I'm reading tomorrow night at the Luggage Store Gallery as apart of Sy Wagon's Adult Cafe night for the Streetopia art show that's been happening for the past month. You wanna go? It starts late. Like midnight late.

the ultimate girl

Toothworm #5 is finally done!

Featuring "Julia & The Butts" by ms. julia booz (title by me)

& and interview with SF's own (and the best band in the world) ALABASTER CHOAD.

Plus a bunch of drawings of butts, a conspiracy theory involving Nancy Spungen, and essays involving much buttholes and hate all by me!!

You can order one at your leisure. 

Trades welcome! otherwise, send $3pp to

E.Conner PO box 22302

Oakland,CA.

94623

zine release

Thursday April 26th 7pm @ Needles and Pens SF California 

Erick Lyle and E. Conner will be reading/talking/showing you stuff from their respective fanzines.

There will be free black coffee and some strange raffle prizes. 

Get scared, it's all over after this. 

Add Toner: a Review

Cometbus is the holy grail of punk fanzine-dom. That torn-and-stained, nostalgic black-and-white handwritten tome that gets passed down free box to free box in the ether of all that we hold dear. Away! You irrelevant obscure ex-punks with your noses jammed in lattes, i-pads, and not so ironic Tom Petty vinyl. Here lies some kind of living, breathing proof that despite everything we can live forever printed and glued in lieu of stapled and xeroxed. The compulsion to archive in book form our bumbling ephemeras is not new. Rather, it’s an ongoing phenomenon of the past (at least) 10 years.
    I tried to do my research for this, my first book review for MRR. I thought I’d try my hardest to be professional, to compile and consider the public’s interpretation of such a prolific author. I google searched and dug up older and newer issues to push and pry over. I told friends how lucky I was to get such a familiar first review. I settled down with a cup of coffee and the Urinals to get cracking and figure out how to put into words, like some fucking third grader, “What Cometbus Means to Me.”
    Add Toner is a collection of Cometbus issues following up the aforementioned Despite Everything Omnibus. Issues #44-48 are edited and compiled here with some intriguing extras. And these extras are possibly what make this collection so exciting. Unlike many other anthologies that have surfaced in the recent past, Aaron has always chosen to edit his. I’m grateful for both approaches. However good or bad, this discerning eye creates a lens in which to absorb the issues, some of which were written 10 years ago. Extras found in these pages include new illustrations for #46, The Dead End by the inimitable Nate Powell, photos of Aaron’s process of writing #47 (Lanky) by Katie Glicksberg which accompany a glossary of terms for said issue. Perhaps my favorite part of the glossary is his apology for using the term “pervert” in a disdainful way describing the gentlemen cruising for a little intimacy among the oaks at the Aquatic Park in Berkeley. If I had a hand in helping I would have liked to mention that the once mysterious and sexy cruisers are now sadly indistinguishable from freaks playing Frisbee golf at midnight.
    The collection opens with short stories from #45, which for some reason precedes #44. These brief portraits of times past are some of my favorite efforts of his. #45 soars across time and space to distil many mini-truths amongst it’s pages. The similarities between this issue and #44, Saint Louis Stories, are great. Though, in SLS Aaron ruminates on one locale and community, both of these issues are filled with that famous style. These are stories of bad luck, coffee, late nights, ghostly girlfriends, punk records and other signifiers that boost our culture. It’s what has codified Cometbus for the past thirty-some years. But I don’t wish to condense this massive bulk to only having some trifling aesthetic value. I think one of the reasons Cometbus is so widely loved is because it can provide a journal of experience for anyone who dipped a toe or dove in head first to this pool of slime—you know, punk.
    Now, to skip around: issues #46 and #48 are both Terkelian oral histories. I have a hard time with oral histories due to far too many attempts to explain punk this way. We are potentially relieved from the burden of such generalizing because Aaron really focuses when he tries his hand at chronicling. Though I’m sure there are discrepancies, I’m happy to see such ignored histories penned like this. “The Dead End,” is the slightly fictionalized anecdotal strifes of the famed Hard Times Café in Minneapolis. “Back to the Land” is interviews with people who were raised on intentional rural communities or those who raised them. Both of these back-issues, now chapters, are somewhat removed from reality by noun changes and illustrations. “The Dead End,” as I previously mentioned, is graced with imagined portraits drawn by Nate Powell. Still, they have a familiar look and as I read I imagined my friends filling in the voices of the obscured. The Back to the Land interviews are graced with possibly found vintage headshots. This creates a sort of timeless quality to the interviews displacing them from punk somehow. In the end I’m convinced that this levity, disassociation, and confusion are what make these interviews great.
    A large chunk of the collection is the hand penned novel, Lanky. This is the chapter I ended up borderline obsessing over. At times it even seemed to mirror, remind, and prelude my own experiences. I’m troubled by the way he writes about the novels namesake, Lanky, his teenaged girlfriend. She’s jealous, beautiful, trifling, and sort of vacant. It’s a stark contradiction to his protagonist (a simulacrum of himself) who is varied, interesting, mysterious, and full of more compelling faults. Realistically, Lanky is less about a girl and more about a time and a place—specifically, being a Berkeley punk in the ’80s. A scene haunted by Reagan’s leftover mental health casualties, ex-idealistic hippies and intellectuals, poverty and drug use, and this brand new way of being in the world. So why push a narrative defined by this relationship that is dwarfed by the bigger scene at hand? Is it to prove that once somewhere you were loved? Or, is it because, as Julia says, “we want to read about girls”?
    I have too many questions for Aaron and nary an intuitive analysis. I wonder what vaults this magazine to the top of the list. Not just for the punks either. Who does Aaron write for? Is it centrally for his ilk? (Hopefully I’m not being hasty in indicating that I am of this affiliation) Or is it intended to have broader appeal? It just feels almost redundant sometimes. I know about all the freaks who lurk on Sproul Plaza, the hilarious and daunting trials of cooperative efforts, how it feels to get blown in the bushes outside of a show etc. But like I said, I’m just too fascinated by the way our experience as punks seems so fucking collective. Do those out there who can’t tap into our noosphere really get what’s going on?
    We live in a postmodern hell where there are too few options amongst a splendor of bullshit. It’s been prattled on about too many times. When I look for roll models I’m confronted with obscurity, pain, and the inevitable drift into Vice Magazine territory. The sad truth is no matter how great and important this writing is, more than anything it is beautiful and relieving when you can just feel someone give a fuck.

welcome to my new machine

I made another machine where I can post little drawings I drew and pictures I took and other weird shit I think is cool. I'm not sure what the point of another machine is but I'm going with the flow. You can look at it if you want to but beware the machine is a humble one at this point. 

dumb stuff like this 

some show reviews

Sept 21^st, Oakland, CA. at The Velvet Whistle: The Body, Negative Standards, and more.

I ran over after band practice to catch THE BODY. Last time they were in town they played the Terminal in East Oakland.  For various reasons (probably the “remote” location) it was modestly attended, even though Amina Slor penned an awesome poster for the show. I guess I was expecting something of the same. The show (thankfully) changed venue from the large abysmal hate tank of the Oakland Metro to a cozier scene down at 8^th and Peralta.

I walked in to a stacked room and THE BODY finishing up their set. I was greeted by friends and their famous gut rumbling style. Dan offered me ear plugs and everything was real groovy. They ended their set and I noticed a scuffle starting next to me, a physical argument between a man with a shorn head and a woman with facial tattoos. We, the people, decided to split the two and while I was trying to grab the dude to keep him from pummeling this lady (who admittedly was literally asking him to hit her) I caught a bittersweet blow to the cheek. Flustered and glasses askew I remained faithful to my initial task of mediation. They were separated and my face hurt. Everyone was real nice to me after that.

 I walked around trying to find my friend from out of town. I tried to talk to the dude that punched me, a friend. It didn’t go well. Francesca left because the dudes at the door were giving her a hard time about door money. I remembered that one of the dudes in THE BODY used to draw a really cute comic called ROBOTS 1 HUMANS 0 but I was too chicken shit to talk to him about it. I tried to watch NEGATIVE STANDARDS but I was too pissed and just wanted a beer. The show was over and a bunch of us rode north down Adeline, which I don’t usually do.

Sept 30^th, Oakland, CA at The Swamp: Rayos X, Generation Suicida, The Adults, and Dust Ward.

Another show after band practice. We walked in and some band of young kids was playing. Everyone was a total teenage nerd. I love shows at The Swamp. It always feels like high school but better ‘cause you’re removed. The bassist played the Sinefield riff and Kyle the girl thought his tone sucked. The singer was cool he had his inner anger blaring but must be a nice guy. 

We sat on top of the ramp in the back between bands. Alex showed up and we made fun of Kyle for asking too many questions about drug dealing. I saw Cassie which was cool because it’s rare. We bonded over the time we all took mushrooms in the woods for Lacy’s birthday but how nothing really happened. Kyle the boy couldn’t believe that the guy named Opie had never heard of the Andy Griffith show.

 I went back in to see GENERATION SUICIDA. They have the best melodic riffs and it was cool how everyone sang over the  “OOOHS”. It felt really layered and intense. Later, listening to the demo, I was shocked how totally karaoke style it sounded. Too flat and whiney but even later it developed a sort of charm. The drummer has really long hair and it’s cool to see it move around when she plays and sings: total coordination.

 I tried to watch RAYOS X but got shoved out ‘cause I was feeling too tender. I went to pee on the side of the house and me and Kyle the girl started talking about relationships. Alex joined us, to talk not to pee. I rode home down Market which happens all the time.

picture by ben t.

Oct. 8^th, Olympia, WA. At the empty building next to Dumpster Values: NUTS! #8 release party w/ Milk Music, Christian Mistress, Broken Water, Gun Outfit, White Wards, Red and Black, Hysterics, Vradiazei, Bone Sickness, Dead Head, and Son Skull.
We drove up for the weekend because Julia had a page in the new issue of NUTS!  and everyone likes Ben and sometimes needs a vacation. The weekend was quiet. I walked around Olympia all agitated and shit. I tried to quell my nerves by deep thinking, loudly complaining, and buying a $30 copy of UMBERTO ECO’S ON UGLINESS. It didn’t work.

The morning of the show I woke up too early and thought about my outfit too much. We drove Ben to get a cake from Albertson’s and drive the huge tub of magazines to the venue.

DEAD HEAD started off the show and watching Yianna play drums is always a treat. Neil’s got a huge plate of pedals at his feet and Caroline knows how to use her echo pedal to sweet excess. They play that epic style of stoned out metal but know how to keep it just short enough not to bore me. We had to hide beers in cups and I kept having to go next door to Phantom City to pour more Rainer into my 8oz paper travesty.

 RED AND BLACK and WHITE WARDS share some members and a similar straight forward hardcore style. I like that Red and Black shit. It sounds real and there’s always blood. 

 More lukewarm piss piled into the paper appendage and HYSTERICS started. The singer of this band has a real mad dog glare. I wanna know, do you practice that shit? She storms around making serious eye contact that bores a feeling of uneasiness into all who view. Adriana all too occasionally shows her prowess as a shredder and the feedback is blissful.

 VRADIAZEI brings in the somber vibe but it’s hair raising really. They are a dark (dare I say black) folk trio with occasional extra vocal lent by the front woman of CHRISTIAN MISTRESS.  Vocal harmonies rise up out of a soft litany of viola, banjo, and guitar. The result is haunting and appropriate for the dark clouds that started gathering up top. 

As the day wore on and I got drunker and needed to satiate myself in a hand dipped corn-dog topped with honey mustard I wandered in and out for BONE SICKNESS and MILK MUSIC. Lots of long hair is what I remembered.

GUN OUTFIT and BROKEN WATER were both meditative and trance like. Complete with projections. I watched from behind the impromptu stage crafted by Ben and Althea mostly out of pallets and plywood with a scavenged tarp for overhead. Erick and I talked about Void releasing their demos and he said, “Finally, we’ll figure out the mystery of “WHO ARE YOU TO WASH MY HAIR?””.

 CHRISTIAN MISTRESS started in the rain and the lead singer’s hair got caught in the tuning pegs of one of the guitars. It was mighty.  By this time the paper cup had been discarded for a more carefree approach of swilling straight from those white and red cans. Julie and I walked to the beer store and talked about how cool some people were while others were stupid. 

While SUN SKULL was getting set up the crowed stacked in. Julie and Lizet were trying to hide huge spear shaped blooms by facing the crowd. When the band started to sound check they whipped around to pummel Mary with blossoms. This is probably what everyone came to see. Hayes led the first ditty with a somber poem song. It was sparse and featured a crystal bowl (the kind they use after my yoga class). It’s not a secret that Hayes is a poet. They played Perennial Death and everyone went crazy. Something hit my chin hard and the excess water collecting on top of the tarp fell down between my hoodie and my shirt and my glasses flew off a little. It was the perfect mood for a show; careless and careful. Lizet was bucking like mad right in front of me and I could all but pay any close attention to the band. It was a mutual performance.

 After the show Ben had to kick everyone out I sort of wanted to hang out but just went back to Ben’s house with Julia and fell asleep to Wayne’s World. We drove home the next day down the 5 with a Frenchman in tow. My ass still hurts from sitting in that middle seat.

picture lifted from FB. Photographer unknown.Sun Skull in foreground. Moldy phreaks in the back. 

reviews by me

For those interested I have a guest column in this new issue of Maximum Rock-n-Roll.

In there you can read of my struggles with reality after getting punched in the face at a show and how I feel about Olympia's corn dog selection. I also reviewed Aaron Cometbus' new collection Add Toner.

My face is healed now (my ego remains bruised) and I'm back to my old tricks. I'll probably post those previously mentioned articles at some later date.