------------------------------------------------------------------------------- IN A FREE LAND #1 (formerly ALL? NO! ALL!!/ANA) An Experiment in Free Speech Gone Horribly Right 10/3/93 - 12/13/93 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Distribution: This E-zine and all information within is (c) 1993 Rageboy Publications, unless otherwise stated. Feel free to quote portions, but please give credit where credit is due. This E-zine can be found as IAFL.00x (x being the issue number). If this file arrives at your domain by any other name, someone fucked with that file bigtime. *** IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER! *** ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The editors of and contributors to IN A FREE LAND will NOT be held responsible for any misuse of the information within any issue of this E-zine. All articles are intended for an INFORMATIONAL or HUMOROUS purpose solely. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Staff of I.A.F.L: Matt Shaw - chief editor/contributor Netrunner - asst. editor/contributor Neuromancer - Indianapolis correspondant Contributors: Q-Man - "Milo Aukerman's Corner" Jeff Hell - various ----------------- Table of Contents ----------------- 1.01 .......... Welcome To Our Show/Editorial (MS) 1.02 .......... Uncle Frank's Neighborhood (JH) 1.03 .......... Slam List (Everyone) 1.04 .......... White Punks on Punk - Music and Video releases (compiled by MS) 1.05 .......... Fuck School (JH) 1.06 .......... Clinton and The Music Underground (JH/MS) 1.07 .......... Cooking With Joe (A Review) (MS) 1.08 .......... The Day Punk Rock Came To Parnellville: Part I of a Series (MS) 1.09 .......... A Short List Of Things That Are Wrong With The World (JH) 1.10 .......... The Wit and Wisdom of My Cat (MS) 1.11 .......... Waiting For The Phone To Ring (MS) 1.12 .......... The Library (MS) 1.13 .......... Milo Aukerman's Corner (Q-Man) 1.14 .......... Why You Should Never Join A Cult (Or Call the Home Shopping Network) (JH) 1.15 .......... Why? (MS) 1.16 .......... Piss Off/Well, G'Night, Everybody! (MS) -------------------------------------- 1.01 Welcome To Our Show/Editorial -------------------------------------- Hi, everybody. Welcome to the 1st issue of IN A FREE LAND, formerly called ALL? NO! ALL!!, or ANA for abbreviation purposes. The name change came about when I heard of a fascist newsletter that used the "ANA" name. Seeking both to make a statement about my displeasure about such things, as well to find a new, cool name for the mag, I picked the title of one of my favorite Husker songs. Well, aside from that, I should probably get to work talking about things that have no relation to the rest of the issue: When I was in high school (no, I'm not ranting about that again, that's Jeff's job this issue), there was this guy who was an artist and who everybody thought was cool, etc. Why did everyone think Artboy was cool? Because he drove a BMW and his grandmother had shitloads of $$, that's why. He made it a point to ignore people he believed were "lower" than him, and then had the sheer balls to lie and say he treated everyone equally. I just tried to get along with everybody, which I did, for the most part. My point of dredging all this shit up is to say that if you're like Artboy was/is, you might as well go put a gun to your head and pull the trigger, because you'll never be a productive member of our society. If you can't get along with people outside your little clique, you're useless to me and to any employer who's offering a steady job of any worth. That's today's lesson, kids, thrive on it. Go out and insult an ego maniac today! (I suggest starting with Paul Westerberg.) ----------------------------------- 1.02 Frank Black's Neighborhood ----------------------------------- "Hey, kids!" "HEY, UNCLE FRANK!" "Today, I have a special treat for you, kids! I'm going to sing a song from my album!" "ECH.." "Not so fast, Black!" "Ah-hah! Now I finally have you right where I want you.. on the verge of DEATH! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" "Ah, shit." "Anyway.. I feel bad for the hip-hop thing that 'Cannonball' has, because we're stealing that aspect of black culture from its originators." ------------------ 1.03 Slam List ------------------ Scorn, hate, spit upon, curse. These things, that is: * Teenybopper BBSes run by 13-16 year olds who think they're hot shit (in our area, at least) * My old high school * church * The recent morality attack America has suffered (import porn is the way to go..) * Paul Westerberg * Top 40 Radio * Whoever the dumbass was who claimed that Kurt Cobain was on the same level as Darby Crash * Frank Black * The 90's, because it already looks like this decade is going to fellate donkeys * Anyone who calls the '90s "The Grunge Generation" because there's too goddamn many people who want no part of being called that * Major labels, because they're fucking killing the industry * Neanderthal men who had nightmares that they were playing the Brad Pitt role in "Thelma And Louise" * Madonna, because she's pretty much showed all she can show and it ain't getting any better ---------------------------- 1.04 White Punks On Punk ---------------------------- We reserve the right to review things old AND new. New to us, in our minds = new to you, as well. Music: _Strong Reaction_ - Pegboy (MS) -------------------------- All I knew when I got this was that there was an ex-Naked Raygun guitarist in this band. I found out, after listening to it, that it's a hell of a great album. The title track, which kicks it off, has an awesome mix that basically makes it all very very LOUD. (Nods to Iain Burgess.) "Strong Reaction" and "Field Of Darkness" were my favorite tracks from this one, mainly because of their somewhat traditional 'core sound. "Field of Darkness" was slightly different.. kind of like the Clash meets Big Black and manages to make the song sound mostly like them. (Does that make ANY fucking sense?) Advice: Play it LOUD, as all good hardcore is meant to be played. (The CD also contains the _Three Chord Monte_ EP.) - 1/4 Stick Records/Touch-N-Go _Last Splash_ - The Breeders (MS) ---------------------------- I could spend the entire review raving about how beautiful the Deal sisters are. I could easily do that, but what would be the point of this being an album review rather than a text version of toned-down locker room conversation? So, here goes.. The sound of the album is a lot more refined than the stark, basic sound that greeted _Pod_'s listeners in 1990, yet manages to add an all-around "hey-we're-in-the-studio-let's-party" atmosphere, evidenced by the (overplayed) single/video "Cannonball". (I really didn't notice the "hey now" during the "in the shade" part, is what's sad.) Seems like the group's tighter now than on _Pod_, since Tanya Donnelly left to go form Belly and Shannon Doughton left (presumably to go back to Slint.. hell, I dunno). Doughton was replaced by Jim MacPherson, nicked from a Dayton band by Kim Deal, and Tanya was replaced by Kelley Deal, who (as if this hasn't been overstated by many a shocked MTV/Rolling Stone pawn) had no idea how to play guitar when she joined for the _Safari_ EP (which is out of print last I checked and which I keep forgetting to buy when I'm in Indy). In my own personal opinion, this is a hell of an album. Don't let the fact that Kurt Cobain likes the band sour you on them, if you're not a big fan of Nirvana (or Kurt himself, for that matter.) - 4AD/Elektra _Red_ - King Crimson (MS) -------------------- Okay, so I'm about 19 years late in reviewing this one. I just discovered this group two months ago, give me a break. Anyway. King Crimson went through about five lineup changes (give or take) before they reached the _Red_ lineup, that of Robert Fripp (guitar), John Wetton (bass, vocals), and Bill Bruford (drums, percussion). This incarnation is, and always will be, my personal favorite. Only the early '80's version comes close, but only because I think Adrian Belew is cool. The title track is the album's opener, a complex progressive/metal instrumental in some weird guitar tuning that no one I know can figure out. But, IMO, the best track on the album is "One More Red Nightmare", with occasionally indecipherable lyrics, and some interesting percussion. In summary, if you can find it, get your hands on it and don't ever let go. Something else that's fun to do is try to find Fripp's pre-Crimson album, _The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles, and Fripp_, and listen to it, then listen to _Red_. Those who have heard both will understand the humor of my suggestion. - EG Records (orig. Atlantic) -------------------- 1.05 Fuck School -------------------- There comes a time in the life of every student when they must say, "Fuck school!" Perhaps such an event is a direct result of being taunted beyond human endurance, as in the case of Rodney Flarg, from Backwoods, IN: "One day, as I was walking to class, this group of jocks ganged up on me and forced me to worship their stinky shoes. So I decided I'd had enough, and jumped the leader and beat the crap out of him.. I can say 'crap', can't I? And the school suspended ME, for fighting. So, I had to say.. 'F--.. er, SCREW school!" Uh, yeah, Rodney.. cut down on the caffeine pills. In another case, that of Monkey-Face (a pseudonym; real name withheld by demand), also of Backwoods, grades can be a real problem: "Me no smart. Me no get good grades. Me eat schoolbooks; only Home Ec book taste good. Wonder why." Down, Mongo. Our final example is that of Joe, of that famous Backwoods TV program, "Cooking With Joe", who succinctly summarizes his point: "Getting up every day and dragging your ass to school is a real fucking drag." We hope that these examples have given you the courage to simply stand up and say, "FUCK SCHOOL!" ------------------------------------------ 1.06 Clinton and the Music Underground ------------------------------------------ By 1996, by our prediction, the only music allowed to be played in the United States will be saxophone music, reflecting His Cluelessness's affinity for the somewhat phallic instrument. In some circles, it is said that playing the sax is the only thing Clinton can do without his wife or a friendly Cabinet member pulling his strings, but this is far from relevant to the current point. By such a decree, major corporate machines will be put to pasture, and only the independent labels will survive.. albeit illegally. Imagine this: a world in which you have to go to an "album pusher" to get the newest Bad Religion or Spooners album. If this thought in itself is not frightening enough, consider the decreed punishment for only BUYING the music: locked in a room in the White House and being forced to listen to Bill's saxophone playing, fully coherently, 24 hours a day. Such a torture would quickly make a sane man into a babbling, mindless fool. Frightened? Scared? Guilty because you voted for him? One way to repair it now: Impeach the fucker. Say it loud and proud (but without a gun in your hand, because then they'll have an excuse to arrest you): IMPEACH THE FUCKER. Thank you, and good remainder of term. ------------------------------------ 1.07 Cooking With Joe (A Review) ------------------------------------ Well, this popular Backwoods cooking show sure brings out the usual sense of watching two guys fuck around in a kitchen, making a mess, and being entirely too camera-conscious. This, of course, is the show's appeal. Joe and Bill's apparent fear of the camera make for some wild moments, as their notably halted motions cause all kinds of trouble for the stalwart pair. Joe and Bill seem to spend every week's show trying to make toast. When, at the end, the finished product is brought out, it's declared either too light or too burned to be proper toast. Occasionally, there will be the perfect toast, but Joe will move haltedly toward Bill, grab the toast out of his hand, and take a huge bite out of it, and smile at the camera, shakily. Why simply toast? We may never know. Why never right? Joe and Bill are a dying breed; Joe and Bill are culinary perfectionists. No wonder Joe takes such a bite out of the "right" toast on the rare occasions it is made.. he has earned it. For that matter, so has Bill, who restrains himself. May this country one day recognize the value of these two men, and may it repay them for their toasty contributions! -------------------------------------------------------------------- 1.08 The Day Punk Rock Came to Parnellville (Part I of a Series) -------------------------------------------------------------------- (fiction by Matt Shaw) My cousin Tony had always been a rather unassuming type. In school, he never got called on; seemed like the teachers just kind of forgot he was there. So did the students, fortunately for Tony. If the tougher types had realized the existence of a human such as Tony, they would have instantly fell upon him like a pack of really stupid lions. At home, he had to remind his parents of the fact that he lived there. I remember one Thanksgiving that Aunt Vicky looked at Tony, her own son, and said, "Excuse me, are you lost?" I had had to remind Aunt Vicky that time. Usually, Tony was able to convince them well enough, and usually, Uncle Tim would accuse Aunt Vicky of fooling around with the milkman, because, as he would say, "the kid sure ain't mine!" Uncle Tim usually had a bottle of Corona in each hand when he began these rants. Finally, after about 16 years of being nearly invisible, Tony couldn't contain himself any longer, and exploded one night. "Look, you stupid hicks," he yelled at Aunt Vicky and Uncle Tim, "I refuse to be invisible any more. I'm going to do something, and it's going to be soon. Something that will make sure no one will EVER forget me again." And he stormed out of the house. Uncle Tim looked at Aunt Vicky, and said, "Who the hell was that?" Aunt Vicky looked up and said, "Who, dear?" Uncle Tim just shook his head. Somewhere, right now, in some collector's glass case, there sits a Fender Jaguar, one of the world's.. weirdest guitars. I hear that the annoying guy from that Nirvana band plays one now, or something to that effect. Anyway, years ago, Tony went to buy himself a guitar, and brought one home.. the Jaguar. With a cheap $20 amp that kept going out until he replaced a fuse, he annoyed his parents and siblings with his practices. "Noise," declared Uncle Tim, darkly. "Noise, endless noise." If the noise from Tony alone drove Uncle Tim up the wall, his next step must have nearly driven them insane. Tony formed a band, with two of his friends, who played their first gig outside Uncle Tim's barn. General alarm and consternation was our reaction. One killer hot day in August, Tony, Billy Barris, and Tommy Joe Davis plunked down a drum set, two amps, and a microphone stand outside the rundown old barn. It took awhile to set up (they had to get extension cords - Billy had been in charge of getting them, and Billy wasn't precisely the brightest light on the Christmas tree), but around noon, they began to play, and Parnellville changed forever. Punk rock had come to Parnellville. The next day, in the Parnellville Cafe, Buford T. Jefferson said, "I asked the Barris boy what they were doing - he said, 'We're jamming econo!'" We heard this and shivered at the use of this sinister-sounding phrase. This punk thing had to be stopped, everyone said. This was a small Alabama town, and punk rock was not meant to invade God's country, everyone said. Yet there was, as there always is, a faction that disagreed with this thinking. Tony's group (called the Fairy Godfathers) had gained popularity with the teens in Parnellville. Sally Williams had a kid a while after the Godfathers' first appearance at Parnellville High School, and named the child Tony. The significance was obvious; the child had been conceived at that legendary first PHS show. Tony (my cousin) had been asked to be the child's godfather, and he readily accepted. The town's ultimate authority caught wind of all this, about a year after it had started, and he left his office for the first time since the previous election. This authority was Rufus J. Parnell III, town Mayor and direct descendant of Rufus J. Parnell I, who founded Parnellville a century before. His official statement was "No more punk rock." His off-the-record statement was "Get that shit out of my town!" according to Mary Lou Bagley, who was Parnell's secretary. As a result of this statement, punk rock and any references to it were outlawed in Parnellville. Anyone mentioning the Fairy Godfathers were to be arrested, and the Godfathers themselves were barred from playing any more shows. Tony's past anonymity was gone forever, and there were days that Tony wished he'd never left the cover of his invisibility. Yet after three months of being outlawed, Tony, Billy, and Tommy Joe remembered the core of the punk rock ethic, that being rebellion, and began to play shows again -- underground. Quite literally underground; most of the shows were in friend's basements, while their parents were gone. The Godfathers' fans devised a new way to express their devotion to their band of choice: the fan would cough sharply, three times in a row, when they felt like letting the world know that the Fairy Godfathers were still alive and well in the Hooper family basement. Soon, however, the Godfathers' resentment of Parnell's decree went outside of the boundaries of the literal underground. Tony's band made their last stand outside Uncle Tim's barn, in an ironic reference to their first show; Tony and the rest of the teenage populace of Parnellville pretty much knew that this would be their last show. Of course, the police department and town hall caught wind of the show about 10 minutes after it started, and Mayor Parnell rode down to Uncle Tim and Aunt Vicky's house in Patrolman Buck's car. Once there, the Godfathers' renowned "wall of sound" nearly deafened both the Mayor and the patrolman, as well as the other police officers that had accompanied the Mayor on his mission. Somehow, though, the Mayor and his blue-clad entourage made their way up to the stage, where two patrolmen unplugged the six-bar from the extension cord, leaving only Billy bashing away at the drums until he realized he could no longer hear Tommy Joe's thudding bass lines or Tony's relentless guitar and vocal screeching. Once Billy stopped, the Mayor spoke up. "By the power vested in me by the last election, I'm placing you under arrest for violating the Anti-Punk Law of Parnellville. Buck, take them away." As the cuffs went on, first on Tony, and then on the other two Godfathers, the crowd dispersed, with occasional screams of "Fascist pigs!" and "We're behind you all the way, Tony!" The Godfathers' equipment was confiscated by Parnellville police, and each member spent 60 days in the town jail, located within the scenic police HQ. Once released, the trio left for another town, to buy newer, better equipment, and were never heard from again, in Parnellville at least. One day, however, young Tony Williams, who kept his mother's last name, claimed that the previous night, he had heard a station come in from Birmingham, playing a punk song, which had a very familiar "wall of sound" effect to it, as well as a very familiar screaming voice hollering the lyrics. He didn't catch their name, but he's sure that somewhere, somehow, the Fairy Godfathers still exist. As for me? Some days, I get to remembering. And when the nostalgia strikes me, all I have to do is cough sharply, three times in a row, and it's like I'm living back in those days, when Tony was larger than life, and I was Sally Williams' boyfriend. Other days, I don't need to get nostalgic; I look at my son, the son Sally and I conceived while Billy Barris bashed his drums, Tommy Joe plodded along on bass, and my cousin Tony, my best friend, made himself unforgettable at Parnellville High. I look at my son, and I remember. Copyright (C) by Matt Shaw ------------------------------------------------------------- 1.09 A Short List Of Things That Are Wrong With The World ------------------------------------------------------------- Everything but a few things. Almost everything. Not quite everything. Wayne Newton. Paul Westerberg. Nirvana. Articles that nearly duplicate the Slam List just for a cheap joke. ------------------------------------- 1.10 The Wit and Wisdom of My Cat ------------------------------------- I find that, looking back, my cat has always been one of the greatest philosophers of our time. I remember sitting one day in my kitchen, staring dejectedly at a picture of an ex-girlfriend, when Arch would come up to me, rub against my leg, and purr loudly. When I looked down to see what he wanted, he would look up at me and say, simply: "Meow." And I would be consoled, for Arch was well-used to loss, himself. Arch lost his mother when he was 7. Although for a cat, this is advanced age, he was still despondent. (His mother, Kit, was about 9 or 10, so it was kind of natural, I suppose.) Even in the depths of his own mire of depression, Arch would still influence my life's decisions. When I was choosing what college to go to, I had narrowed it down to two choices, and I asked Arch what he thought, and he replied: "Meow." Arch's response immediately illuminated some darkened corridor in my mind, and I made my decision, knowing that the beneficial wisdom of my cat, Arch, had guided me to make the right choice. I would later credit all my scholarly success to Arch's guidance, and would regret that he didn't get more recognition as a result of my support. Another situation in which Arch proved to be helpful was when I fell on my ass one day, trying to run across a freshly waxed floor wearing socks, rather than shoes. As I attempted to regain my previous position of being upright, Arch's wit reached my ears from the opposite end of the room: "Meow." After Arch gave me his opinion, he turned and walked away, possibly in search of some Kit and Kaboodle. I felt that I was a better human being for hearing Arch's say on the subject, and I felt less foolish and resolved to never run across a freshly waxed floor again, unless I was wearing cleats. Daily I give thanks to whatever powers may govern our affairs, for giving me this furry philosopher whose knowledge and experience offers such a wide range of things to learn. So, I will take my leave, leaving behind some of Arch's wisdom for you. I'm not as good as he is at being a philosopher, but I hope that you'll at least get my point: "Meow." -------------------------------------- 1.11 Waiting For The Phone To Ring -------------------------------------- Some nights I sit, entranced by the words and phrases, and eventually, sentences and paragraphs that form upon my screen, and realize it's all just a diversion to keep me from waiting for the phone to ring. Then, I stop, and simply wait for the phone to ring, thinking, "Hey, this could be Net, this could be one of the Kids in the Hall, or maybe it's God Himself." But then I wonder, why would God call me? I mean, He can just connect with me telepathically, or something, right? And Net's not even here, anymore. And the Kids in the Hall? They're in Canada. Why would they call here? Eh? Oh, I don't know. But one day, the phone may ring. Just maybe. And maybe it'll be one of those people. Just maybe. (I know this article made no sense. Nod your head and smile, and go onward..) -------------------- 1.12 The Library -------------------- Too many teenagers today, driven insane by the lack of any place to go to hang out, end up going on shooting sprees and destroying half of their town. I think there's something we can all do about this: extend the library's hours to about midnight, and invite all the kids in from the city and surrounding towns. Think about it: the library becomes the city's cool new hangout, boosting reading levels citywide. But, then, the other downtown buildings will want to compete. The banks will start offering their waiting areas to the kids; that barber shop on the corner will be chock full of teenagers making fun of their friends, who are getting their hair cut; the music stores will let everyone come in and have a big ol' jam; and the bookstores will start selling more import porn, and put down chairs all over the store for everyone to sit in. Then the competition would extend outside of the downtown area, and the places the teens once frequented will be deserted. Noticing their flagging business, they will start a huge advertising campaign to get the kids back in, which would probably succeed. Then it would be downtown v. Wendy's until the end of our society. Just think, man. We could start a revolution and no one would care.. too busy running from the library to McDonald's and back. But what would we revolt about? I say that we revolt to build a new KFC. But that's just my opinion. ------------------------------- 1.13 Milo Aukerman's Corner ------------------------------- Dear IN A FREE LAND Readers, Nice name change, Matt, you asshole. [Thanks. - ed.] Living in Backwoods, IN, this week, staying at Miss Ellie's Boarding House. Thanks to Miss Ellie for making me feel at home. Next week, I'm leaving for Asia. Not the band, the continent. Backwoods isn't too bad of a place, if you ignore that bullshit about the guy that drank all those beers in one sitting. He's like a legend around here, or something, but he just looks drunk to me. Some of the racier stories say that he pisses like a racehorse. Hell, if I'd had fifty-something beers in one sitting, I'd be pissing until the Judgment Day, so I can't blame him. Bought ALL's _Breaking Things_, and got slightly pissed off at Bill and everybody all over again for getting a new vocalist. But I can't complain.. I sing backing vocals on a song or two. I still think they should have kept Scott Reynolds [No kidding. - ed.]. There's no DQ out here, so I had to miss seeing any more action like what I did in Westfield. Actually, it's fucking boring in Backwoods. How the hell can these people stand to live here? I'll have a more exciting letter next issue, guaranteed. Later! Milo ----------------------------------------- 1.14 Why You Should Never Join a Cult ----------------------------------------- 1. Chanting non-stop will give you a sore throat. 2. Those damn dues that they make you pay (Swaggart/Tipton cults only). 3. It's no picnic (for you, at least) getting out if you get bored. 4. Unexplained loss of pets will break the kids' hearts. 5. Unexplained loss of kids will break your spouse's heart. 6. They force you to make lists like these. [Thanks, Jeff. - ed.] ------------- 1.15 Why? ------------- Every issue has it's "Why?" section. Every issue will. This issue's question is: Q: Why do people think grunge is punk? A: (Matt Shaw) Grunge has some of the attitude of hardcore/punk, but is more commercialized. When's the last time you saw Jello Biafra advocating major labels? Artist-owned is the way to go. Before anyone can shove Sub-Pop down my throat, most grunge acts have gone to major labels, leaving Sub-Pop a well-known independent with nearly the level of popularity as SST/Cruz, supporting more and more non-grunge acts. The major problem with grunge is that it's treated more like fashion than like music. Top 40 stations are playing grunge; in fact, the first time I heard Nirvana was when I was being forced to listen to a local Top 40 station. Top 40 stations would be offended by and scared of real HC/punk. I like Pearl Jam's music, but I'm not a voracious fan, and it's kind of a pity that all these high school kids who play football and don't know what the fuck alienation is like pick up a Pearl Jam album, listen to the songs, and actually think they can relate to Eddie Vedder's lyrics. All I'm saying is leave the music of punk/hardcore/alternative where it should be: off MTV and Top 40 stations. Give alt rock back to the real alternative; give it back to the underground. ------------------------------------------- 1.16 Piss Off/Well, G'Night, Everybody! ------------------------------------------- We've reached the end of our sojourn into Backwoods underground culture. Go and spread the word of our gospel; tell all you meet on the Net about reading (and living) IN A FREE LAND. This one's been a blast! - Matt ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Dope smokin' moron.. don't make me yawn." - The Replacements, 1982 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------