Shock 'em Dead: a Live-Tweet Review

On the afternoon of February 27th, I started remembering a movie I'd seen decades prior. Home alone with the day completely open, I decided to find said movie and live-tweet the event. Minus a couple of edits, these are the results. (WARNING: lots of spoilers, although I tried to not completely give away the ending)

somewhat misleading movie trailer

Shock 'Em Dead (1991)

I saw this movie at age 9 or 10 when I was a lil Guns n Roses obsessed rocker. And I was somewhat of an outcast I guess. So a movie about a geek who sells his soul to become a rocker spoke to me. But, by the end, I remember being bummed out.

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I also remember there being a really bad cover of "Purple Haze" early on so I am eager to see how that stands up. And I remember there being a lot of vomiting, I think that might be what happens when dude doesn't eat people? That's about all I remember.

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The biggest name in this movie is Traci Lords, but I'm pretty sure the main character is played by Stephen Quadros who does UFC commentary sometimes now? He also tried out to replace Peter Criss in KISS. And his body double played guitar in Nitro? Known for "Outfuckingrageous"!

opening track from the OFR LP

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Also, I don't know who Troy Donahue is really but apparently he was part of the inspiration and the first-namesake of Troy McClure from the Simpsons.

OK, I think it's time to press play now.

press play

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Ope, right off the bat it's time for "Purple Haze"! Oof, yeah, these vocals are rough. Kid JD was definitely right about this one.

Oh wait, it's intentionally bad. This is part of the story. I see...

Oh wait, it's only the guitarist who's supposed to be bad. Yeah, ok...

And The Wind Cries "FOUL!!!"

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Oh boy, Martin the geek is peeping on a girl changing clothes at his pizza job. So that's not so great...

But I recognize the audio from this scene where he quits his job! It's used before a Charles Bronson song, so that's cool. Might even be how the Discocrappy cd starts?

yep, that's how it starts alright!

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Eek, so looks like it's a "voodoo priestess" who gives this nerd his rocker powers. This movie is so politically incorrect that I'd swear it was made in the 80s. But, then again, I guess '91 was basically still the 80s.

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Dude is told he has to sell his soul to get what he wants and he's just all "alright!" And that definitely resonates with me. The food service industry sucks total butt, but rocking out regularly certainly doesn't!

Also, some "sick" special effects right here brah!

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BOW DOWN TO THE DOUBLE-GUITAR FROM HELL! And I'm not talking two necks. I'm talking two guitars joined at the body. That's how the devil rolls yall!

And, just like that, he wakes up in heavy metal paradise. The geek's stonk price is rising over here!

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Remembering I must've seen this on the "Action" pay-per-view channel. My biker dad had one of those black boxes to unscramble the extra channels back then. And Action would always show the B-movies with lots of boobs. That's where I first saw Class Of Nuke 'Em High.

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Oof, "Virgin Girl", not a good song. They have no business hanging up a WASP poster in that practice space.

But Martin is here and he's a shredder now! They still sound crappy, but it's a significant improvement.

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Martin's right, if "Virgin Girl" is any indication, this singer's song-writing is dogshit. And he's right, it is better if you play it "like this".

This body double from Nitro is really earning his keep here!

Ope, TSOL shirt! And just spotted a waterbed!

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Aaaah, he threw up because he tried to eat real food. Now he has to eat people!

The acting in this isn't bad. I'd even say really good for a B-movie. It's actually entertaining, just been a lil rough at a times.

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Oh shit yeah, kill the boss! But ok, he doesn't eat the people, he just absorbs their souls. I guess that should've been obvious? Whatevs.

Here's a twist I didn't remember/see coming: singer's banging H. Fuck, are they trying to villainize heroin users? Because that'd be wack.

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Martin just took over and "Virgin Girl" is now much better in sound (still painful lyrics). Ope, and he vomited again. Right on some lady in the front row. Very Troma-esque.

Martin has the double guitar now. Things are going swell for Martin, outside of the upset stomach.

"Virgin Girl" v2.0

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ooooookay, that song just ended with the lyric "I'm in love with a slut!" Much edge.

This version of "Purple Haze" with Martin is better but I'm still not feeling it, even with all the guitar virtuoso nonsense.

Now it's after the show and the usurped singer in biiig trouble! 👀

Jonny the singer finds trouble

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Haha, this guy does sound like Troy McClure! And he's got a big deal for Angel! Oh, that's Martin's name now.

I guess Lindsay (Traci Lords) and Angel are a thing now. Uh oh. And his three ladies (he got them in the deal with the devil) are "just friends".

Vomit take #3 aw yeah!

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Homeboy just said "nobody's gonna love you as hard as I can" all sincere-like, ew! Just bein' gross overall. Lindsay's not falling for it, good for her!

OK, he could've killed his landlord and he didn't?! He better get that bastard later or I'm gonna be big mad.

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OK, the 3 ladies just killed a cop and only one of them absorbs souls, so she takes it. Then she's all dissing the cop's soul, saying it felt like he had no personality. "I've killed cats and felt better" she said, lolz! Watching this movie was worth it for that if nothing else.

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Dude, this Angel guy fucking sucks. This has serious Marilyn Manson vibes. Like, the creepy shit about how he treats gfs and whatnot. No wonder this movie weirded me out when I was a kid. In fact, I'm really glad it did.

Real emotional roller coaster this one.

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Uh oh, the bandmates are onto Angel and the gang, specifically the bassist engaged to Lindsay. Now the cops are here. They dumb as hell though and can't find anything. And they had a body hidden not only in a closet but in a dishwasher! A DISHWASHER YALL! That's a new one for me.

speaking of dishwashers, apparently this is dishwasher-safe

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Shit's blowing up. Angel is still a fucking domineering creep douchebag though. Such a douchebag that the bassist just nearly sold his soul to take him out. It's not often you get to root for a bassist in a movie. I'm ok with this development.

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Wait, I think the bassist just killed one of these servant ladies with toothpaste! Mind you, eating kills them. It was something in a tube. I don't think it was tartex at least.

I don't think I'd acknowledged the band name til just now. Creeping Flesh? That's pretty dope.

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Oh wait, Angel's band is *opening* for Creeping Flesh. I bet they're way better.

This scene with Angel cranking some shreds for Lindsay while she's tied to a chair is mega bizarro. God, Angel sucks total butt.

Oh, this is all part of some ritual. Girl, you in danger!

MFW Angel is anywhere near Lindsay this entire film

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Now the bassist is here to the rescue! And Creeping Flesh is watching all this thinking it's part of their stage show and are super into it. No one's there though. Wild sound check eh?

Not gonna say who just so I don't completely spoil the movie, but that head explosion was neat

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I'm giving this one 5.5/10. Had its moments, was totally watchable, just reeeeeaaaaalllly cringe at times, even more than typical for the genre. I like it more as an adult for sure.

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Wait, just remembered Angel didn't kill the landlord. Downgraded to 4.5/10.

MFW landlords survive

Couple things to note: Angel's band is called Spastic Colon, which might be a better name than Creeping Flesh. How did I miss that one?!

Also, I didn't really focus on these occurrences before but, if slurs of the F and R variety are upsetting to you, then you might want to avoid watching this one.

Finally, there may be some inaccuracies here and there. I was multi-tasking, after all.

If interested: the original Tweets

Also: the original Tweets all on one page

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.