Don't know what the Barrier Kult (aka BA.KU.) is? Your loss. These guys kick some serious ass. Don't believe me? Check this out.
See? I told ya so. Serious ass kickers. The heshers (look it up), punks, skaters and artists behind BA.KU. are devoted to one thing, and one thing only...
Does it matter that Buddy faded away? I suppose it does to those who loved him. It does to those who were there while his flame flickered... They had to feel it. They had to sit there. In their loss. And feel it.
But when you watch this video. When you feel how hot he was burning in that moment... Does the way he faded away diminish it? Does the flickering of his life, and the way it reminds us of our own flames...
Does that change the fact that Buddy Rich burned as brightly he did?
No. The dude was a blow torch.
What matters is this moment. What matters is that he lived. What matters is that he burned.
So, the Cherubs have a new album out... It kicks ass. It's like Buzz Osborne and Kim Gordon had a bastard love child. The child, named Be Sharp, was raised on a diet consisting entirely of prunes and leftover Thanksgiving turkey. The prunes were cooked via low voltage electricity. The current was generated by wrapping 38 D-cell batteries in aluminum foil and gently rubbing them through the fur of newborn Siamese-twin Persian kittens. The kittens, joined at the genitals, were abandoned by their mother, but lovingly raised by a pygmy goat named Alice. Alice suffered from halitosis. Her owner, seeking to cure Alice's skunky breath, invented an animal mouthwash made of acidic oils distilled from orange peels. The orange peel mouthwash killed Alice, but ended up being repurposed as an environmentally friendly solvent, and made Alice's owner an overnight millionaire. Years later, Be Sharp (Buzz Osborne and Kim Gordon's bastard love child... Remember him?), who had grown up and became a world famous thief, stole all of the money. He spent it on cocaine, several tons of glitter and 67 disco balls. He packed the cocaine and glitter into the disco balls, along with fistfuls of firecrackers. He hung them from the ceiling of the Fillmore right before a Cherubs concert. He blew them up during the second encore. The disco balls, not the Cherubs. The audience went ape shit. It was fucking awesome. Just like this album. Go buy it. Go buy it right now.
I was sitting on the couch, laptop on lap, struggling with a graphic I have neither the skill nor the software to create. I had a random playlist cranked through the TV, and a Sex Pistols song came on. The screen saver is set to show album covers. I looked up, and this is what I saw...
I loved those album covers and posters. Seven million years ago, when I was in high school, we had to have a separate spiral notebook for each class. A thick one. One of those hefty, inch, inch and a half thick, bad boys. At the start of the school year I would decorate the front of each notebook in what I called, "Sex Pistol Style". I'd go through my mom's magazines and cut out letters that spelled out the name of each class and glue them to the notebook covers. Then I would raid the art department at school and splatter paint across the top of them.
I wish I had kept those things. By the end of the year, when all of the paper had been torn out, and all that was left were the ratty covers... They were amazing.
I threw them away in a moment of Joy Division inspired teen angst.
I regret it to this day.
I discovered music in 1982. I was ten years old, and "Hey Joe" by Jimi Hendrix came on the stereo.
It stopped me in my tracks.
I walked over and sat down on the floor right in front of the speakers. I was in love. The song was courtesy of my dad's reel to reel player. Years before, he had recorded a "top 100 rock-n-roll songs" type of show while he was in the military. There was no radio station to speak of in the little town I grew up in, and my parent's music collection, and the music I heard in church, were the only music I ever heard. Usually, my parents would play things like Ann Murray, or the Carpenters.
He was unlike anything I had ever experienced (pun intended). He was vital. Alive. Dripping with emotion.
Copyright Burn Flicker Die 2021
Don't steal my shit.
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