1. Burn (Hello)
2. Cold Beer
Same credits as original recording session: HERE to get to PANTHER OF THE SUBURBS.
Dubbydubs by axemen King Dub Come
The Panther Of The Suburbs — live at the Star & Garter, late 1984 or maybe even 1985—anyway, that gig with Children’s Hour, anyone remember that one ?
JANUARY 22 – 30, 2009
Jan 22 – Wellington – Happy, with Sign of the Hag, Manimanima and Basketcase
Jan 23 – Wellington – Happy, with the Bad Blues Band and others
Jan 24 – Christchurch – the Wunderbar
Jan 25 – Dunedin, Chicks Hotel Port Chalmers, with Greg Malcolm
Jan 29 – Auckland – the Whammy Bar [BREAKING NEWS: AXEMEN TO SUPPORT]
Jan 30 – Auckland – the Wine Cellar
An innovative guitarist and a true maverick of modern American music, Eugene Chadbourne has spent his career both undermining and energizing the contemporary rock scene, ignoring all of the barriers traditionally placed between folk, blues, country, jazz, and rock. In addition to working within these Western formats, he feels just as comfortable exploring the sounds of various other cultures, often incorporating Asian and Middle Eastern styles and instrumentation into his creations. Likewise, his trademark electric rake–a lawn rake fitted with a pickup–further demonstrates the musician’s knack for discovering new sound possibilities. “One of the things I liked about the music in the ’60s was how weird it got and how many sound effects were on the records,” Chadbourne told Los Angeles Times writer Josef Woodard. “I really missed that when we started weeding that out of rock.”
Because of his penchant for combining various forms, as well as inventing his own sound devices, critics find it difficult to place Chadbourne and his growing discography neatly within the scheme of American music. “He is many things at once: a hillbilly improviser, a self-made raconteur, a pop gemologist and a new music eclectic who mixes up jazz, folk, noise and neo-vaudeville,” noted Woodard. Nonetheless, the frizzy-haired Chadbourne has remained one of the underground community’s most famous and well-regarded eccentrics since the mid-1970s. In the 1990s, he found a wider audience surprisingly more receptive to his music than in the past, and enjoyed growing success. A man of self-reliance, Chadbourne regularly performs in odd places, such as record and book stores, as well as in smaller clubs and fringe music festivals. With no set lists, anything is liable to happen at a Eugene Chadbourne gig.
Chadbourne, born on January 4, 1954, in Mount Vernon, New York, grew up in the cultural hotbed of Boulder, Colorado. As an adult, he made his home base in the community of Greensboro, North Carolina, where he lives with his family. Raised by his mother, a refugee from the Nazis, Chadbourne took up the guitar at age 11 after watching the Beatles perform on the Ed Sullivan Show. In high school, Chadbourne played covers of Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix with various bands. Hendrix, in particular, became an important influence, prompting him to begin experimenting with distortion pedals and fuzzboxes, as did protest singer Phil Ochs, an early rival to Dylan. However, Chadbourne soon grew tired of the conventions of rock and pop. Thus, he traded in his electric guitar for a Harmony six-string acoustic and learned to play bottleneck blues.
Jazz, too, served as an important formative discovery. First came exposure to John Coltrane and Roland Kirk, whose music puzzled him initially. Before long, however, Chadbourne found himself hooked on the whole catalog of the 1960s black jazz revolution. Some of his favorites included Charles Mingus, Eric Dolphy, Pharoah Sanders, and Ornette Coleman, as well as England’s free improviser, Derek Bailey.
After recording his debut, Chadbourne delved further into more experimental music, building connections in New York’s “loft scene” of avant-garde artists throughout the 1970s. In 1977, he played on Frank Lowe’s Lowe & Behold alongside Billy Bang. Also during these years, John Zorn and Chadbourne, along with cellist Tom Cora, made notorious ventures into the Midwest with improvised country and western implosions.
Although Chadbourne became a leading figure on the improv scene, he returned to his initial interest in the folk tradition as well, taking a stand against corporate America and worldwide militarization and industrialization. He would often forsake his instrumental abilities in favor of a hard-hitting approach, living up to his personal vision of rock as a revolutionary form of expression. Through his myriad influences, Chadbourne soon carved out his own unique style, one comprised of protest music, free jazz, and noise experiments.
Throughout the following decade, he continued to collaborate with a variety of artists and explore various musical genres, releasing countless records with other musicians and a lengthy string of solo albums, most on his own Parachute label. One of his most recognized genre-bending projects included 1980’s There’ll Be No More Tears Tonight, a reunion with Zorn, which was an album Chadbourne self-styled as “Free Improvised Country and Western Be-Bop,” as quoted by Robert Murray in Rock: The Rough Guide. During the early part of the decade, Chadbourne also garnered some mainstream attention for his work as the frontman of Shockabilly, a rockabilly/revisionist outfit that also featured well-known producer and power grunge guru Mark Kramer. With Shockabilly, the East Coast reply to the Residents, Chadbourne tapped into the energy of rock music’s folk roots and made rock covers into noise rides.
After the group disbanded, Chadbourne released the folk/country album LSD C&W in 1987. That same year, he joined the band Camper Van Beethoven for a cover project. He has also recorded with musicians ranging from Fred Firth and Elliott Sharp to Evan Johns and ex-Mothers of Invention drummer Jimmy Carl Black, with whom he virtually rewrote the songs of Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart. Additionally, the guitarist is credited with giving greater musical validity to 1960s psychedelic bands through his deconstructed covers of songs by Tim Buckley, Love, Pink Floyd, and others.
While Chadbourne himself says he would like to be remembered as the inventor of the electric rake and the dogskull harmonica, his noisy guitar, intelligent songwriting, and left-wing political stance have made him a somewhat unexpected cult hero. However, as Murray pointed out, “Chadbourne is most compelling as a live performer, switching at ease from electric guitar to banjo, zipping through a tune that sounds totally improvised and yet recalls something buried in the collective folk memory, like a punk Burl Ives, whipping off his spectacles to scrape them down the fretboard, adding another dimension to his wonderfully pixilated sound.”
Dragan Stojanovic, THE Dragan Stojanovic, is and will always be one of my very best friends but, as is the case with Bob Brannigan, I will always hate him for being a greater songwriter, in quality rather than quantity, and with the emphasis being on the songs polishedness and finishedness rather than the raw performancednedness which i try to embue into gigs and performances/recordings, to greater or lesser effect.
that is my gift, they have their own we are all our own magii and will face our own consequences come the time…
no matter, let us on with the show.
Jelly Roll (video)
This song made me weep when i first saw it, cry when i saw it for the second time, laugh on the third playing and hit out on the fourth – all for the same reason – jealousy that my buddy could write and record such a great song…!!!!
well as it happens i can accept that and is truly such a great song there’s nothing i ca do to diss itt!
Dragan’s screeching guitar solo in the lower third is page-esque in its extrvagence, vai-anesque in its pitchetudisness (a plentitude of perhaps but not necessarilyy dissonant notes) , king-ish in its subtlety of tone where required, yet still screamingly hendrix-ish where it really matters.
Wow i can’t believe pitchetudisness made it thru the spellcheck ….
the video version is superior to the audio track though if u ask me..l.
Its not me
this is the epitomy of 70’s – nostalgic 80’s progressive playing, Mr Stojanovic fullfiiling the roles effortlessly of Carlos Alomar , Mic Ronson and Carlos Santana on the one song, seemingly without breaking a sweat. the voice , although suitably strained and therefore expressive, is passionate but could be improved a little with some projection (sonja please quit smoking and work your magic!) , but hey what would I know?
“You must know by now, we have nothing in common”
obviously written by a female, in fact by Dragans delectable sister Sonja, currently residing in an iron lung and not able to sing anything higher than a low ‘F’ because of her riddled smoke-infested (but still somehow ‘perky’) lungs
This song exhibits the jugoslavian gypsy themes of the stojanovics youth, before the cruel war which tore apart their villages and pitted brother against sister in an unjust war which brought about a great drought in songs, which had to be smuggled out in the heads or scraps of paper which allah could provide.
Smoking would indeed become an unavoidable theme in the Stojanovic’s life, with Sonja’s job at the cigarillo factory providing the staple income for the family (and de riguer entertainment for the troops and smugglers), but the price paid on her voice meaning she could not possibly sing the high parts of this song are a little sad when we consider what might have been…. but what could also be!!!
c’m on now sonja shake that whale!
This could be a great song simply for having the line “Memberess Members” in it even if it weren’t refrained proliferously in the chorus… simply magic, effaces the dyke sensitivity-ness of the time and the staunch wellington feeling, that sympathetic yet hard-assed male immigrant attitude to a smallish but seemingly openly unprotected group of people in similar circumstances as regards protection under the law of the land.
Dyke Parties sums up the times and the world is the better for it, it probably played a large part in getting Helen Clark elected in NZ too.
In 1988, Little Stevie McCabe and I spent most of May and part of June in the United States. The purpose of our trip was partly to perform, and partly to make and renew contacts on behalf of the record companies we represented (Sleek Bott and Onset Offset). We were both trying to get albums released by American companies, partly to overcome the problem of getting New Zealand records pressed, and also because the records of both of us attracted more interest in the U.S. than they did in New Zealand. Indeed, it always amazed me that I could get things reviewed in New York and Boston without difficulty, but not in New Zealand!
Before the trip, I had a number of expectations. For a start, I was under the impression that New Zealand music was currently sought after in a manner somewhat akin to the British Beat boom of the Sixties, although on a much smaller scale. I was surprised to find how much smaller a scale the interest was: most shops were as reluctant as the New Zealand ones to stock records released by small independent companies. The fact that New Zealand pressings were not sealed in cellophane didn’t help. One New Orleans, shop that had in the past exhibited enthusiasm for New Zealand music, had become disillusioned because it had not sold.
Few, however, gave the impression of having ever been remotely interested in any of it. The stock excuses were that the records had to be released through an American company, or that a shop could not buy records from anyone who did not have a vendor’s licence.
The latter had no apparent basis in law, as there were some shops that would buy stock from us, although sometimes they would take it only on a sale-or-return basis (“on consignment”) as in New Zealand. Onset Offset never received any money from such deals!
Onset Offset having received requests from American critics for records and tapes to review, I expected a greater interest from critics than one found in New Zealand, where a review copy sent to a publication occasionally resulted in a review, but was more likely to end up in the nearest second-hand shop. In this, I was not disappointed: my experience of American critics of independent records was that they generally turned out to be enthusiasts keen to build up their own collections in return for constructive and encouraging reviews in the magazines for which they wrote. Of particular note in this respect were Byron Coley of “Forced Exposure” and Fred Mills of “The Bob”.
As a performer, I expected the remuneration to be better than in New Zealand. While I was aware that New Zealand audiences were well known for their lack of response, I had no particular expectation of American audiences. As it happened, I was pleasantly surprised by the enthusiasm with which our performances were received. Americans, it seemed, understood what New Zealanders do not, i.e. that if a performer receives no encouragement in the early stages of a performance, it is almost impossible to build up any momentum, with the result that when the audience fails to indicate its approval or disapproval, the performance is likely to become more and more mechanical as it proceeds, leaving both the audience and the performer dissatisfied.
Whereas New Zealanders will sit like zombies waiting for the performer to win them over, Americans give one the benefit of the doubt and display enthusiasm from the start, which greatly affects the quality of the performance they get. As far as the money was concerned, however, it proved to be no better than in New Zealand. In San Francisco, where we performed and also worked for a promoter putting up posters, we were promised more for both than we actually received. Everyone in the music business there seemed to be perpetually insolvent, especially when it was time to pay performers.
My final expectation was that while there was likely to be more competition in America, there would also be more opportunities. What I found was that there was indeed infinitely more competition in the form of an unbelievable number of bands, most of which seemed incredibly well-rehearsed and displayed an energy that would probably have been frowned upon in New Zealand alternative music circles in those days. At the same time, however, each city seemed to have the same number of venues as a typical New Zealand city. While almost every band I encountered had a record out, there existed a similar situation to that in New Zealand where one could be revered by many who would do anything for you except buy your records.
Neither of us eventually found American companies to release our records, but we made valuable distribution deals, which at least ensured that our records would continue to be available in the United States.
As a performer, I am bound to say I would prefer to be in America than New Zealand. Nevertheless, in other ways I came to feel it was a nice place to visit, but an undesirable place to live. The ever-present beggars and hustlers were a nuisance, especially in New York, where one had to try to look intimidating to discourage as many of them as possible, and where any attempt at friendliness to a stranger was likely to be perceived as an attempt to get money from him/her. Also, despite being well armed at all times, I seldom felt very safe in the city centres, which seemed full of suspicious-looking characters.
On the credit side, I was frequently impressed by the friendliness of people of all races. Indeed, the racial problems we heard about were not as apparent as I expected. While I was there, I never wished I was back home, and my experience with Customs upon my return made me wish I had not bothered coming back: overzealous Customs officers seemed to think that anyone carrying a guitar case was a drug smuggler, and in a (fruitless) search for drugs they dismantled my guitar, went through my baggage and clothes, and took my souvenirs.
– Post by Ritchie Venus, Rock’n’Roll Idol, ruthless businessman, artefact collector, rnr analyst, film and popular culture historian, writer, singer, songwriter
Eat Skull – 9.15.08, Excerpt I, Sneaky Dee’s, Toronto
camera: ayal senior
EAT SKULL ~ SICK TO DEATH
~ lp (siltbreeze) $14.00
eat skull are a quartet hailing from portland, oregon, co-masterminded by rob enbom (former bushwacker in the ranks of hospitals and hole class) and another original hospital, rod meyer (the greatest living genius of punk). previous eat skull efforts include a cassette-only ep and a pair of 7-inches, all of which might be out of print. like their brethren and forebears, eat skull runs a post pattern deep beyond pop and punk. they bring to the game an extrasensory appreciation of new zealand’s south island sound (great unwashed, axemen), cleveland art-damage skronk (modern art studio, x-x), and the wretched excess of forgotten midwest hardcore (stiff legged sheep, chemotherapy). vinyl-only edition of 800 copies.
Saw this listing on Amazon UK 07/12/08 ~ hefty price for an old Axer CD!
Also in the Discogs Marketplace some Axe offerings including Derry legend on vinyl US$100.00 (NZ$187.41)
The Axemen were supposed to play the Neon Picnic, back in ’88.
I was realy looking forward to playing at the legendary Sweet-waters site. I was not lucky enough to have been at any of those fore mentioned events.
The headline act was supposed to be The Big O (Roy Orbison) so you can imagine how much I was Looking forward to seeing him in person and perhaps even meeting him, but alas it was not to be.
I have no idea of how it failed nor do I care. It did fail and these peace loving hippies who clapped at this other peace loving hippy who chased me and beat me up must have thought that it was my fault it failed. All I did was in my hung over state, the following morning, walk in on them peace loving house-truking(mouse-f**king) dirty hippies and asked where the coffie was.
How was I to know they were having a meeting about their miserable failure, I mean they were not even saying anything, they were all just sitting around in silence.
Perhaps if I had ESP I could have figured it out. After the asshole beat me up it cheer up those horrible hippies and they all clapped as if they actualy achieved something. All they achived that morning was my eternal disgust at supposed ” live in harmony hippies?’
I guess everyone needs a scape-goat. What they needed was a bath and then perhaps people would have taken them seriously and not just hurried them on pretending to say yes just to get them out of sight (and smell). So the Neon Picnic will always be known as the Non Picnic.
PLEASE NOTE: Read comments below
for an update on the lost in tyme AXEMEN article
and news of their removal of the “Three Virgins” download.
The administrator RainyDaySponge is a thoroughly cool guy
who has a very interesting site (full of muchas oscuridades)
that is always getting better.
Check it out.
The lost in tyme site specialises in offering unavailable music to appreciative fans.
Here’s the manifesto:
Site Info & Archives
This is Lost-In-Tyme’s new site.
As it is a site and not just a blog, you can now enjoy our forum discussions, read lengthy articles about Lost In Tyme (but not forgotten) bands and artists, and of course visit our blog for a trip back in Time with some of the best (and rarest) music you can listen.
Once again we want to make clear that we post only records that are out of print and you can’t buy them at the record stores (physical or digital). The only way to find some of them is to pay a good deal of money for a used copy, and several you can’t find them at all. In the 21 months of Lost In Tyme first circle we received over 50 e-mails or comments from the artists themselves, saying thanks for posting their music. Someday we will post these comments (at least what we could rescued – because several were deleted along with Lost In Tyme).
So, if an artist/band don’t want his/her music posted here, or a label has re-released a record (and we’re not aware of this) or if someone of our visitors knows that something we’ve posted is still in print (and provide the link to prove it) just send an e-mail or make a comment about it. We will remove the link and we will replace it with the link pointing to the site where one can buy the record or the artist’s site. It’s that simple. We don’t want to harm anybody, especially the artists we love.
Remember that this site was made with just this in mind: the gathering of music lovers, the exchange of any knowledge we may have about this kind of music and the discovering of Lost In Tyme music.
We are waiting for your comments, suggestions etc. about this site, in the Guestbook page. You are very welcome to contribute if you like and of course to participate in Lost In Tyme’s forum, where we hope that out friends will find interesting threads.
Well it so happens they have been offering a download of Three Virgins, but they’ve been asked to cease and desist. According to their manifesto above that shouldn’t be a problem.
Anyway, here is their somewhat charming post on lost in tyme:
Early Swell Maps blues sessions? The Fall playing Kinks’ songs but they don’t know the lyrics?
There’s no other album in the entire New Zealand music so chaotic, so brilliantly cacophonous and so totally denying any label, music style or genre, like this double album from the Axemen, released by Flying Nun, in this great label’s absolute peak, in 1986.
Flying Nun was so great because, for several years, would release music by any, and I mean any, band that Roger Shepherd, Chris Knox andDoug Hood thought that had something interesting, no matter what musical style it had. This concept produced some of the best music of the 80s, not only because the three mentioned above have an excellent taste, but also because, 20 years before that period, there was something in New Zealand’s water, that caused the appearance of a continuous series of very talented artists – the more obscure of them can be heard in the 3 volumes of Rarer Than Radium compilations here, here and here.
But even for Flying Nun “Three Virgins…” was extreme and something that couldn’t get under the “Flying Nun sound” no matter how we expand the term – and here is the proof: There’s not a track from the Axemen in any of the several compilations that the label released though the years. Even in the non-exclusively Flying Nun based Rarer Than Radium series, I couldn’t fit them in.
So what is this all about?
“Three Virgins, Three Versions, Three Visions“ is a double album, made by three 20-years old Kiwis (Bob Brannigan, Steve McCabe, Stu Kawowski) with the help of their friends. In the 22 tracks of this album they managed to include every musical style under the sun – from Mark Stewart’s mumblings to good-time tunes, from blues played with “big, huge pipe organ” to Krishna chants and from post-punk saxophone-based tracks to muddy guitar noise. The recording and production is totally (and deliberately) DIY and although the mixing was made in two different studios, the singer’s voice often seems to come from a different room that the rest of the band.
I’d say that the Axemen did a Kinks-style, ironic comment on music and life, passed it through Frank Zappa & Mothers lunacy and they paint it with the punk/DIY colours of the early 80s. Sharp, brilliant and full of references songs like “Chant Number Nine”, “The Yeasty Mayor” “Talk With God”, the full-of-ideas playing and the nerve to put out a 2LP set as their first release, prove once again that the hormones of youth are magical things.
Here is the first part of Axemen’s story, as written by Steve McCabe (you can find the rest here – along with many releases (as a band or solo from the members) – I don’t know if these have been ever actually released or are simply existing in Steve’s archives.
Axemen say– “Yes indeed, all of these albums are available here on CD“
A Brief History of The Axemen – The Early Years.
In The Beginning (by Steve McCabe)
The Axemen began life as a seething mass of algae in a cess-pool located at the back of a disused factory somewhere in North Dunedin, New Zealand.
The exact location of the cess-pool has unfortunately been lost to the ravages of time, but the factory still stands – a disused, vacant shell with little hope of being restored to its former majesty.
Following a sudden meteor storm in 1983, the Axemen rapidly evolved, developed fully functional hands and ears (where before there had only been useless stumps) and metamorphosed rapidly into one of the most radical, chaotic and inspired rock bands of all time.
The exact details are hazy now as I pen this tome from my Hotel room in Auckland, New Zealand, June 1997, but as I recall…
Bob [Brannigan] and myself were happily punting along the River Avon in Christchurch, New Zealand in January, 1983 – I distinctly remember the occasion as Bob was, for once, holding the punt-oar. The day was dreary – grey, overcast and drizzling with a fine mist which settled gently before condensing and trickling off the seven plastic beer flagons placed [for ballast] in the centre of the bright red punt.
From which direction the football came I do not directly recall, but come it did – striking Bob squarely on the forehead and causing him to swagger, try and get his balance back, then topple over backwards (I often wonder how much worse it could have been had he been standing at the time). Next thing you know, who should pop around the corner hollering “Can I have my ball back, please?” but Mr Stu Kawowski. I had not encountered this man before, but I can still vividly recall the moment; the cheeky grin, the Joe 90 “milk bottle” glasses (later to be replaced with the trademark John Lennon style spectacles), the wind rustling through the shaggy tresses of his russet-red hair.
Mopping the beads of sweat from his furrowed brow, Bob lurched up, hoarsely shrieked “I’ll give you your ****ing ball back allright and fair clocked him one with the aforementioned orb. The tense situation now somewhat diffused, Kawowski piped up, “Gizza ride in your punt, mate!”. I can’t quite recall whether it was Bob or myself who replied “Step aboard, Matey!” but next thing you know, there we were, the three of us, in the bright red punt, cruising at a rate of knots that particular punt had not previously thought itself capable of.
There was something about the rhythm of Kawowski’s deft strokes wit the punt-oar; something vital and overwhelming about the way he pushed that punt to its very limits. There was an unspoken, unfathomable feeling that this was perfection, this was bliss, this was the way of the future – Brannigan, Kawowski & McCabe – an untouchable, dynamic unit not to be messed with.
After formally voicing what we all knew we were feeling, that we should immediately form the most invincible and solid rock combo ever known to man, the pact was sealed with a flagon of beer apiece. The day ended with a solemn blood oath and a resolution that we would have our first rehearsal the very next day, but in order to maximise our potential, to ‘potentise the blend’, a pilgimage would be required to the famous “Seedy Dive” boondocks area of Dunedin. This area was well-known in the early eighties to have the highest ratio of musicians and artists to the square mile of any region in the country. Of course, the remnants of the thriving mime and clown scene from the seventies still lived in the area, but we had the feeling that in the searing Dunedin summer of ’83, the Dive was going to be the place to be. That year, Dunedin had the longest, hottest heatwave in recorded history.
Our man Kawowski has some clips on there, check them out:
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