Dank Meme Round-Up: January-March 2018

The time for the quarterly edition of the Dank Meme Round-Up is upon us once again. Included here are all the music-related memes I created over the past three months. During this time, we had Shart Week (a real thing) and Ramones Week (I made that one up, I just felt like making a lot of Ramones memes one week). Everything seen here was originally posted in UUUM or elsewhere in the uuuniverse. These and more can be seen on IG: JuliusDiamond42069

Black Sabbath "Technical Ecstasy" - A Look Back

Over the years, my opinion of Sabbath as a whole has varied.  As a kid raised on classic rock, I liked Sabbath fine but never dug in much.  Then, I turned my back on Sabbath during my punker teen years.   They were way too slow for me, plus I started to find Ozzy a bit annoying.  But, by the time I hit my 20s, I was back on board.  The newfound opinion, however, was quite unpopular: Dio-era Sabbath was my preference.  It does make sense considering one of my big obsessions at the time was the more upbeat, show-off early metal acts such as Thin Lizzy, Judas Priest, and Iron Maiden.  The Dio lineup just fit the bill better.  Still, you would’ve thought I told people I shot somebody when I made such a declaration.

Now, some 15 years later, I’ve decided to not have an opinion of a crazy person (for once) and say that, yes, of course early Sabbath is the best…fuckin’, duh!  The first four records (self-titled, Paranoid, Master Of Reality, Vol. 4) are all masterpieces.  The fifth album, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, starts off as strong as any of their records up to this point but maybe isn’t as powerful as it should be overall.  Sabotage, their sixth, sort of follows the same path, opening with two of their heaviest songs yet harbors such unlistenable synth-pop dogshit as “Am I Going Insane? (Radio)” on side B.

…which brings us to unlucky (for Sabbath’s artistic integrity anyways) number seven: Technical Ecstasy, an album I can sum up with one line.  That line?  “Hey, say what you want about Dio-era Sabbath, but at least they never recorded that pile of shit.”

So, Technical Ecstacy…my first encounter with this record came when acquiring a new tape copy from a store in the mall liquidating their cassette inventory circa ‘03.  Ozzy-Sabbath was back on my map, but I didn’t know anything about what existed after Sabotage from that era.  I listened to that tape probably two times before I gave it away and never looked back.

Years have passed and I’ve used that “worse than Dio” line probably over a hundred times since the aforementioned cassette was discarded.  A lot of my strong musical opinions receive backlash, but this one rarely did several years ago (however, I do remember Robert Collins of Terminal Escape once calling me a “moron” while listening to and discussing this record).  Recently, some friends have suggested I give it another listen.  Is it possible I’ve had it all wrong?  Have I just been a dismissive asshole this entire time?  Is it possible my tastes may have simply changed enough to be able to accept whatever seemed so horrible about this record?

…and, shit, outside of remembering some song Bill Ward sang being especially weak, I realized I didn’t even have solid arguments to give on my issues with this album.  I mean, can it be so bad?  Even the eighth and final album with Ozzy, Never Say Die, is half-good (oddly enough, outside consensus veers towards my having a lenient opinion on that record).

I listened to it again a couple weeks ago and was inspired to write a song by song review of Technical Ecstasy, originally released September 25, 1976.  I am now going to listen to it for a second time (in the past month…and in the past decade) and just let it all out.  Enjoy, hate…I couldn’t care less.  Just know I’m right, even if I am a moron.

“Back Street Kids”

As the first notes drop, I immediately start second-guessing my old ways.  The intro riff Tony Iommi’s got on lockdown, the galloping beat virtually impossible to not at least slightly bob your head to…how could I have been so foolish?!  The vocals come in and, well, that reverb-heavy production akin to what you would hear on Zeppelin recordings from the same era is perhaps slightly silly…but still, this song fuckin’ rips!  Also, the bridge is a wee bit uncharacteristic for them, almost hinting at some Styx-like flavor. It works, not complaining.  Technical Ecstasy - 1, Me - 0.

“You Won’t Change Me”

Oh shit, this intro is maybe even better!  Slower, classic to Sabbath’s style, with subtle synth.  Then it gets going and becomes this dark epic piece that resides in the eerie during the verse while more driving in the chorus.  And in this one, Ozzy’s staying strong to being the person he is and/or wants to be, even if it brings him despair.  Actually, I guess bassist Geezer Butler is the one harboring these feelings since he wrote the lyrics but…you get the point.  I feel it.

Two great songs to start and I’m left wondering: why do I always gotta be such an asshole?!  Just always gotta be going around taking a shit on a good thing, like I take fucking joy in ruining people’s fun or something.  There’s something deeply wrong with me and it needs to be addressed.  Fuck…well, anyways, what’s next?

“It’s Alright”

Oooooooh yeah, that’s right.  Ladies in gentlemen, I present to you one of rock n roll’s biggest “da fuck?!” moments ever: this waste of tape called “It’s Alright”.  It’s the lone song drummer Bill Ward wrote on the album, which he also sings…and, ouch!  Like, there are songs in the past he’s written and sang that were decent or somewhat boring at worst…but dude!  This is not OK!

It starts off sounding like a third-rate “Let It Be”.  Then, it pretty much continues to be a third-rate “Let It Be”, so unnecessary.  Here, lemme break it down:  The piano?  Dumb.  The masturbatory Spanish guitar?  Dumb.  Those sappy lyrics?  Dumb.  I hate to hate on Bill like this, but they shouldn’t have let this happen (cocaine, amirite?!).  This song is almost enough to strike the first two from the record and I’m too bothered to remember what the score is.

“Gypsy”

Well, the intro is alright, but it reminds me too much of Emerson, Lake, & Palmer’s “Karn Evil 9”.  I don’t even have a problem with ELP, but it comes off somewhat hokey.  Then the song nearly gets pushed off the cliff by the usage of tambourine (stinky cheese much?) but continues to hang onto some listenability somehow.

But wait, what’s this?  A dramatic theatrical-sounding bridge that sounds like it belongs in a sub-par Meat Loaf song?  And it goes on and on?  Did you guys just become the cocaine at this point?!

End of side A.  I have mixed feelings.  Side B, what you got for me?

“All Moving Parts (Stand Still)”

The intro to this one again has a good riff.  I mean, no matter how far down any of this stuff goes, Iommi’s still got something good to give.  But um…what the fuck is going on now?!  Funky?!  SABBATH IS TRYING TO GET FUCKING FUNKY?!  That’s just funked up (wacka wacka!).  Who’s that on bass, Flea?  Did Isaac Hayes lend y’all his organ player?

But, then that bridge comes in and dayumn!  That’s some downright epic sleeze-rock riffage garnished with a bit of technical heaviness on top of frequent snare rolls.  Slightly out of character for Sabbath but at this point I think it’s pretty safe to say that’s a consistent theme here.  Then it goes back to the Black Hot Sabbath Peppers.  Can we just turn the bridge section into a song?

Note: after listening, I read this song is about a transgender person who becomes president and was Geezer’s way of poking at how misogynistic America felt to him.  I don’t completely translate that from the lyrics (something I’m admittedly bad at), but it seems kudos should be given for this fact if nothing else.

“Rock n Roll Doctor”

OK, so here’s the thing here…if this were a song by someone like Foghat or REO Speedwagon (ie: bands that had their moments but aren’t worthy of worship), I would probably tolerate it.  But, considering this is Sabbath doing a song that starts off sounding like a weak-ass combo of Mountain and Kiss with boogie woogie piano heavy in the mix, I’m just gonna have to again feel totally weirded out.  Not even cowbell can save us.  And that weak reverb-heavy vocal effect they had going earlier?  Well, it comes back with a vengeance in the outro and has some serious extra mid-70s Robert Plant-ness going on.  Or maybe it sounds more like late 70’s Bad Company vocals.  Either way: stop it.

“She’s Gone”

You know, if you guys would have given me a legitimately killer song to enjoy since the second track, I could maybe feel this one.  I mean, if you put “Changes” in the same spot on this record, I might not really acknowledge it so much.  But, instead, that’s on Vol 4, my favorite Sabbath record, and works amazingly within the release’s flow.  Actually…no, “Changes” is still way better than this, but I like the soft Ozzy ballads and this song does sound like something that would fit on earlier releases.

No matter, I prefer the Hall & Oates song of the same title.  Jussayin’.

“Dirty Women”

I have a theory that the best songs are oftentimes the album closer.  Is that true here?  I would say no.  This is not the best song on the album, but definitely a top three.

“Dirty Women” begins strong and fairly heavy, feeling around as it enters a seriously rockin’ zone, one almost forgotten thanks to the last five songs I’ve had to sit through.  And we actually get to go there!  No sidetracking through funk, Paul McBullshit land, or any other curveballs that could’ve occurred during the snorting – I mean – writing of these songs.  This song really hits its stride, peaking like a motherfucker near the dead center at that brief moment where the guitar and organ duel it out.  Sure, the stuff about dirty women not messing around is a bit silly, but at this point I can live with it.  And maybe the song could’ve ended about a minute earlier, but how dare I stop Iommi in solo?  His playing has been the only consistently good thing about this album, let him have his victory lap!

Even this rock n roll doctor couldn't save the record

So, OK, maybe I’ve been a bit harsh on Technical Ecstasy over the years, but I also can’t say I blame myself after FINALLY giving it another try.  Final score: three legitimately solid songs, one filler-ish song that I could maybe like but doesn’t feel like a must, another song with a solid bridge, and everything else ranging from crappy to downright atrocious.

However, here is the coolest thing about this LP: its recording caused major problems for the Eagles when they recorded Hotel California.  The story here is the two bands were in studios adjacent to each other and, due to Sabbath’s ever-essential loud nature, sound would bleed through the walls so much the Eagles would have to stop recording when Sabbath were playing.  If only it could’ve caused enough frustration to have broken them up.  What a wonderful world it would be…

Anyways, I get it.  It was 1976, a confusing time to be Sabbath.  Like, do you keep doing the same thing you’ve been doing for six albums?  Everything was going in all kinds of directions: soft rock, disco, and, of course, the ever-dreadful punk rock that kept me from them for a time myself.  And, when you have a manager who just turned ELO into a massive success on both sides of the ocean, and that guy seems to be paying more attention to them…maybe you feel it’s time to go that way?  I mean, you already helped invent metal, what else could you do right?

Hindsight is 20/20.  There wasn’t a metal scene to turn your back on like there was not even a decade later.  The taboo didn’t legitimately exist yet.  That doesn’t mean I have to excuse this record though.

Basically, if I see it in good shape in a record bin for 5 bucks or less, I’ll buy it.  I kinda doubt that’s gonna happen any time soon.  Until then, maybe I’ll go download those three songs I like…illegally.  That’s not a diss BTW, I just only believe in buying physical music.  Shut up, don’t judge me…or do, whatever.  You likely already have.

Live To Win: A Tribute To Lemmy

Nearly six years ago, my brother in metal Butch (aka B.Menace) had his worst fears come true when Ronnie James Dio died of stomach cancer.  Butch once very sincerely proclaimed that he didn’t want to exist in a world without Dio.  Amazingly, Butch lives on in good spirits and health.

But what my buddy felt on that dreadful day is what I’ve been feeling for around three weeks now.  On December 28th, cancer struck again as we lost Lemmy only days after turning 70.  He was once referred to in the film Airheads as God.  And when your god dies, how are you supposed to deal with that?  For a while there I thought that, unlike Butch, I wouldn’t make it.  This is the world I never wanted to live in.

originally posted on UUUM

Lemmy, born Ian Fraser Kilmister on Christmas Eve 1945 in a small British town, grew up in Wales after his father abandoned him at three months.  His mother remarried and he disliked his step-relatives.  From an early age, he didn’t trust authority.  By the time he’d reached his teens, he’d fallen pretty hard for Little Richard and the Beatles.  He also wanted a way to impress ladies.  This formula would create an inevitable result: a die-hard rock and roller with a powerful mind, a love for substances (sans heroin), and a fuck count that reached into four-digit territory.

It wasn’t long before Lemmy was playing guitar in small bands around northern Wales which continued after relocating to England.  His first big taste for the life came when he got a roadie gig with the Jimi Hendrix Experience in ‘67.  Soon after that stint, he roadied for the Nice, a much underrated outfit known for being Keith Emerson’s first big break.

I'ma just put this here...

Lemmy’s supremely legit rocker status came once he began playing bass in the psych rock group Hawkwind.  His time with this band is absolutely stunning, including three solid LPs and the mind-crushing single “Silver Machine”, which made it as far as #3 on the UK charts in ’72.  Also, Space Ritual from this period is one of the greatest live records ever made.

On one hand, it’s a shame Lemmy got the boot from Hawkwind in ’75.  The Canadian border patrol busted him with amphetamines while on tour, some shows got cancelled, and the granola acid-heads who made up the rest of the band were feeling hypocritically uncomfortable with all of that.  And with the booting, Hawkwind’s peak was unfortunately over.  What a stupid fucking thing to do you guys.

But, the world balanced itself out and you can likely guess what happens next: Motörhead happens next, dur!  Named after Lemmy’s last song contributed to Hawkwind, the band shuffled lineups a bit before finally sticking with the “classic lineup” of guitarist “Fast” Eddie Clarke and drummer Phil “Philthy Animal” Taylor just in time to be voted “Best Worst Band in the World” in an NME magazine poll.

With this lineup came the LPs Motörhead, Overkill, Bomber, Ace Of Spades, and Iron Fist in a span of around four and a half years.  These records changed rock n roll forever.  Lemmy had the command, putting his often whimsical lyrics through that trademark gruff voice out in front to accompany his distorted, high-end bass guitar tone.  Clarke’s guitar work brought commanding riffs and also frequently indulged in high-flying, wah-saturated, harsh solo licks to further push the wild styles.  And then there’s Taylor, whose incredible ability to drive a song on a drumset while kicking its ass into oblivion is something I’ve not heard anyone perfect in his manner no matter how many punk, metal, hardcore, etc bands try to bite the technique.

And that brings up another VERY important point: no other band has ever been able to bridge the gap between punk, metal, and rock n roll even remotely to the same degree Motörhead did.  It was tough as nails yet catchy while employing most of the tricks used by rock n rollers since the beginning.  The execution was far more unique than any other band playing at that volume around the turn of the 70s/80s, which made them difficult to define but easy to love across the spectrum.  They were also way talented, but those who appreciated rock prowess seemed to enjoy them just as much as someone who simply wanted to bang their head…like, really, really fucking hard.

While this lineup definitely set the tone for how the group would forever be known, future lineups were equally impressive.  To take a brief sidestep, one lineup that, while in the past decade or so seems to have gained a bit of traction with Motörhead fans, has been grossly overlooked: a brief one following Clarke’s departure resulting in 1983’s Another Perfect Day.  This record is notable for being the sole LP featuring Thin Lizzy’s Brian Robertson.  If you’ve never heard it and that’s not enough reason for you to check it out, then I don’t see how the hell there’s any reason you should even take one more breath.  Seriously, just stop.

Outside of Motörhead, Lemmy had several other musical contributions that, to say the least, are worth noting.  He briefly played in the Damned in the 70s.  The collaboration between Motörhead and rippers Girlschool is one of the greatest collabs of two rock groups ever.  Lemmy also worked with Wendy O’Williams, another intense yet massively inspiring personality.  A long-time fan, he wrote “R.A.M.O.N.E.S.”, which the four long-haired denim-clad oddballs outta NYC later rocked themselves.  One of his more interesting offerings was penning the 1991 Ozzy Osbourne hit “Mama I’m Coming Home” which happened to earn him way more money than anything else he’d ever done.

Until his dying day, Lemmy never faltered, never letting go of a band that is beyond legend while simultaneously keeping his own superhuman legend well intact.  This is quite impressive considering, if nothing else, that someone with the consistent substance intake of Kilmister probably should’ve never lived to see 35, much less double that number.  In his autobiography, White Line Fever, there is a tale where he went to undergo hemodialysis much like Keith Richards infamously did in the mid-70s.   When the doctors analyzed him, however, they informed him this couldn’t be done.  Apparently, if Lemmy took in clean blood it would kill him.  On the flipside, if anyone were to receive his blood, it would kill them.  The “man” lived off poison, literally.

Rolling Stone: "Do you have a favorite hangover cure?"
Lemmy: "Well, to get a hangover you got to stop drinking [laughs]. I've never been much of a fan of that."

Lemmy is the ultimate embodiment of “sex, drugs, and rock & roll”.  He’ll be remembered by many for partying nearly anybody who tried to keep up under the table.  His image is instantly identifiable: the mutton chops, the hat, the moles on his face Beavis once referred to as “cocoa puffs”, etc.  He was the only person who didn’t seem like at least somewhat of a dumbass in Decline Of the Western Civilization pt 2.  His presence in Troma films, among many other things, helped to prove he didn’t take his iconic status too seriously.  Lemmy was adored as a personality just as much as a performer.

And let me just tell you if you’ve never read White Line Fever, my favorite autobiography ever, or at least seen the documentary aptly titled Lemmy  that you are sorely missing out.  He’s not your average piece of shit rockstar.  Maybe at worst you could perhaps try to classify him as a womanizer, but that’s unfair.  There may’ve been some objectification and sleaze, sure, but he had the utmost respect for women.  Or anyone deserving, really.

Truth is, Lemmy was the greatest bad role model any of us miscreants could ever hope for.  He had no need for religion.  He claimed his band was apolitical, but he had no lack of opinions on world events and various wrongs.  I adored his perspective on 9/11, essentially saying the one-time tragedy couldn’t compare to other atrocities that have happened throughout history.  FINALLY, I was reading the thoughts of a real ass motherfucker (or, as the popular Lemmy tagline goes, “49% motherfucker, 51% son of a bitch”) and not just another stupid rock n roll asshole.  Conventional thought didn’t interest him and, to boot, he was a great guy with a massive heart.  There’s no doubt in my mind he was the most solid-minded celebrity that has existed…at least in correlation with my fucked up way of thinking.

He also scoffed at the concept of speaking fondly of the dead if you harbored ill-will towards them while they were living.  Let this be your cue to talk shit about Lemmy if you didn’t like him.  And let this be my cue for slitting your throat for speaking ill of my god.  The holy war begins…

"Fuck this "don't speak ill of the dead" shit! People don't become better when they are dead; you just talk about them as if they are. But it's not true! People are still assholes, they're just dead assholes."

On September 12, 2009, Motörhead headlined a bike rally in Cherokee, NC.  My dad, a seedy biker type who used to sell drugs to wrestlers and run guns for biker gangs, told me that he had a Harley that won some races there back in the day.  There was no way I was going to miss out on seeing them play in the most fitting setting imaginable, and I planned to bring as many substances as I could find.

Tons of leather, guys chilling on Harleys revving up their engines between songs far trumping any clapping or hollering from the rest of the crowd, most of the Asheville crew I came with getting as fucked up as humanly possible while enjoying one of the greatest bands to ever grace this undeserving planet.  My mind was beyond blown.  I somehow remember it fairly clearly, yet I’m not sure it ever sunk in that what was occurring was in fact reality.

After the show, wondering around like an amped-up zombie, I get a call from Kristin (aka Wifey) telling me where she is.  “Uhhh, hey guys, they’re backstage with Lemmy…I’m fucking getting back there somehow.”  It didn’t take long to find the area they were in.  Security walks up to stop us but, once we waved to our friends cooling it with God himself, we were allowed to walk in.

Lemmy didn’t want any of my weed.  He didn’t want any of Josh’s moonshine.  I guess he was perfectly content with his Jack and Coke that he’d likely been drinking since he woke up.  I slurred out some words that were intended to indicate how stoked I was that they played multiple songs from Another Perfect Day along with other various praises.  He was very nice about the experience but seemed a bit too tired to properly deal with our overwhelming vibes.

I got a picture taken with him.  Kristin was too drunk; she took a photo of only our shoes.  Josh (aka Claude Budget) got a really nice one though.  I don’t care about pics with celebs so much, but I’ll always be slightly bitter about this one.  But how bitter can I be really?  I mean, she did provide what’s likely the greatest heads-up of my entire life.

Lemmy and Josh.  Not pictured: me

To put it into perspective, this was the end of the MySpace era.  On my profile, in the “who I’d like to meet” section, which was typically used for people to describe what sort of dickbags they’d be down to hang with, my answer was simple: “Lemmy”.  I got my wish, and I got in a solid hi-five. 

Then, we went to the casino and I lost about $30 in an hour.  When in the holy land, do as the lord would do.

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

And now the man, the legend, the god…the guy that actually did kinda feel like an old grandpa when I had my arm around him for that fateful photo shoot, is gone.  A month and a half prior, we lost Philthy – obviously another case of two lovers passing in a close proximity of time.  Here’s hoping to a bitchin’ reunion in whatever sort of afterlife people of their kind would be allowed.  Maybe Philo and Jimi are hanging at the bar enjoying the sounds.