All this horseshit about my women, my father, my crummy beginnings.

epub or mobi

"My giddy aunt Juny, you bastards stick worse than dog shit! And as for him, yes you, you little shitter! I caught you bouncing on my sofa again, didn't I? Yes daddy! ... Yes daddy! You must think I was born yesterday! Well I want to hear it from your own lips, an apology, and don't bother lying to me ... I saw you, I caught you red-handed! Do you know how much that sofa cost? And it hasn't even been paid for yet, not a bit of it! Juny, come here Juny! I want you to hear this, look, this smelly child of yours was caught bouncing on the sofa! On my sofa! Look at it woman, look at it, brand new, wrecked! Scarcely a month old! A write-off, a total write-off! With his shoes on mind, bouncing with his shoes! Look at them, they're scuffed! Scuffed I tell you! He's been playing in his best shoes again! Haven't you? Look at them, ruined! You see this pair of mine, look at them, feast your eyes! Bought last week? A month ago? No, ten years old! That's right, ten years old, going on fifteen! ..." He bounds over the sofa. "Who's to stop me?" He bounces up and down. "Who the hells to fucking well stop me?" Higher and higher he goes, somersaulting like an acrobat ... "Aren't-I-the-one-who-pays-for-every-thing! House!-Clothes!-Furni-ture!-My-facili-ties!-My-sofa!-Every-thing!-All-of-it! ..." He catapults off sideways, then he flies through the air and crashes down on top of my mother. "All of it! All of it! My facilities!"

Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare

epub or mobi 
 

Viv is a wild-eyed character with greasy bleached-blond hair to his shoulders. He has a drink in one hand and a large spliff in the other - the king of his domain and oblivious to the illegalities of such behavior. Viv is in a band, The Bunch of Fives, a really psychedelic group of nuts and also has a gig as manager of Knuckles, a small basement club beneath an Italian restaurant in Soho.  The poorly lit basement has a stone floor and plain brick walls. There is no stage, so the band is set up at one end of the room, cramped together in front of Moe's drums. We conclude the song and Viv steps up and addresses the room as if it's a packed showcase gig. 'The Misunderstood from California! Let's fuckin' hear it for 'em! Yeah! The Misunderstood!' Viv leaves the stage area and music comes up over the PA system ... 'Eight Miles High' by Barbie Beatles copycats and Dylan wannabees, The Byrds. I wander after Viv while the rest of the band continues to pack away the gear.
'Good set, man! You can play here anytime, man, we get a pretty good crowd in.' Jeez, I'm looking around the room, which has emptied out even further in the last few minutes. 'Well, on a weekend, like! Thursday's always a bit of a slow night.'
Dave nudges Mick. 'Viv, today's Saturday. It is the fuckin' weekend, mate!'
Viv takes another big hit on the spliff. He appears to be making some complicated mental calculations. Finally he exhales loudly, sending a huge cloud of smoke across the table. 'Nah! Thursday, mate. Definitely.'
Dave tells me, 'Viv hasn't slept since Wednesday night; so by his calculations that means it must still be Thursday.'

mod meets pub meets glam meets Johnny Burnette power-chord din

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

“Have you had it with Bobby Sherman, Cat Stevens, James Taylor, The Carpenters, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Chicago??? Are you sick and tired of all these sex-less, whitewashed, psychedelic pop-shit groups???? …if so, why doncha subscribe to Rollin’ Rock Magazine and dig some of that wild, crazy, juicy, greasy, all-American rock and roll music!!!!!”

“Dear WTTS, Just received the first 43 issues of Who Took The Shelves, and I had to let you know how excited I am. Your mag sure does fill a void, not only in being a magazine by and for methed-up lunatics like me, but in being chock full of some of the most interesting pornography on the scene today… by any chance would you be interested in a 72-page article on Question Mark & The Mysterians? – Lester Bangs El Cajon CA”

this whole slew of crude recordings on shoestring labels.

pdf (190 pages / 135MB)

I had a friend who lived in this flat in west London - a really vile, scruffy, horrible, bloke's flat - but the one thing pristine in this mess was a Dansette in mint condition and a bunch of records on the auto changer. And they were all vintage London records, which he'd bought the first time round. And he wouldn't have parted with them, even though he was dirt poor. So I told him about Ted's stall, less than a minute's walk away. I remember the famous Elvis wallpaper and all these other stalls with their thin dividing walls, selling hippyish jewellery, retro clothing - and there, at the end of the row was a smelly, greasy caff - you'd go past the caff, and Ted had the whole back space, in an L-shape, with the stock behind the counter, belting out rock'n'roll and R&B at full blast.

"Guitar Wolf meets Super Vixen, Kitten Natividad".

pdf (59 pages / 87MB)

Bardot asked Serge to write for her the most beautiful love song in the world; his reply was the cult classic "Je t'aime ... moi non plus."  The song starts off simple enough, but before long the vocal track progresses into a series of moans, with Brigitte and Serge whispering "Je t'aime" and groaning lustily. The press went so far as to say they recorded themselves in the true act of copulation. In truth, they had been lovers, but you don't have to be Fellini to have figured that out. "Je t' aime ... moi non plus" was not initially released. Bardot's husband, the extremely wealthy German Guntar Sachs, was so enraged by the song's connotations that he would not allow it to be pressed. Gainsbourg locked the master tape away and 'claimed' it would stay there forever. Gainsbourg later re-recorded the song with his British wife, Jane Birkin, and the press made the same "they're doing it!" allegation. Years later Birkin was cast as Bardot's female lover in Don Juan. Being nervous about their nude scene, Brigitte suggested they sing a song. The only song they both knew the words to was "Je t'aime ... ", prompting them to break into an amusingly passionate rendition.

He knew that in real life some folks were ugly and things just plain stank

pdf (187 pages / 148MB)

Whether they got bored traveling for hours to race or needed some mid-week release, these fast kids started using the flat, wide streets of the city rather than making the trek to the desert. The orange groves and oil fields of Los Angeles county were criss crossed with streets that hot rodders commandeered for speed contests. They'd pick a location with little cross traffic, block access, and race from two to six jalopies abreast There were so many available roads that racers and spectators alike knew the circuit of five to seven straight-aways - Glendale Boulevard one night, Van Nuys Boulevard another. Local police were aware of the race circuit and would show up to block exits and sometimes break up rallies of 600 to 700 cars or ticket and impound as many as 100 racers in a night. Sometimes they'd catch no one as souped up cars fled the roads through SoCal's flat open spaces.

black music played by white, working class, bad skin bastards

pdf scan (31 pages / 44 MB)

People might say, "Well, there's no more Knickerbockers, there's no more Count Five and there's no more Hombres, and there's no more Standells out there." Yeah, but there may be a bunch of people who can give you the same emotional feeling if you spent the time on a Tuesday night to go to the clubs and hear music, you'll see. It's still out there. You have to find it again, because you can only recycle these stories so many times; you can only reissue these songs so many times, and eventually everybody's gonna have these records in their homes. You're going to have all the versions of all this stuff on bootlegs and tape and vinyl. After a while though, you're kid's gonna eat them, you're dog's gonna shit on them and your second wife will throw them out. So why don't you guys go form your own bands, or why don't you go find some and then you'll find some dirty bitches and get laid and you'll have a good time.

“Link Wray is the prime mover, like electricity to the lamp.”

pdf scan (48 pages / 65 MB)

Nashville, TN. (SM)

An extraordinary discovery was made as two frozen Neanderthals were found in a cave in the Antarctic. A successful defrosting was made at the Toe Rag Centre of Scientific Research in London, England. This is a major breakthrough in the research of human evolution. Dr. Liam Watson, Phd Genetical Research, at T.R.C.S.R. says: “I'm thrilled, because such progress has not been made since the discovery of Eegah, a living caveman, found in the Mojave Desert in 1962. These creatures are potentially very dangerous and if our calculations are correct, there might be thousands more still alive. We could be facing a full-scale invasion from these horrible creatures." The Savage Tribune phoned Eddie Angel, the discoverer of the Neanderthals to get his view on this fantastic find. Is this the latest menace to the human race?