Rebo's Remembered: Chapter One

Above is what remains of REBO’S. Everyone who is passionate about music has a place where they cut their proverbial teeth, and for me, REBO’S was that place. Sure impromptu REC dances after football games (I never watched) headbanging to Metallica’s “One” or giving it my best New Jack Swing to Bobby Brown were a touchstone, and the occasional VFW show (which were always something of a joke) were perhaps my first taste of unadulterated decadence, but weekend nights at REBO’S were the stuff you could later use for the coming-of-age scenes in your Richard Linklater/Cameron Crowe-directed biopic. Growing up in Troy, Ohio, there was certainly a dearth of places to see live music. The aforementioned venues were more or less, contained and sterile, no alleyways and baseball diamonds to sneak away and indulge (whatever that means at 14). REBO’S, as I can remember (fill in the blanks), was started as a SOBER (spell REBO’S backwards) place for an aging rocker and recovering alcoholic to keep his dreams alive – without imbibing. It was a mere 7 blocks, only three if I was spending the night on Crawford St. (where Kentucky Fried Monkey was birthed), so you could say the access was ideal for a curious teenager.

Three things taken away from me before the end of 10th Grade:


A bloodied white Jane’s Addiction T-shirt, worn at a GWAR show and signed (with multiple obscenities – “I sucked Sleazy till cum came out my nose”) by the band.


Deicide T-shirt purchased at Headquarters in New Carlisle, Ohio. The back read – “The End of God, The Way it Must Be.”


A cassette copy of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Blood Sugar Sex Magick – my mother embarrassingly made me return it to Tape Town in the Piqua Mall after being confronted with the album’s Parental Advisory sticker in the J.C. Penny’s women’s section.


REBO’S regrettably didn’t stay SOBER for long. Union St. was usually lined with cars by 10 PM, the crowd mix was high school degenerates and post-high-school degenerates – those hanger-ons who shouldn’t be mingling with pre-pubescent, but then again, what the hell was going on in Troy, Ohio at the time. This was a SOBER club, so no booze, no foul. Those cars were the havens, as was the small park out on that “other side of the tracks” suburban neighborhood. REBO’S was on the edge geographically, the spit off whatever class a town like Troy, Ohio had established. There was a reason the shack sat cornered to a gravel pit. I suppose that’s where the romanticism of the place stems from. It was a Lil’s Rascals-boys-club right-of-passage gate -- a place where fake acid was dealt, cheap alternatives like butane and nitrous were commonplace, and the dirtiest of weed was smoked through soda cans. Those “highs” though, were secondary to the music. That’s why you were there. Right?

Somehow I managed to keep my G.G. Allin tapes and my Carcass videos under wraps.


Only in old age am I trying to get a nostalgic totality to the surrounding environment. Asking questions like – Who was the family that maintained a functioning (and always lo-fi frightening) cardboard Haunted House on or near Crawford? Whatever happened to “Crazy Mary” (the townie colliqual for the sweet old woman, who would pay for her paper in silver quarters, who hung children’s toys in her trees)? What the hell was really going on back there on Union St.? – is futile now. I’d need to spend months in Troy, as a modern archeologist, uncovering through stories. Because now, the ‘hood is sparingly there in this history I’m trying to remember. REBO’S was failed experiement but full of good vibes. Here I plan to try my best to remember it. Further chapters will try to fill in the blanks. So – if you were a member of Malediction or Liquid Legbone or Gallow’s Humor or Your Flesh or Throttle or Shift or Scorched Earth Policy or Cigarhead – please get a hold of me through this outlet (with stories, music, pictures, baubles and trinkets). There’s certainly more to tell – and we’re not even close to the point where REBO’S moved to a desolate outpost leaps from Medway and a desperate drive-in.

E-mail me or post here. Indulge me. I want to believe.

Never did receive those GWAR swords Chris ordered through the mail.

The Trespass Soundtrack Trumps its Peers

There are fewer anomalies in 1993 than the Trespass Soundtrack. And I don't consider you, as the regular World of Wumme (or Bo Jackson) reader , to know this. Trespass was post the New Jack City/Boyz N' the Hood zeigeist and pre Judgement Night/Lollapalooza miscegenation of rock and hip-hop that would eventually submerge Alternative Nation. Trespass wasn't even at a crossroads, there were no metal invites here. The crossover came more in the coupling of pure (whitebreed) action movie, with the hyperextended pulse of hip-hop culture at the time. The movie starred Bill Paxton and William Sadler -- but also introduced Ice Cube and Ice-T (the royal ices) as legitimate film stars (this, after their big breakthroughs). I can't say I remember the movie being that remarkable, but in retrospect, the soundtrack was signature of that year, and completely caught a moment that only come during that summer.

As stated, the Trespass soundtrack did not bridge the East Coast and the West Coast (it was even before that conflict manifested) and instead leaned towards the East Coast's harder, more minimal side, while retaining the dirty funk that had started to blossom in Califorinia. The Fun Funk. There are two sides to this -- probably most felt in Ice-T's "Depth's of Hell." Ice-T has always been one for low-level blasts, but here, post-Colors, he becomes even more vicious. This might even be his best effort (reggae aside) since the early days. On the opposite side of the spectrum is Public Enemy,who's "Gotta Do What I Gotta Do," is particularly West Coast in it's wiggle -- the Terminator X solo is a wonderful freestyle against the implied grain of the film.

I need to see how this all fits with the film -- because there's a huge contrast throughout this compilation. There's the little known Penthouse Players Clique (a Ruthless Records super-group) and W. C. (a personal favorite and Bo Jackson HOF member) vs. heavy-hitters like Gang Starr and Lord Finesse. Pure contrast throughout. But the oddest inclusion here is Black Sheep. They contend a pre-Low End Theory, lo-end beat, Mingus/Thinking-Man hip-hop that sounds foreign in the realm of unknowns on this, the Trespass soundtrack. Go Buy.

Psychedelic Horseshit Present Shitty Sundays...

And these Shitty Sundays are beyond the climax of the release of Laced, the eventual follow-up to the modern masterpiece, Magic Flowers Droned. Shitty Sundays, which can be found in their entirety here, are merely a continuation to Laced. The future, before we even reach it. The guy (Mr. Horseshit) writes songs (has grand ideas) as we consume. Laced is already the past. Very much the past.

....but, we need to first talk about Laced. There have been enough PHS recordings released to fill two full records, but, Mr. Horseshit is never content. And even if Laced sounds complete, and sounds like a complete metamorphosis, it's the past.

You can see it in Matt Horseshit's irenic interviews, his increased awareness in Laced's game-changing aesthetics, the "see I told you so" attitude that is embedded in every groove of this record. "I Hate the Beach," which was born years ago, explains it all. In this one song PHS are finally imagineering the sonic theme park the band has always wanted to frolic about. There are cascades of waves overbearing simple riffs, cliffs, valleys, and craggy caves of reverb, jungles of static, apocalypse dancefloors, ambient cloud farms, and antidemocratic synapses in the collective mind of the underground music listener. Is this real life? I can't recommend your purchase of this album enough. Shitty Sundays, however, are free.

Times New Viking -- Dispatch from Europe

It gets really lonely around Columbus when the kids are on tour. While Dancer Equired Day has come and gone, the kids remain in Europe. Far away from the misinformed and genuinely nasty reviews and those who actually understand where this album is coming from. Of course there's bias in my opinion, and certainly my voice here, but I truly feel like this is evolution for the band. And Merge is a new beginning. But who knows? Hopefully they are tearing it up live in Europe, like they'll do here for another two months, starting next week.

Above is a video, acoustical, right off the airplane, rendition of one of the album's golden hits. And below is there appearance on Marc Riley's (he of Fall guitar fame) BBC Radio Show. Click on both to experience.

TNV's Live Quiz and Performance on Marc Riley.

I Like Racing Cars

My attempt at starting my own version of Videogum -- and/or random things I pick up with my phone's camera. This commercial runs at least twice a day whilst I have my morning coffee. I'm not sure how "racing cars" equate with delicious "tacos" and "cheeseburgers." Is this funny or not?

Cold Cave - Cherish the Light Years

It's my opinion that Wes Eisold from Cold Cave takes himself and his music a bit too seriously. Just read the interview I did with him last month. I had a hard time not chuckling during most of our conversation. Cherish the Light Years is a great album, no doubt. It would be that much better were you to listen to this as pure candy. Remember Pitty Sing about 5 years ago?