in the bunks upstairs. The promoter told us that our first single “Seventeen Television” was a local dance floor hit. The DJs that night had a set that went on until about 5am. Their set included The Shocks “More Kicks”and Red Dons “Auslander”

Day 8 Antwerp, Belgium @ Venue 219

“It’s absurd to see an enchanted princess in every girl who walks by. What do you think you are, a troubadour?” 
― Roberto Bolaño, Antwerp

“If you open the door of a bar in Brooklyn, you know exactly who is the mobster, who is the nice guy, who is the drunk, who’s the waitress, who’s the lonely heart. If you push open the door to a bar in Antwerp, people will talk five different languages. You don’t know who’s who. You don’t know if that guy is a banker or a mobster.”

– Thomas Bidegain

We pulled into Antwerp and it felt a bit like France with its narrow streets and cafes. Antwerp is in the Flemish part of Belgium which historically has a rivalry dated back to medieval times with the French part of Belgium.  Flemish is similar to Dutch but they also have a rivalry with the Dutch. You can drive across the entire country of Belgium in about 3 hours but its a complicated place with an intricate history.

As the venue was closed and locked, we stopped into an extremely civilized local bar and tried the local beer.

The show was a Halloween party and most of the folks there seemed to be there for the dance party, not our band, which was fine. The local band were these kids who left their gear on stage for way too long and it annoyed all of us into playing a seriously blistering set.

The owner of the bar had a box full of Halloween supplies that he let us dip into. We did alright!

That night was another 80s music dance party. The place was packed. The guys went to bed at a reasonable hour and I foolishly stayed out and went to another after-hours party. I was playing roulette with the devil as far as my singing voice went.

Parking the van Halloween night in Antwerp proved to be extremely challenging and only Andru was up to the daunting task. We circled the city and finally found parking down by the river. Andru felt that the van might be at risk for a break-in so he slept in the van. It was freezing cold and only Ox-Strong Andru would take on this noble cause.

The next morning we only had a 1 hour drive to Kortrijk, so we had one of our only touristic days to walk around the city and see the sights. Our hosts Joris and Ann made us a lovely home-made breakfast in their flat and gave us an absolutely enjoyable walking tour with their dog, Clipper. Antwerp is exquisite. Here’s some of the highlights of our tourist day in photos:

Day 9 Kortrijk, Belgium @ The Pits

“I’m half-Irish, half-Dutch, and I was born in Belgium. If I was a dog, I’d be in a hell of a mess!”

– Audrey Hepburn

Chris and Andru finally trusted me enough to drive our rental Mercedes Sprinter Van and I successfully drove 1 hour through Belgium without incident. There was some backseat driving, but not too bad. The Pits is a legendary 20 year old garage punk venue that has hosted bands  like The Mummies, Supercharger, Dead Moon, The Spits, King Khan & BBQ, Black Lips, Alex White, Clorox Girls, Briefs, The Feelers, The Chemicals, and many more.

We were told that there was another show going on that night in Lille, France and that 11 of their regulars were headed to that show.  The Pit’s (sic) is tiny and can be filled to the absolute brim with about 40 people.  Tonight we had about 15 in the crowd so it was only about half-full. The staff was nice and dinner was tasty.  Again we had some issues with our pre-show shave as there was no bathroom mirror or even a sink to shave in.

 

The Pits DJ played some great stuff including The Kids from Antwerp.

The Pits staff told us that we could park the van overnight at the venue and then walk to the sleeping place. Our host was named Stoppe. He kinda looked like Andre The Giant. Stoppe was totally wasted and insisted that we drive to his flat. All of us had been drinking and since we were told that we could park at the venue, we all had enjoyed a few Belgian beers. As I was feeling sick, I didn’t really drink after the show and had been sober for a few hours.  I drove our van to Stoppe’s house and parallel parked half on the Belgian side walk.

Inside his flat, Stoppe had a fish and shrimp curry that he had made for a girlfriend of his.  I ate some despite Chris’ reasonable concern that I would get food poisoning from the shellfish that had been sitting out.  Stoppe’s friend had some home-grown weed and they brought out some fancy Belgian beer for us that was very tasty.  Stoppe put on a jazz record on 78 speed and proceeded to dance to it which brought most of us to tears laughing at his antics.  In between eating, drinking, and dancing, Stoppe cooked some samosas and brought out some more beer.

My favorite record that he played was this Belgian female singer from the 60s which I wish I could remember.  The record he put on 78 speed was Ottone Pesante.

My all-time favorite tune is Lio’s “Le Banana Split.” Despite Lio hailing from the French side of Belgium, everyone should know this tune.

Stoppe told us that Facebook had blocked him from using his name “Stop Stop Stop” and he was trying to resolve it as it was his only way of communicating with many of his friends. Good luck, Stoppe!

Day 10 Munster, Germany @ Gleis 22

“In Germany, I’m a filmmaker. In the US, I’m a bum.”

– John Carpenter

Promoter Markus Schmauck has been booking concerts in Munster for nearly 20 years. The opening band was called Conta. It was their 4th show. Their pre-show schnapps was also Berliner Luft which caused us to immediately bond with them.

There are also some scenes from our music video for “Run For Your Life” filmed at Gleis 22.

A local amp shop called Rare Guitars fixed my broken guitar amp which was fantastic. We had dinner, shiesse’d and schnapps’d and then had even more schnapps with Conta backstage.  It was their 4th show and they were real nervous.

 

Gleis 22 was pretty packed, Conta killed it and we killed it in turn.  We all went to a bar called Boheme something and enjoyed some kettenfett, jagermeister, and beers until they closed.  Markus is a local legend and for good reason. Munster should appreciate Markus bringing hundreds of touring bands to their student city over the years.

We stayed in this flat that some local hippies lived in. One of them introduced himself to us and said that he was a digital nomad. I guess that we are analog nomads.  The handle on the bathroom door kept falling off and the shower was dirty but the water was hot.  Hot and dirty.

Day 11 Hamburg, Germany @ Molotow

“You’re not getting any sleep tonight.”

– Graffiti seen on the Reeperbahn, Hamburg

I’ve known local promoters Jens Keller and Michael for over 10 years. Their old promotion company Wildwax previously booked shows in the now defunct Beatclub. Jens and Michael in their younger years would take shots of hot candle wax and force the touring bands to do the same. Wildwax hosted loads of touring bands like The Spits, Black Lips, King Khan & BBQ, Jay Reatard, and more. The last couple of times I was in Hamburg I was sick and would sleep in Jens’ bunk bed (often he would not sleep). We may have shared the bed a few times. One particular night with Holy Ghost Revival, Jens convinced them to buy a pigeon to throw into my face while I was sleeping.   They bought the pigeon at the Fisherman’s Market at 7am or so, and John let the pigeon free. Jens was pissed off at John for years (and probably still is).  Another time Jens convinced me to try to give Colin from Clorox Girls a roman soldier, which is one of the worst things I have done to any band mate. Colin, I’m sorry.

In the morning in Munster I had some schinken (ham) with breakfast. I hadn’t eaten any meat on the whole tour as all of the venue-provided food was vegan and vegetarian.  The ham tasted very strong and didn’t agree with me at all.  My stomach was a wreck during the whole drive to Hamburg and I felt like I had food poisoning. If any of you have had food poisoning before, you know what it feels like – a flu with your head, body and stomach all in volcanic disorder.  Our van was subjected to a melee of bad smells coming out of my body during the drive to Hamburg.  I honestly didn’t know if I could play.  I slept in the back of the van with a scarf on and rode it out.

At Jens’ place in Hamburg we met his new son, Sixten. Jens made us a delicious chili. When serving a heaping serving of chili,  a plate suddenly shattered above his son’s head. Uncle Justin grabbed the baby and the rest of the ‘Parts cleaned up all of the spilled chili and broken plate.

After the near disaster, we enjoyed Jens’ chili paired with a glass of Schwabish red wine.  I was feeling a little bit better from my run-in with the schinken earlier but still pretty rough, sweaty and sore all over.  I took a shower and shaved then we headed out to soundcheck at Molotow. We were playing with 2 bands that night, 1 that sounded like The Strokes and another one that had crazy mohawks, bondage and whatnot. It was their last show, they streamed a backdrop banner across the rear of the stage, and sound-checked for a very long time.

The Molotow is a proper indie venue and has a downstairs, upstairs, and outside stages.  It’s located right on the Reeperbahn which is in the heart of Hamburg’s red-light district. If you haven’t been there it’s like Las Vegas but sleazier, shadier, with legal prostitution mixed with kebab shops, dance clubs, strip clubs, bars, restaurants, music venues, and some American chain restaurants like Burger King and Hooters.  The Beatles also kick-started their career here.  A description of the Beatles early days in Hamburg:

McCartney later said, “We lived backstage in the Bambi Kino, next to the toilets, and you could always smell them. The room had been an old storeroom, and there were just concrete walls and nothing else. No heat, no wallpaper, not a lick of paint; and two sets of bunk beds, with not very much covers—Union Jack flags—we were frozen.” Lennon remembered: “We were put in this pigsty. We were living in a toilet, like right next to the ladies’ toilet. We’d go to bed late and be woken up next day by the sound of the cinema show and old German fraus [women] pissing next door.” After having been awoken in this fashion, the group were then obliged to use cold water from the urinals for washing and shaving. They were paid £2.50 each a day, seven days a week, playing from 8:30-9:30, 10 until 11, 11:30-12:30, and finishing the evening playing from one until two o’clock in the morning. German customers found the group’s name comical, as “Beatles” sounded like “Peedles”, which meant a small boy’s penis. (From The Beatles in Hamburg )

Luckily Suspect Parts seemed to have it slightly better than the Beatles in their early days, and at Molotow, had our own private dressing room upstairs where we could sit quietly away from the cigarette smoke and eat some erdnuss flips (the best German snack).

We were at least 2 hours early for the show, so I had time to take a 30 minute power nap in the dressing room.  Sulli went to the train station to pick his wife Chris up. Here’s Chris modeling a Suspect Parts shirt.

The Strokes band sounded a lot like the Strokes. To paraphrase Pablo Picasso, “Bad art is imitation, great art is theft.”

The crazy mohawk band sounded better onstage than their soundcheck. I was really worried about my voice and my energy level but I managed to get up to “adult chimp strong.”  As I may have mentioned earlier, in the German language, the strongest animal is an ape. “Affenstark,” or “Ape-Strong” is the strongest that one can get in Germany as well as in Suspect Parts land.  On my worst times of day I was a newborn baby deer, one that could barely walk.  On the Munster to Hamburg drive I was a newborn salamander, a slimy creature that could be easily crushed.  Onstage in Hamburg, I made it to adult chimp strong, which is almost as strong as “Ape Strong” but not quite.  Andru Bourbon was steadily “Ox Strong” throughout the tour except one time when he apparently passed out behind our merch table.

At the end of our set in Hamburg I thought I would die, but ran to the merch table to sling some records, buttons, and shirts to folks.  We did pretty good.  Hamburg didn’t kill us. I had to go to bed early to attempt to get Ape Strong before our last show in Berlin, and we went back home where Jens’ wife Julika played us some of her favorite Plimsouls tunes.

Sulli’s wife Chris took this photo of us the next morning next to the river.

Day 12 Berlin, Germany @ Kastaniankeller

“I still keep a suitcase in Berlin.”

– Marlene Deitrich

 

Suspect Parts have played Berlin 6 or 7 times between 2008 and present, so it’s the closest we have to a hometown. We knew that we would have a lot of friends there but were literally gobsmacked by the amount of friends that came down to support us.

Slime The Boogie and Gang Zero opened up the show and were both fantastic. There were these hilarious bearded guys in Harley Davidson jackets who kept chest bumping each other and “moshing.”  They were half amusing, half annoying.  It was packed in the place and a Suspect Part couldn’t go 3 steps without bumping into someone who wanted to say hello or offer food, drink, or drugs, so we had a hard time getting Ape Strong for this one.  We had to give it our all though. The monitors onstage literally had static coming out of them, but we sang our hearts out and tried our best to kick some ass and take some names.  One of the big bearded fellows was grabbing at my leg and hugging me during our first few songs. The beards finally got bored and left, which was great because it opened up the front row for about 10 girls to dance.  Finally, dancing in Deutchland!   Success! We blasted through our set and closed out with Chris singing “Do It Clean” by Echo and the Bunnymen. We had some “Animal House” -reminiscent call and response and brought down the house.  Thank you Berlin, our last show was easily our best show, and couldn’t have gone down better. Ich leibe dich Berlin.

Stream or order Suspect Parts new self titled LP in North America here

Stream or order Suspect Parts new self-titled LP in Europe here

Post Script, German Vocabulary

I’ve been to Deutschland a few times and always try and pick up some new insults and vocabulary words. Here’s the list from this trip:

Schwips – buzzed, Ich Habe einen schwips or Ich bin beschwipst (“I am buzzed”)

Motorat – Motorcycle

Kinderwagen – stroller

Ampel – Traffic Light

Ampel menschen – traffic light men

Hamsterer – a hoarder

Rucksichtslos – regardless

Festgennomen – Arrested

Keks – Cookies

Dar ist ein hund in einer tasche – there is a dog in a bag

Schlucten Shiesse – Valley Shitter (what the Germans call the Austrians)

Spaten – Idiot  (literally means shovel, but if you call a person this it means idiot)

Laberbacke – someone who talks too much

Best quotes of this tour go to Andru Bourbon:

Chris: “You have to step into the modern world, Bourbon.”

Andru: “Sometimes I do.”

Chris: “She has the right to cut you off, she’s driving a Porsche.”

Andru: “Do I have the right to kill her?”

You can stream or order Suspect Parts new self titled LP in North America here

You can stream or order Suspect Parts new self-titled LP in Europe here

Suspect Parts on Facebook

Suspect Parts on Instagram: @SuspectParts

 

And some wonderful extras for those of you who stuck around this long:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello All,

Just had a new essay, “White Light” published by Vol. 1 Brooklyn. Read on Vol. 1 Brooklyn site here

White Light

by Justin Maurer

White light, white light goin’ messin’ up my mind
White light, and don’t you know its gonna make me go blind
White heat, aww white heat it tickle me down to my toes
White light, ooo have mercy white light have it goodness knows
-Velvet Underground, “White Light/White Heat”

Most people like ghost stories, but I don’t. They scare me. I don’t like to think about ghosts or demons because I know they are real. Sometimes even watching a TV program about them, I think that I’d better stop watching because a portal to hell could open and the demons that plagued me in the past could come back and harass me. I have been unable to write this story for 15 years, but now I think I am strong enough to write this and strong enough to keep them at bay.

When I was 18 years old I played in a punk rock band. We did stupid things like getting drunk and getting naked. As a frequently wild and unbridled lead singer, onstage I was the most naked of all. After we graduated high school we pooled our money and bought a van. We split our podunk small town and hit the open road. We drank vodka out of the bottle, slept on top of our van, and shook scorpions out of our shoes. By the end of our U.S. tour we felt invincible, and our live set involved quite a bit of provocation, nudity, and screeching guitar feedback from our guitarist Devon’s off-brand pawn shop guitar (aka “Framus”).

The last date of our tour was an all ages venue on the wealthy and uptight Eastside of Seattle, near Microsoft headquarters. Our chaotic set didn’t go down well with the team of big-necked security guards. There were a few adult chaperones in the audience. One particularly uneasy mother of a 14-year-old concert attendee called the cops on us. The 14-year-old girl’s mom pressed charges (indecent exposure) and I was summoned to court for a felony charge.

I didn’t take the court summons seriously and helped my mom, a school teacher, move to New York City where she had received a small scholarship towards her Master’s degree. We drove across the country, and I loved it every time “Ramblin’ Man” by the Allman Brothers Band came on the radio–about 3 or 4 times a day. My brother and I drove the U-Haul and my mom and sister drove in my mom’s Jeep. The Jeep would often swerve violently as my mother and sister vehemently argued in sign language, hands off the wheel, and my sister would pull the car over, throw the door open and kick the dirt. My brother and I laughed and were glad we weren’t in the other car.

I was having a hard time landing a job in New York and was handing out resumes across the city. Some guy at the 121^st Street and Broadway subway station told me not to take the train downtown. He told me to go home and turn on the TV. The burning buildings were on every channel. The whole world was changing.

New York became a dead city. Everything stopped, including the U.S. Mail. One month later I received a warrant for my arrest that was forwarded from our address in Washington State. I had missed my court date for the naked thing. I got a job waiting tables at a restaurant on 110^th Street and Broadway and the owners ripped me off. They paid me $80 cash for working full time for a week. They kept my tips and didn’t call me in for any other shifts.

I decided to head back to Seattle to face up to the felony charge. I went back to Bainbridge Island where I had gone to high school. All of my friends had gone to college or moved away. There were a few younger kids I was friends with including two twin sisters named Cora and Penny. I had dated Cora briefly in high school. Something clicked and I started dating Penny. She had wild hair, wild eyes and a wonderful laugh, the kind where she would throw back her head and roar. I found Penny to be quite a rambunctious creature and I liked her very much.

One day my friend Devon and I stopped by their house. They lived with their single mom who was an interior designer and always let us eat their food and hang out and play guitars. The twins would often choreograph dance moves to “Crimson and Clover.”

We knocked on the door, and Penny answered looking very surprised. She held her finger to her lips and beckoned for us to follow her inside. In their living room a man lay reclined on a couch. A woman sat above him. He spoke in voices. The voices coming out of his mouth were not his own. A gaggle of new age ladies with crystal necklaces and hippie dresses sat cross legged on the floor and hung onto every word. When Devon and I came into the room a strange voice spoke through his mouth.

“Do you have any questions for us?”

The new age women smiled and encouraged me to ask some questions. The voices went through every detail of my life. They described my personality, my trials, and my tribulations in disconcerting detail. Their answers to my questions were spot on, as if these spirits knew who I was and as if they knew the internal turmoil that I was going through.

After my questions, the woman counted back from 10 and with every number the man convulsed as if spirits were leaving his body. After the number 1, the man sat up and rubbed his eyes, speaking in his own voice.

“Ah, some newcomers! How y’all doin?”

He spoke simply like a man born in the country. He sounded nothing like the spirits that were using his body to channel their energy and spoke in stilted yet articulate voices.

After I came home from my experience with the channel, I started seeing apparitions. The black beasts swam above me like underwater sea creatures. These sinister eels writhed through midair with their tails. They had no faces. They would fly by my car, my bed, they would stop and stare directly into my soul, chilling me to my bones.

One day Penny and I were driving my red 1982 Chevy on a dark winter night. One of these demonic salamanders floated in front of my windshield and stared at us menacingly before continuing along its way.

“Did you see that,” I asked Penny.

“Oh yeah, we see them all the time.”

Living in the house where a new age cult was paying this man to channel these demons posing as angels, Penny and her sister Cora lived with these apparitions. To them, it was normal.

Soon they were everywhere. They scurried on the floor, they watched me as I showered, they hovered over my bed and I couldn’t sleep. I contemplated suicide to get away from them.

To keep them at bay I would sing and play Muddy Waters and Lightnin’ Hopkins songs.

“GYPSY WOMAN TOLD MY MOTHER/BEFORE I WAS BORN/YOU GOT A BOY CHILD COMIN’/GONNA BE A SON OF A GUN…”

I would scream these songs and they wouldn’t bother me as I sang them. Otherwise, they were always there watching me, following me, torturing me.

I found out that the man posing as a channel for these demonic spirits had left town. It made me feel a little better.I stopped by the twins’ house to play some guitar and goof around. I sat on their couch playing their acoustic guitar and one of them said,

“Oh my God! Mom! Come here… Mom!”

Their mother came in the room and said, “Oh my God. Justin, sit up for a second.”

I stood up and one of the twins reached underneath the couch cushion where I was sitting. She handed me a folded up piece of notebook paper and asked me to read it.

“Request a date of your new channel: October 13^th.

Request a time your new channel will appear: 2:30pm.

On this date and time your new channel will sit here. May white light be with you.”

It was discussed that I should travel to Ashland, Oregon where their old channel was living in a hotel room. They told me that if I was the new channel I could earn lots of money as there were plenty of people who wanted to ask these spirits questions. They told me that their mom had a religious group called White Light and they were working on a book that would lead the people of the world to a new truth and a lasting peace. Their old channel had left town and the book wasn’t finished and they needed me to learn how to channel the spirits so that they could finish their book.

This was a lot for me to hear. Around this time, the haunting from the apparitions rose to manic proportions. The little demon creatures would crawl all over me and I was being suffocated by them. One night I heard a boom like a thunder clap. I sat up in my bed and there was a blinding light coming from the bedroom door, it looked like a portal to heaven.

A deep commanding voice spoke, like the voice of God and he said, “Choose a door!”

To the left was a simple wooden door, the kind you would find on a log cabin in the forest. To the right was a bright sparkly door like one you would see on a game show.

“The door on the right is if you become a channel. The door on the left is if you decide not to. Choose wisely”

The bright lights left the room. I thought about Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade and remembered that the right choice was the simple wooden cup. The other choice meant instant painful death.

I drove to Ashland, Oregon with the twin sisters and their mom. We went up a flight of stairs and met the channel and his wife in their motel room. He told us that on the morning of 9/11 the spirits woke him up and told him that this country’s false economy would fall.

He went into his trance led by his wife who counted down from 10. When she got to 1, the stilted yet articulate voices of the demon spirits spoke through the man.

“Do you have any questions for us,” they said.

“Should I become the new channel,” I said.

“If you open that door, it shall never be closed again,” they said.

At that point I knew I didn’t want to be the channel.

We drove from Ashland, Oregon back up to Bainbridge Island, Washington. I told the twins and their mother that I wasn’t going to be the channel. I got a letter in the mail that asked if I wanted to move to San Francisco to play in a punk rock band. I wrote back yes.

My nudity trial took some strange turns, my pregnant public defender didn’t show up most of the time, and so the case was often delayed and extended. Then it was finally over. I was guilty of disorderly conduct, a misdemeanor charge. After community service hours were served and a fine paid, I moved from town to town: Oakland, Portland, Madrid, London, L.A. Every once in a while I wake from sleep and find myself staring into the shadows of my bedroom and I start to see a slithery creature writhing across the floor. So I look away.

My Gram, Shirlee Jean Winans, passed away a few days before Christmas at the age of 79. She was predeceased by her loving husband of 32 years, Captain Gilbert L. Winans, US Navy. I always saw Gram’s strong personality and looks as a mashup of Lucille Ball and Bette Davis.

She was very opinionated and animated, liked to pepper her vocabulary with swear words and colloquialisms, and saw herself as someone who stood up against injustice. She was politically active and donated to various nonprofit organizations as well as the campaigns of various Republicans including John McCain and George W. Bush. She absolutely loathed Bill and Hillary Clinton and disliked Barack Obama.

My Grandmother Shirlee had many animated facial expressions. Communicating with her was at times like watching an episode of “I Love Lucy

To her kids she was known as “Mom,” to her grandkids “Gram,” and to everyone else, “Shirlee.”

Shirlee was born May 21, 1935 in Wapato, Washington, the oldest of eight children of Homer and Emily Barry. Her maternal side was O’Leary making both sides of her family strongly Irish.

Her Irish immigrant grandparents were migrant workers, apple pickers, who worked the fertile valley near Yakima, Washington. According to her, she had to move house every few months when her father would gamble and drink away his earnings.

A childhood memory of Shirlee’s was one where she would walk halfway to school and hide her shoes in the bushes, walking the rest of the way to school barefoot. She felt embarrassed because many of the children at her school were too poor to own shoes. She went to elementary school with a mixed group of people including children of immigrants and members of the Yakama Indian Tribe (who the nearby city of Yakima was named after). At an early age she learned tolerance, but this would change during WWII when the US rallied against the “Japs” and the “Krauts.” From her WWII memories and the propaganda she was innudated with, Shirlee would carry a lifelong suspicion towards Asians in general who she called “Orientals,” and after 9/11 she had a deep suspicion towards Arabs, often confusing local turbaned Sikhs who worked in Marysville area gas stations for Afghanis, thinking they were members of Al Qaeda.

As a teenager she played semi-pro women’s softball with the Yakima Apple Queens. After a disagreement with her father, she dropped out of high school and ran away from home at the tender age of 15 where she lived and worked in a hotel in Seattle’s Belltown.

A year or so later, Shirlee dyed her hair, lied about her age and joined the Navy in San Diego, California. This was where she met her 1^st husband Richard Powell as he was in the US Marine Corps Stationed nearby.

When living on the military base of Fort Lejune, North Carolina in the 1950s she worked as a carhop, a waitress on rollerskates. When the proprietor of the restaurant told her not to serve black customers, she quit on the spot, throwing her apron on the ground and rollerskating away.

She was born “Shirley Barry” and changed the spelling of her name, Shirley to “Shirlee” to avoid confusion with Shirley Temple.

Shirlee had five children, including two who are Deaf, with her first husband, Richard A. Powell. She raised her family in Alexandria, VA which included two sons of her late second husband, Preston Millard. She was a very social person enabling her to be a successful real estate broker in Virginia and Maryland for many years.

She was an animal lover and through the years owned dogs, cats, chickens, pigs, goats, donkeys and horses. She grew up on a farm so in her retirement she wanted to have a farm atmosphere much to the chagrin of her husband Gil who had to shovel the “horse shit” on a daily basis. Gil told me one of the reasons why he joined the Navy was because in Michigan he had an option of “…either shoveling horse shit and milking the cows or joining the military. So I joined the Navy…and now here I am, shoveling horse shit again.”

Shirlee and Gil had a fluctuating amount of dogs, mostly obese Lab mixes. Duke and Shannon came with her from Virginia when she moved to Marysville, Washington in 1988. After Duke and Shannon, she was convinced that animal names had to have a “y” or “ie” on the end of the name otherwise the animals wouldn’t know their own name. Lucy and Annie soon followed. Then Mokie and Daisy and Buddy and dozens of others through the years. She also had a couple of pot bellied pigs, Barney and Penny. The spot at the bottom of the hill where Gil would bury the deceased animals with his tractor is a veritable pet cemetery.

Shirlee mostly stayed home during her retirement where she would field various family dramas, but had plenty of peace and quiet with her dogs in between. She liked to talk to the television as if the news anchors could hear her. She was always around to listen to anyone’s worries and was quick to help out in any way she could.

When I was estranged from my father for about 10 years, she would help me out if I ever fell into financial trouble. Gil and Gram gave me my first car, a 1982 Chevy S-10 that Gil had salvaged and fixed up. When I moved to Oakland, California in 2002, I gave the truck back to them and they gifted it to my cousin Jonathan, giving me a little money to help me with my move.

Gil and Gram were always there for me and Gram had kind words of encouragement and support for all of her kids and grandkids. She could be difficult to deal with and impossible to argue with, but she was a kind soul and had love for her family and her animals. If you crossed her and became her enemy, she was ruthless and unrelenting. Luckily for us, we were related to her and she bestowed plenty of love on us.

Later in life she suffered from dementia after the death of her husband Gil a few years ago. She would often forget that Gil had died and would ask where he was. She forgot names and faces and was often very frustrated, sometimes violent because of her dementia. She had a brief illness and was placed in the hospital. She died peacefully in her sleep in Everett, Washington on Sunday, December 21, 2014.

Gram had plenty of great quotes which I remember. Here are some of my favorites below.

Rest In Peace Gram, thank you for everything. Miss you and love you Gram.

My favorite quotes from my Grandmother, Shirlee “Gram” Winans:

“Back then the police would just drive you home if you were drunk off your ass” (referring to the few times Washington DC area cops would drive her home instead of arrest her for drunk driving).

“I remember Chubby Checker, he was chubby! He let me sit on his knee. I was drunk off my ass and danced on top of his piano.”

“The only ones who did drugs in my day were the Indians and the musicians.”

“I pay your salary!” (Said to a Marysville police officer who pulled her over for speeding. She blew cigarette smoke in his face and berated him so heavily that he gave up, ripping up the speeding ticket he was about to give her).

“Well, it’s better than a kick in the ass.” (That’s what she would say referring to any small victory, like winning $5 on a lotto ticket).

“Do you know why all The Afghanis own all of the gas stations in Marysville? Al Qaeda.” (When the nation was in post 9/11 hysteria, I was in the car with her, she was referring to a turbaned Sikh working at a Marysville, WA area gas station and mistakenly thought he was from Afghanistan)

“He’s an ornery old fart” (referring to her husband Gil as if he wasn’t there but he was in the kitchen with us and clearly overheard)

“That dumb sonofabitch” (referring to Bill Clinton while watching Fox News)

“Will you look at that dumb sonofabitch” (referring to Barack Obama while watching Fox News)

“I worked hard my whole goddamn life” (how she might end any heated discussion, exasperated, tired of the argument)

Her red bumper sticker: “Clinton” (the C shaped like the communist hammer and sickle)

Gil’s bumper sticker: “I’m NRA and I vote.”

“That’s my little girl,” (referring to her beloved terrier, Sandy).

“How are you, sport? Help yourself to some food in the kitchen, love” (She called any of her 15 Grandkids “Sport” or “Love” as an affectionate nickname. She recalled her own Irish grandmother referring to her as “Love” when she was a child).

RIP “Gram” Shirlee Winans, 1935-2014.

AUTHOR RAQUEL GUTIERREZ ON “BREAKING UP WITH LOS ANGELES”

(Read on the Yay LA webpage here: http://www.yaylamag.com/raquel-gutierrez/)

Sharif Dumani, musician, kind soul, best known for his fronting of L.A. 60′s pop band Exploding Flowers, recommended a chapbook of poetry to me, well everyone, via social media.

“My skull blown open twice over along with my heart. For anyone who has ever walked our streets, driven our freeways, lived, loved, lost, succeeded, and failed in this city of Angels, it will fully resonate. Raquel Gutierrez’ zine of poems and stories totally captures the heart and soul of this town, while breaking your heart and having you fall in love all at the same time. Do yourself a favor and get a copy of Breaking up with Los Angeles, if anything, for the beautiful and loving tribute to Wanda Coleman. Absolutely gorgeous work”

Needless to say, this hyping caught my attention and I ordered the chapbook online.  I got book in the mail and was not disappointed. Breaking Up With Los Angeles made me fall in love with L.A. all over again.

Raquel Gutierrez is a poet from L.A. who now resides in the San Francisco Bay Area. Breaking Up With Los Angeles is her first chapbook.

 

Why do you write and when did you start writing?  Do you remember your first poem you ever wrote and what it was about?

I write because it just seems like the simplest way to create the world I perceive through my five senses. I was always a reader and felt like that was the best way to experience other worlds, worlds I didn’t know or belong to. I’ve been journaling since I was a kid. I wrote plays in grade school and poems in high school. Wrote some music too. Studied journalism but not really writing. Not creative writing. I took one class at L.A. City College but dropped out. Didn’t really like the environment and didn’t feel like it helped me. It just bummed me out.

 

Do you recall the first poem you ever wrote that you were proud of?

Oh hmm first poem. Yeah, I think it was a poem about a girl. It was called “Fire Woman.”

 

Where did you find the confidence to write poetry?

Well it wasn’t confidence exactly, I needed a place that had relaxed rules about content and form. Or at least conventions to push against.

 

And you found that place for you was poetry?

I actually always wanted to be more of a prose writer. Fiction, or longer form. I didn’t think of poetry as something I could really do. Breaking Up With Los Angeles was me taking a chance. It was really healing to do. To express grief that way.

 

What are some of your first memories of Los Angeles before you were conscious of it being “L.A.”?

Plazita Olvera. My folks would take us there at least once a month. Driving through downtown. Seeing city hall. I was baptized at Our Lady Queen of Angels. The freeways, they are comforting to me. Bandini Blvd. El Mercadito. The county hospital where I was born and had yearly check-ups that allowed me to miss school until I was eighteen. The fisherman’s outlet for fried shrimp. El Salvador café on San Julian in the alleys. The Frank Romero murals on the 101 Freeway depicting little kids.

 

Discovering yourself and discovering your sexuality, how did the boundaries of freeways and neighborhoods fall into your journey?  Did you feel more “free” in some neighborhoods as opposed to others?

Well in my early twenties there were “T-parties” for the under-21 set. T or “tea” is like, “What’s the tea?” It was a way of saying, “What’s Her Story?” Or like, “Is that guy gay?” They were backyard keggers for queer Latinos. The party lines were on these business card flyers and you’d call them every weekend to see where the party was at. You’d end up at places like South Gate or La Puente or Montebello. We’d drink, hold up the walls, listen to freestyle and Morrissey. My friend used to throw so much shade. I remember having to book it out once because some queen wanted to fight him

Were you openly “out” with your parents?  Were they understanding? Supportive?  I’m assuming your family was Catholic?

I came out to my folks at twenty-one. After my girlfriend broke up with me and I was a visible mess.

 

What was their reaction?

My parents were cool, very accepting. Saw I was in pain and wanted to help me feel better. They are great. My dad was basically “Ay mija, ya te vas a encontrar a otra.” Which means, “You’ll find someone else.” They are more concerned with my artistic pursuits. They wish I would just be like a realtor or work for the city.

 

I grew up in the L.A. of the Eighties and early Nineties. It was rife with gang culture and the music of the time reflected that.  What was the soundtrack of your childhood?  What were the first five albums you bought or borrowed from older siblings or friends?

Beastie Boys “License to Ill,” Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam, Fat Boys, Run DMC, “Tough As Leather.”

 

And what was the soundtrack to the T Parties?

Cover Girls, Masters At Work, Black Box, Depeche Mode. I remember Eazy-E was huge of course. Los Tigres, Ana Gabriel. We would listen to my folks’ music too, like Chico Che y La Crisis. In 8th grade I got into my big brother’s Devo, B52s and Oingo Boingo stash. They Might Be Giants.

 

Easy E, NWA, Dr Dre, Snoop and Ice Cube later on? What about MC Kid Frost?

Kid frost was popular with some classmates. I thought it was so dorky.

 

You weren’t a fan of his “This for La Raza” music video with the buff saxophone guy?

Ha. No

 

You grew up in Huntington Park?  What gang controlled that turf at the time, when you were a kid?

I grew up in Huntington Park till I was four. Then Bell Gardens. Then my folks moved back to HP when I went to grad school. The big gang when I was growing up was Chanslor St. They were in Bell and were the gang messing with the kids I knew. I remember a bullet hole in my window and my mom would stay up all night. There were shootings in the neighborhood I grew up in but it was just typical.

 

Did Chanslor St. have a lot of female members as well?

Oh gosh I think only in terms of girlfriends. Firme jainas.

 

Sometimes it seems like outsiders think of L.A. as either Beverly Hills or Compton, with nothing in between. What do you find is the most common misconception of L.A. and what is the stereotype that is most true about L.A.?

Well I love Compton and Watts. It’s just an extension of Huntington Park. And it’s all brown folks and immigrants now. The Misconception, that L.A. lacks culture.

 

Right, I think South L.A. is something like eighty-percent Latino now

The L.A. stereotype, traffic. Duh. Yes. But I like traffic, it’s a time to think about the day or week’s events. I’ll take L.A. traffic over Bay Area traffic any day of the week though

 

That bad?  Bay Bridge traffic or what?

Bay Bridge traffic is dystopic.

 

You currently live in the Bay Area.  Do you feel that once you left Los Angeles, you were ready to write about it?

I left L.A. ten years ago for NYC. Couldn’t write a damn lick to save my life. This time around leaving I was finally ready to inhabit certain uncomfortable truths about myself. And write from that place.

 

You went to NYU?

Yeah. I did a performance studies Master’s.

 

So you didn’t study writing or poetry at NYU?  Do you find writing classes or seminars claustrophobic?

I didn’t study writing. Maybe I should have but I was enamored with performance art at the time. I studied theory. Worked with José Muñoz. Who passed away suddenly a few months ago.

 

Ah, I saw the reference to Jose Munoz in your book and was wondering who he was.   Sorry to hear he passed away. “The potential for radical precariousness,” such a beautiful line in your book, can you elaborate?

Well that line is about how I feel like my generation there is a want or need for security in creating art. That we value safety over risk.

 

“Everyone in Los Angeles has a loose relationship between time and whiteness” What do you mean by that– and what is/was your relationship between time and whiteness?

In L.A. identity politics are not the topic of the day in the way it feels like they are or still are in the Bay. My relationship with both those things–hmm I guess a banal obsession. It’s present but not one where I am consumed by a toxic rage.

“Someone is talking to me about gentrification again.” A hot topic in the Bay Area? One that is not really discussed as much in L.A.? What do you mean by “Everyone in Los Angeles has a loose relationship between time and whiteness”?  Are you saying the Bay Area has a tighter (grasp?) on time and whiteness? What are you banally obsessed with?

When I talk about the Bay Area, I mean people of color in the Bay Area. Some of the folks who reside here have graduated from some really amazing liberal arts colleges where they had an intense time with race and privilege. People in the Bay Area come here to work it out. They try to create a world that’s only people, not just people who look like each other.  Here I think of myself as a “bad brown person.” I don’t have those traumas because I didn’t have the same intensely negative experience with white people.  I went to college at Cal State Northridge and my fellow students were working class white people and people who worked in the porn industry while going to school. I feel like an outsider in the people of color communities in the Bay Area. I’ve heard of events where white people aren’t allowed. It’s a particular type of person of color who had this kind of collegiate experience or generally negative experience with white people. But I didn’t have that and to me it doesn’t make sense. That’s just me. All that to say that I feel like my brown experience is maybe atypical of other more righteous narratives.

 

This line is from your poem “Ole Dad,” from your book:

“Nothing stronger than a Bohemia here, nothing stranger except for the passage of time each minute denoted with a drop of liquor as it dilutes the blood between us”

 

The other week I had a freelance job in Vernon.  I drove right by Ole Dad Liquor store and had just read your poem about it.  I agree with you when you say “Vernon is the middle of nowhere a woman or child ought to be”.  What is your history with Vernon? The line “the paycheck he earns becomes burdened with so much rabia” is so fucking well-put.  Rabia en ingles is something like “infuriating,” “fury,” “anger,”  but the Spanish word “rabia” has so much more to it besides fury or anger.  

It’s where I’d drive through to get to or get out of Huntington Park. Vernon is so dystopic. So brutal. It attacks all of the senses, especially smell. It’s hard to not be obsessed by the landscape. I fell in love with industrial aesthetic motifs because of Vernon. My parents both worked there. My dad at a printing press and a plastics factory. My mom was a costurera.

 

So a lot of chemicals and nasty things at the plastic factory?  What is a costurera?

Just imagining their day in and day out kind of guts me. Costerera is a seamstress.

 

They still working there now?

My dad eventually got into being a salesman and got his real estate license when he was almost fifty. My mom is now a certified nurse’s assistant.

 

Why is Wanda Coleman’s tongue “mightier than Fante, Gehry, Bukowski?”

Her tongue is mightier to me because she made it out of Watts without leaving Watts behind. She left it but took it with her. Her work is just searing. Sinister. Stunning. She writes about truly frightening things: poverty. Sex. Violence. Ache. I found inspiration. I mean the ache. The rage. The impotence. All makes for easy relatability if you’re in touch with those ugly feelings yourself.

 

Do you have one particular book or piece of Wanda Coleman’s you’d recommend as a must read for folks unfamiliar with her work?

Heavy Daughter Blues.

 

 “Naco Power” works in both Spanish and English.  Do you plan to do more bi-lingual poems?

I was in Mexico City last year and I was taken aback by how well my Spanish came back. D.F. is infinite. Also just conversing with people in my line of work in Spanish I have gotten a better claim over speaking it. Expressing myself. It’s become a whole new world when it comes to poems.

What is your current line of work?

I do arts community engagement, Connecting artists and community to make art together. I’m like the shock absorber.

 

Favorite Spanish-speaking poet?

Claribel. Alegria and Roque Dalton. I love Roque.

 

Books or poems you’d reccomend by Alegria and Dalton?

Taberna by Roque.

 

From your book, this is up there with Fante, Chandler, Nathanael West, a classic description of L.A.

“scatter me in the mouth of Los Angeles

her stomach the desert

her ass the sea

her shoulders the mountains

and her womb the east Los Angeles freeway interchange

for the 5 brought me all of California

while the 101 took me to where it was possible

impossible

 on the 10 during rush hour

and the 60 carried my broken teenage heart home”

 

The freeways in L.A. are like the veins that lead to the heart.  Only it’s hard to find the heart because there is no center.  Where is your heart in L.A.? 

El Mercadito to me is the heart. That’s where my parents met.

 

Boyle Heights is the heart?

It’s so mundane but so much happens there. And the altar to the Virgin of Guadalupe is peerless. I’d say Pacific Boulevard over Beverly Hills any day.

 

Why do people write poetry?

I have no idea why people write poetry except maybe to stave off madness.

 

Will you ever come back to L.A.?  Don’t you find the people in the Bay Area a bit too passive-aggressive and politically-correct (and sometimes lacking a sense of humor?).  I know I’m generalizing. I also lived up there for a spell, have good friends from up there and loved parts of it and didn’t love other parts of it.  People get a little too uptight and a little too PC.  Is this a breath of fresh air for you, a brief repose?   What is the deal with the Google bus?  Will it roll over San Francisco like an Israeli tank rolls over a Palestinian child throwing a rock?

Yes yes and yes to everything you said about the Bay. It’s uptight and not a friendly place. But love and work is here. If I had a cool job lined up I’d definitely come back and if my girlfriend got into med school then for sure. My social world is smaller in the Bay, which makes work easier to do. The Tech Industry is a point of Contention here for sure. Ron Swanson from Parks and Recreation is my Bay Area survival spirit animal.

 

The Bay Area is a strange place.  I do love visiting and have some dear friends there, but hate to see the counter culture (which what made SF special in the first place) sucked out and priced out. You can see racial tension building in Oakland now with a lot of folks moving out of SF because they can’t afford it anymore – they move to Oakland where the magic word “gentrification” is another point of contention as you said.

Exactly. I have gentrification fatigue

 

I think everyone does. Myself, being white, sometimes I feel that I’m “gentrifying” a place merely by existing

It does seem like the remaining counter culture in SF is dwindling. That’s a weird thing that comes from feeling guilty for being creative. Getting implicated in all of that gentrification labeling. But I can see the beauty where everyone else sees blight.

Favorite taco spot in L.A.? 

Favorite tacos? Duh Guisados. Lengua. But I also love the buche gorditas at El Mercadito.

 

What is buche? Snout?

Buche is stomach! Kind of gnarly, but tasty. Lengua is the bomb. I loved Lengua on wonder bread lunches when I was a kid

 

How is Raquel Gutierrez going to conquer the world, and what is your newest chapbook? How does it differ from breaking up with L.A., and where do people buy your books online?

Conquering the world to give it back to those who were robbed. Next chapbook: #WhiteBoo out in a few weeks. Deciding sequence and designing cover art right now.

 

Is there actually a hashtag in the title of the book? Say it ain’t so.

There is! It’s a place where people of color on Twitter let their guards down.

 

So someone of color who is dating a white person? White boo?

Yeah exactly. Really this chapbook is about racialized anxiety.

 

So where do people order Breaking up with Los Angeles and #Whiteboo?

Raquelgutierrez.net/chapbook for info. And soon an Etsy store.

 

Any advice for aspiring poets, aspiring writers… people who are earnest seekers of the truth?  What might they do to ease their minds and their souls a bit?

Just tell the truth no matter how complicated or unflattering it might be. There’s beauty there. And work together. Nothing we want more than a sense of belonging. Don’t be afraid to belong to each other.