Hey kids, here’s the gist: THE MEATMEN are back in So. Cal. this week. Thursday in San Diego, Friday in Baldwin Park, Saturday in the LBC and Sunday in Ventura. Keep up with the latest on Facebook or the website, here: Los Hombres del Carne are touring their newest platter, Savage Sagas, the first new Meat disc in almost two decades.
We’ve written at length and girth about THE MEATMEN in the past. Preached and pontificated the path of Meat. We’ve covered the revitalized Tesco Vee, the Touch & Go book, the covers record, Black muthafuckin Randy. We’re done with that. We’re so far past the lectures and remedial lessons on this one. Either you get it or you don’t. And a lot don’t. For proof, see the following little anecdote: I went to the Warped Tour once. A scheduling snafu meant Fear played when Bad Religion was going on. Kids were running from that Fear show to see Bad Religion. None of those kids “get it”, none of them are going to be seeing THE MEATMEN this week, and life it too short to care anymore.
Ya, mortality, “all you way-gone hardcore muscle heads and new wave fanatics.” Satan’s coming round the bend. Did I mention Dave Brockie from GWAR went the way of GG Allin, and they’re hanging in Hades with El Duce, stumbling through a creek bed from the post-drought River Styx, tripping up on a moldy sleeping bag that happens to contain, as identified by Tesco Vee, “Cobain’s headless sack”? After Tesco, what’s left of the proud American tradition of the tuneful and tasteless? Not much. Maybe the Dwarves. And it turns out “Savage Sagas” has a song about them (“The Dwarves Are The Second Best Band In The World”). And a song about Anne Coulter (“KKK” – Kill Kunt Koulter). And a heartbreaking tale about silly drug policy resulting in a Vietnam vet losing it all ‘cos he “pissed hot for weed.” Another tune about meth. (Meth’s Grand Poobah status in the pantheon of the American and the pathetic isn’t going anywhere, so neither are THE MEATMEN's songs about it.) Shekky Spilkas is even back in town.
But mostly, yea and verily I maintain that Savage Sagas is as much a record about mortality and time passages as a MEATMEN record can be, with numbers like “Dinosaur,” “They Just Don’t Make ‘Em Anymore,” and a paean to tragic, incestuous stage shitter GG Allin in “Rock n Roll Enema.” Tesco’s got his solid cohort in bassist Dan Gillies, even with an arm marred by syphilitic teeth marks (see below). A new guitarist (fast too) and drummer. Simply, a shit hot band. But even the Dutch Hercules is not immune to the ravages of time.
Here are some more stories: Weird shit happens when I see THE MEATMEN. I journeyed out on a weeknight once in Boston to see them at the Local 186, and some sort of punk rock rivalry brawl started, and pretty soon the whole place was like a Western movie with bottles and chairs flying everywhere. The place closed after that.
Real guys and gals recognize the genius of THE MEATMEN. When they played in LA at a crappy Thai bar a few years ago I saw Nick Oliveri and Happy Tom from Turbonegro hanging round. One of the girls from GWAR was there. Happy Tom was mouthing MEATMEN lyrics. Those people aren’t getting off their asses to see a Blink 182 show.
Stephen King is a fan from wayback.
Wait, there’s more: Last time THE MEATMEN played LA, the promoter and band got into it over payment. It was about 2:00 a.m. In the midst of the heated “debate,” the promoter literally bit the bassist on the arm and ran into the street. The bassist was convinced they guy had AIDS. Somebody said, “Where are we staying?” Nobody knew. To sum up: 2:00 a.m., a show a night for three weeks leading up to this moment in a shitty part of LA, the van’s loaded with equipment, the bass player’s flipping out and thinks he has AIDS and rabies, Tesco Vee (a veritable American giant of letters) is over 50 years old, and nobody knows where the band is going to sleep. Ya, it was punk, dude.
In closing, ladies and gentlemen of leisure, with expendable bitcoin, please take notice that a legendary American musical theatre troupe are in town this week. I’m just telling you they’re gonna be here. I’m not begging you to use your brain and fucking go. I’m done with that. Because time is short, and you’re allowed to make your own (mostly short sighted, regrettable and sad) decisions on how you want to spend that time. I know what I’ll be doing.