The Black Angel Zine
Welcome to The Black Angel Zine, where Black Angel Promotions brings you the latest and greatest in rock, metal, and punk culture. Our zine is your go-to source for concert reviews, movie and documentary critiques, advice for aspiring musicians, retro music reviews, and the freshest news in the industry. Dive into each section and discover the raw, unfiltered content that makes Black Angel Promotions the voice of the underground.
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Stay in the know with the latest happenings in the world of rock, metal, and punk. Our news section is your source for the updates that matter—band announcements, tour plans, album release dates, and the events shaking up the industry. Whether it's a long-awaited reunion, a shocking split, or a game-changing collaboration, we’ve got the info you need.
We don’t just report the news; we deliver it with the edge and attitude you expect from Black Angel Promotions. Our commitment is to keep you connected to the heartbeat of the music you love, cutting through the noise to bring you real stories that resonate. Check back regularly for updates that keep your finger on the pulse.
Can 2025 just fucking stop already? Ozzy and David Roach of Junkyard were more than enough heartbreak, and now, Ace fuckin’ Frehley has left us. What a hole he leaves behind. This one hits on a different level. KISS wasn’t just another band to me as kid, it was life. My childhood was painted in greasepaint and guitar solos. I can still see the flashes of those album covers, “Love Gun” and “Rock and Roll Over”, my original vinyl copies, worn and weathered, but still spinning strong. My Ace solo record, though, that poor thing is wrecked due to overuse. I played the absolute dog shit out of it. It was always my favorite. Ace and Peter were always my guys, sorry, Cam McHargue . I know My mom made sure I had every KISS record and tape she could get her hands on. That was more than enough to light a lifelong fire. “Shock Me” and “Talk To Me” still send chills down my spine. And then came Frehley’s Comet. That debut hit like a meteor, loud, defiant, and full of space dust and swagger. When “Rock Soldiers” kicked in, I felt like I was part of something, a brotherhood of misfits who didn’t just listen to Rock; we lived it. I still call myself one of them, though I’ve prefer the title “Rock Warrior.” Meeting Cam McHargue way back when, lit a fire of KISS love for a few years too – they his favorite band, next to W.A.S.P. of course. That dude talked about them like they were long lost friends. We had HOURS of conversations that would never fucking end about which albums were the best and which ACE solos were better. I’m not going to talk about how Ace should’ve had more songs in KISS, that ship sailed long ago. The reasons were their own, and the circus carried on. But let’s be honest, KISS has mocked themselves to death. And I’m sure Gene and Paul will find a way to disrespect Ace even in death. This though, this is the real end of an era. There will never be another time when we see the true band, the real spirit, take the stage again. And I don’t care who’s reading this, Tommy Thayer wearing Ace’s makeup has always been a disgrace. You can’t imitate soul. You can copy the look, the licks, even the smoke from the guitar, but you can’t fake that cosmic magic. Ace was danger. He was mystery. He was the heart of KISS’s wild side. He made being an outsider feel like belonging. That was his real power, beyond the solos, beyond the image. Ace gave the weird kids, the dreamers, the Rockers who never quite fit anywhere, a home amongst the stars. He told us it was okay to be loud, to be strange, to be ourselves. So yeah, this one hurts. Another legend is gone. Another light in the galaxy has gone dim. But every time that Les Paul screams through the speakers, every time “Shock Me” rips through the night, he’s still there, floating somewhere above us, six strings closer to heaven. Long live the Space Man. The one. The only. ACE FUCKIN’ FREHLEY
I always say that 1987 was the most important year for music in my life, but the more I look back, the more I realize 1989 had just as much to say. I was coming of age, past puberty, into rebellion, and already applying for the job of Captain Trouble. Of course, no 13 or 14-year-old could be legit trouble without the right soundtrack, or the right amount of booze and chemical inspiration, but that's a whole different confession. And 1989… it came armed with the soundtrack I needed, delivered with divine timing, especially that summer. May gave us the self-titled debut from Texas hellraisers Dangerous Toys, and June gave us Junkyard, by way of California but carrying Texas grit in their pockets. Two albums. Just two. But those records came to define me, not just as a music fan, but as a drummer, and frankly, as a human being. I’ve lived those lyrics on purpose, some by accident. I drank too much, took too much, laughed too loud, fought too often, and loved the chaos too dearly to see it happening. But from those albums came something deeper. A mantra. A war cry. A piece of soul carved into vinyl. Junkyard’s “Simple Man” wasn’t just a song, it was scripture. It still is. The lyrics spoke in a language I hadn’t heard before but somehow always understood. The groove and approach were what I now call Southern Sleaze, a term I live by. To this day, if someone says, “Hey man, this sounds like Southern Sleaze,” I’ll damn near break my neck to give it a listen. That song, it is me. I’m the guy they sing about, on purpose, with pride. My socials even quote it “Don’t throw your pennies in the wishing well, cause what you get is what you see.” My wife will agree with this sentiment too although it took her several years to come around to accepting it, now she appreciates that about me. That line has followed me since ’89, like a shadow and a shield. I’ve listened to more music than I can count, written my fair share too, but “Simple Man” still stands tall as the one. The gold standard. My personal gospel. Junkyard never stopped. Not really. They were Rock Warriors, scarred and shining, and I followed them through it all, lineup changes, label switches, indie releases, tour rumors, all of it. The internet helped, and later, so did social media. I got to befriend a few of the band members, and more importantly, I found other lifers, fans who loved this band as deeply as I did. Some of those people are now among the most beautiful souls I’ve ever met. As for the band, I only ever really chatted with vocalist, David Roach, and even that was minimal. I didn’t want to fanboy too hard or come off like some kid still begging for an autograph. I’ve always been that way - respectful. These people are human. You don’t treat them like trading cards or living statues. I’d drop into his DMs now and then, check in, ask about new music or tours. Quiet admiration. Still, I've never seen Junkyard live. That’s a damn crime in my book. They were part of the Monsters of Rock Cruise scene for a while, but I never went. Too expensive. Too surreal. Too many fans mistaking proximity for entitlement, hovering around their heroes like flies at a barbecue. That’s not me. I don’t need selfies while they’re eating. They know we love them. You’re on the fucking boat with them, let the man drink his juice in peace. That’s my opinion though, it’s not law, it’s just my 2 pennies. Then came the news that cut deep. A few years ago, maybe not even that long, David announced he was battling cancer. I backed off immediately. That’s the time for space and dignity, not inbox clutter. I gave what I could to the GoFundMes, I sent strength through silence and followed updates from his wife, who posted daily, even when things got rough. Especially then. And now… he’s gone. Yesterday. Maybe the day before. Time doesn’t matter when grief shows up, it just is. A wife lost her husband. A child lost their father. A band lost its frontman. And we, the musical misfits, the lifers, the dirtbags with hearts of gold, lost one of the truest voices to ever rise from the Texas heat. David Roach was a lifer. And he was that Simple Man. There’s not a damn thing more admirable than that. I’m crushed once more. This is another voice of my youth falling silent. Another soul who taught me how to survive, how to feel, and how to keep it real, even when life turns savage. When I can’t find the words, I put on “Simple Man” and let David speak for me. I dive back into Junkyard’s catalog like a lifeboat, looking for comfort, for clarity, for that edge of truth I can’t express alone. He had the pulse. He had the guts. And even when the spotlight dimmed and the hairs turned grey, he never strayed. You don’t live through something like the ‘80s and just walk away from it. Unless, of course, you never really meant it. David meant it. Every damn word. Denim vest, heart on sleeve, middle finger ready. A man’s man. A poetic bruiser. A straight-shooting, no-bullshit saint in Sleaze. And now, gone. But we have the records. We have memories. We have the lines tattooed across our souls. And we’ll carry him with us until the wheels fall off this motherfucker. R.I.P. David Roach Thank you for showing a wild Georgia kid that it’s okay to be simple, to be raw, to be real. And to never, ever, take shit from anyone.
Farewell to the Father of Metal I can’t quite recall the first time I heard Ozzy. Not exactly. But I know it was a Sabbath record, one my mom picked up for me. That was our thing: records for birthdays, Christmas, or just because. She didn’t overthink it, just snagged whatever sat on the endcaps. KISS. Alice Cooper. Sabbath. Then came Ozzy’s solo work, and with it, something seismic shifted inside me. It must’ve been '79, on the cusp of a new decade. Next came Blizzard of Ozz and Diary of a Madman. Amazingly, I still have those same two records today. Not replacements. Not reissues. The real thing. They’ve survived the wreckage, just like I did. Sabbath was a love. But those Ozzy records, They cut deeper. Randy Rhoads’ guitar - A revelation. Ozzy’s voice - A spell. The melodies, they carried me someplace else. I studied those album covers like sacred texts, memorized the lyrics and wrapped myself in every note like armor. Ozzy wasn’t just an artist to me. He was something holy, a constant in a life where constants didn’t exist. When I was a kid, I told people Ozzy was my dad. They knew I was lying. I knew it too. But it felt better than the truth: I was the discarded son of a burnout musician who chose bar tabs and backstage blowjobs over bedtime stories and birthdays. So, Ozzy & my older brother raised me. His voice, his chaos, his pain, they gave me a place to hide, a space to heal, a world where I was wanted. That has never changed. I’ve lost count of how many times I saw him live. Ozzy solo. Sabbath reunited. Ozzfest in its glory. And I’ve had the honor of covering his songs on stage myself, Mr. Crowley still gives me chills when a guitarist nails those leads. I’ve never claimed Ozzy or Sabbath were my favorites. They’re more than that. They’re elemental. If you’re a Metalhead, Ozzy is the oxygen you breathe. We don’t have Metal without him. We never would’ve. Today, I am shattered. He’s gone. Just weeks after I watched his final show. I wept the whole time, even during bands I don’t care for. But it wasn’t about preference. It was about presence. It was about bearing witness. It was about love. You could see it in his face. Hear it in the strain of his voice. He knew it was goodbye. And he still gave us everything he had left. The tempos were slower, sure, but who gives a damn? That man showed up. For us. His tribe. His chosen family. My wife called me at work today. She didn’t want me to find out online. She knows how I carry grief. I drove home in tears, blasting deep cuts from those same solo albums I’ve been clinging to since the farewell show. What a life he lived. What a hole he leaves behind. For his family. For us. For Metal itself. I told my wife during that show, “He won’t see the end of the year.” Not because he looked frail, but because he looked finished. At peace. Like a man who had given everything and wanted to give us a proper farewell. After the PPV ended, I watched the whole thing again. Just because I could. Because it mattered. Because it felt right. A few weeks earlier, I’d had double ear surgery. I’d been struggling to hear anything clearly. But that day, my ears were open. And I heard him. The Universe, or maybe Ozzy himself, was giving me one last gift. One more embrace. One final reminder that I belonged. Long may his spirit thunder across this Earth, in riffs, in howls, in rebellion and in grace. Ozzy Osbourne, the eternal father of misfits and Metal hearts. God bless Ozzy. God bless his family. And God bless every single soul he ever saved with a song. R.I.P. Dad, the sweetest Prince Of Darkness the world has ever known. “You don’t need a ticket to ride with me… I’m free.” "Let me see your fucking cigarette lighters"!
Black Angel Promotions is proud to announce the release of the CD press of The Unforgotten: The Rare and Unreleased from the legendary Hellbilly/Cow Punk Texas band, Ghoultown. This album features several deep cuts, a few live cuts and the long OOP “Killer in Texas” EP. This album has never been offered in physical format until now. This pressing will be limited to 100 pieces only. Each CD will be hand numbered. We won’t be offering a repress, no holds and no preorders will be available. No sales outside of the USA will be offered. The release date is February 25 th @ 5PM (EST) Prepare yourselves to DRINK WITH THE LIVING DEAD once more… https://blackangelpromotions.bigcartel.com/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tiumPFYv058&list=PLKKv22G-G4CKRAmk1RB0KjyQu_xlx34g2
The B-Shakers Kissed By The Devil Self-Released 2025 I first heard of The B-Shakers on their 2021 release “Shaker Attack” and I’ve been following them since. Thankfully, earlier this year the band unleashed a new album entitled “Kissed by the Devil” and it’s a high-octane Rockabilly sermon straight out of the dancehall of hell. The band hails from Switzerland and features a female vocalist/guitarist, and they carry that old-school swagger of the 50’s but there’s enough grit and talent here to fit in with today’s modern-day Rockabilly bands. From the opening track, “Son Of A Gun” the band’s sound revs like a hopped-up V8 engine, slapping upright bass, sharp guitar twang, and a drumbeat that sounds like it’s pounding through the floorboards of a dilapidated roadhouse somewhere in Memphis Tennessee. The production has that warm, tube-driven tone that gives the record live-wire energy, the kind of sound that makes you want to stomp, shout, and light something on fire just to feel the heat. Thematically, “Kissed by the Devil” is classic Rockabilly fare, but handled with swagger and confidence. The track “Til The Lights Blow Out” is pure fire: seductive, dangerous, and full of swaggering rhythms. It’s got that midnight-lust vibe that feels like it was written during a full moon with a switchblade in one hand and a microphone in the other. “Big Hearted Mama” is a swingin’ little banger that’s packed with some brilliant slide guitar riffs and a backbeat to die for! Tracks like “B-Shakers Boogie” and “Bullet In Your Chest” keep the album’s pulse pounding, full of hellish hooks and old-school charm. But what really makes The B-Shakers stand apart is their tight musicianship. The guitars whip and shimmer, the bass slaps like it owes money, and the vocals, while melodic and raw, bring that perfect mix of danger and cool. When the album is over you feel like you’ve ridden shotgun through a Rockabilly inferno and lived to tell the tale. “Kissed by the Devil” is a bottle of sin cracked open and poured out on the dancehall floor. This is a band that would be a fan favorite at a Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekender, no doubt!
Revenge Night Danger Dying Victims Productions 2025 As we crawl toward the end of the year, I find myself once again homesick for all the things that made my younger self tick - the warmth of family, the rituals, the nostalgia… And yeah, the never-ending hunger for METAL. Why? Because back then, when the holidays rolled around, I lived for that moment when someone asked what albums I wanted. I’d make a list, scribble it down like it was sacred scripture - top wants first, then a few wildcards I’d only seen in the pages of Hit Parader or in the import bin at the Record Bar. It was all Metal. All killer. All mine. I wouldn’t get them all, but whatever I did score became the soundtrack to my existence for months on end. Why am I rambling about the good ol’ days? Because the band we’re talking about today – Revenge, soundtracks that exact feeling. They’re a total throwback to the age of true Speed Metal, the kind that lived and breathed through amps and denim, not algorithms and compression plugins. I’m talking about the smell of cheap beer, stale smoke, and the heat of a sweaty crowd with fists in the air. Revenge hails from Colombia but make no mistake, their heart beats in the same rhythm as Priest, Riot, and Helloween. This is the real deal: no gimmicks, no trends, no modern Metal fluff. Just head-splitting riffs and galloping drums riding shotgun with raw, soaring vocals. The band’s latest album, “Night Danger,” marks their tenth release, and somehow, this is my first time hearing them. I’m not sure if I should hang my head in shame or start celebrating, because now I’ve got nine more slabs of fire and fury to dig into. On “Night Danger”, Revenge pays homage to the old gods without ever sounding like a tribute act. They get it. They don’t overthink it. They don’t try to “modernize” something that was already perfect. The production is sharp enough to bite but still filthy enough to feel like it was recorded in a basement lined with posters and bad decisions. If you crave face-melting riffs, leads that could light up the night sky, and clean-but-commanding vocals that soar without losing angst, then “Night Danger” is a must-own. The album walks that fine line between Speed and Thrash, leaning hard into the former while keeping the energy of the latter, and that balance is what makes it rip. The arrangements are surprisingly dynamic, too; the band knows when to go full-throttle and when to let the groove breathe. That’s the mark of lifers, guys who don’t just play this music, they live it. If these maniacs ever make their way stateside and hit the South, you can bet your leather and studs, I’ll be front and center, getting baptized once again, just like the first time I stood in front of a stage and felt the earth shake under the power of pure Metal. Standout Tracks: “Misty Night,” “Night Danger,” “The Devil Race,” and “Soldier’s Heart.”
Sponge Electric Cattle Gods Cleopatra Records 2025 90’s Alt. Rockers Sponge are back with a follow up to last year’s cover album - “1994”. This time around though, the band is bringing out their dead… Yes, this new feast entitled “Electric Cattle Gods” is a collection of songs from the band’s earliest days, I’m sure a few of the songs rightfully should’ve and could’ve made it on the band’s debut “Rotting Pinata”. I can’t speak on why they didn’t but anyone who’s been in a band, around a band or in studio, understands that not every song gets recorded/released. That’s fine by me because a lot of albums like this really hide some of the best tracks. It also helps that it goes back to a certain moment in time. Also, something cool to know is that the title of this new album was the band’s original name, but The Ritz didn’t have enough letters to spell it out on the Marquee. Rumor has it that the band just said do you have enough letters to spell the word “Sponge” out and that was it, the band was known as Sponge from then on. I must hand it to the members of the band, they’re a lot cooler than me, I wouldn’t have gone with that logic, I would’ve said just leave our name off. But let’s be honest here, there was already a band called Electric Love Hogs floating around, so it’s similar enough that it would’ve confused people. Big differences in sound there… Getting into the Electric Cattle Gods, as soon you press play, you’ll instantly be taken back to 1994. This is the Sponge album I’ve been waiting for ever since the band hit the airwaves! You can hear the similarities and the moments that were captured on “Rotting Pinata”. This is long overdue if we’re being fair. I do find myself a bit more than curious that these songs weren’t held over and released on the band’s second album, “Wax Ecstatic” or even the band’s third release, “New Pop Sunday”. I’m not in the band’s inner circle but it doesn’t take much to know that those albums weren’t anywhere near as popular as “Rotting Pinata”. If I would’ve been within an earshot of the band, I would’ve been screaming for the moody “My Desert Low” to have been added on one of those albums. The tune “Welcome Home” would’ve been a great debut single for “Wax Ecstatic”. Another great add here is “Cowboy Eyes” which was a B-side to the band’s single “Molly”. Naturally, it wasn’t easily heard in the USA, but thankfully, there’s a special Record Shop in Atlanta, Ga. That carries singles and random oddities, so I’ve been able to enjoy that tune all these years. Speaking of “Molly” the demo version has been added here as well as the working version of the tune “Drownin” which was one of my favorite tracks off the “Rotting Pinata” album. The “Molly” track is exactly what you’d expect, however “Drownin” isn’t at all what you’d expect… There are strings, there’s no drums and the mood is even more desperate and moving than it originally was. That’s hard for me to say, I really identified and clung to that song particularly as I was losing myself in drugs around this era, so the lyrics really spoke to me. I still get chills when I listen to the tune, this version hurts me in the most wonderful way. The single off the album though is a new track called “Wet Brain”, not sure why there’s a new tune on the album and that’s the lead single, but hey it is what it is. And it’s Sponge, so it’s not at all bad. I would’ve gone with one of the deeper cuts based off the success of the original strength of “Pinata”. The original fans should be clamoring for this album, it’s a return to those earlier days of youth, naivete and big dreams or in my case – some of the darkest times of my life. I’m still here for it and I love this album just as much as I do “Rotting Pinata”, I can’t not, you can hear the energy, the hunger and the hope of a band who was on the verge of stardom, and they didn’t know it. Kudos to Cleopatra for having the guts to get this album out to the masses!
Kill Ritual In My Head Massacre Records 2025 Kill Ritual’s “In My Head” lands like a late-night confession you weren’t prepared for but damn sure needed. It’s a record built on tension, the kind that creeps under your skin, settles in, and dares you to shake it loose. From the moment the title track kicks in, you can hear the band scraping the rust off old scars, unleashing riffs that grind and Thrash with purpose while the vocals carry that weathered “I’ve seen some shit, and you’re gonna hear about every one of them” weight. There’s an almost unhinged energy running through the whole album, but it’s controlled chaos, tight, deliberate, always coiled for the next strike. The guitars stalk and chug with feral intensity, the rhythm section swings like a wrecking ball, and the melodies slice through the mix like a machete. Vocally, there’s a clear echo of early-to-mid-era Metal Church, an unmistakable Mike Howe vibe in the timbre that works beautifully, especially for us old heads. Tracks like “Fall to Fly” and “I Paint in Death” nail that vibe dead-on. What really sets “In My Head” apart is its attitude. It’s not here to charm you with polish or pretty packaging. It’s here to spit gravel, drag its boots across your floor, and remind you that Metal can still feel dangerous when a band means it. There’s a raw nastiness cooked into every corner of this album, like these songs were carved out with bare hands and bad intentions. It’s not perfect and that’s the point. The rough edges are the character. This is a throwback to the glory years of early Thrash and Speed Metal, delivered without apology or compromise. Kill Ritual aren’t trying to reinvent the wheel; they’re just making damn sure it still spins fast enough to leave scorch marks behind. “In My Head” is heavy, hungry, and proudly mean-spirited in all the right ways. If you want a record that bites, something that sounds like it crawled out of a late-night bad mood and refused to leave, Kill Ritual has got you covered.
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Talk to us about this era of the band – the members, the recording of the album etc. Paint a picture for the OG fans of what it felt like to be in the studio laying down tracks like “44 Caliber”? It was amazing. Most of the time I was a walking drunk then, but I drank wine, you know? “Alcoholic Haze” on that record. I sang that in the studio half drunk. Michael Johnson from the band Catera produced the album. They were sort of like Mother's Finest. We had Smooth, their backing vocalist, sang amazing on “Damn Saint,” and their keyboardist, Chavez, did some work on “Boney Fingers Of Truth,” “Loose Screw,” and “Damn Saint.” But yeah, being in there during that time, man, and being in the studio, being in there recording “.44 Caliber,” it was a vision of just, you know, being a gunslinger or something. Sort of like a Stephen King book, you know, it felt like I was a gunslinger of other dimensions. And then I’d have visions of the Son of Sam murders, you know, and I'd go deep in imagination and a lot of it was dark, you know, a lot of dark and haunted imagery, and I loved every haunted minute of it. We recorded it in Ringgold, GA at Michael Johnson’s place, Ultrasound Studio. But doing that during that time was wonderful and it felt good. I was on top of my game during that time. We started recording that record in ’98 with Tony Byers but ended up re-recording the whole thing with Dave Schenk. Do you have a favorite track off the album and why? My favorite track from the album, “Alcoholic Haze.” I love the whole record, but “Alcoholic Haze.” I did my crying solo like Lux Interior on it, and I loved doing the crying solo, but that was where I was at, you know, and I mean it was getting me ready to quit alcohol, quit drinking. We were having a ball. I'd get drunk on the weekends, you know, like I’d be working all week and then come Friday I'd be drunk. I’d get to Johnny’s, they’d throw me in the back of the hearse with the equipment, like I was a piece of equipment, and then we’d go to a show. I'd be drunk at the show, and we had a ball, it wasn’t a big deal. But then everything started becoming a problem because I couldn't even go to Best Buy without being drunk. I couldn't hang out with my friends without being drunk. I wanted to enhance it in some way, and it seemed like that my whole damn life was becoming, you know, a freaking drunk joke. I couldn't just enjoy myself without trying to get drunk. “Alcoholic Haze” told the truth. And there's a lot of songs like that. The first song on the record is a part of that, Pretty Weird, Huh? It's part of that whole trip, you know, the whole thing was about being too messed up to even have people come over. I mean, it’d become a problem, and recording the album itself I was drunk, you know, so Real Gone Pale Face was probably as close to self-destruction as I could get, and it was the truth, you know? I was a “real gone pale face and that’s no illusion…I’m never, ever, ever gonna drink again…” Also, can you share with us what formats the album will be released in – CD, Vinyl, Cassette? Please share/plug everything about the reissue so our readers know where they can get it if they can’t make the show. I'm gonna let Lysa roll it down for you. LS – RGPF will be available on CD and eerie green 12” vinyl in limited numbers and you can get one at the Halloween Resurrection Show on Oct 31 st at Songbird’s. The CD's we may reissue one more time, but the 12” will be in the limited number of 100 on the green vinyl. If you come out to the release show to get one, they will be available at a discounted rate, and you can get them signed for free. We will even have collector sleeves available at the live show, so you don’t have to feel bad about taking your record out of the plastic for signing. If you can't make it to the Halloween Resurrection Show at Songbird’s to pick one up on the release date, we will make any remaining copies available through our website at: theunsatisfied.com on the merch and discography pages Nov 1 st . I know it’s been years since the album was originally released, but were there any cuts that didn’t make the album? If so, have they been released on anything else or are they still lingering in limbo waiting to be unleashed? They're probably a few songs that we were doing during that time period that that didn't make it. I can't remember off the top of my head, but Johnny would remember that stuff. For most part, that whole album was the set list that we were running by at the time. You know, that was probably pretty accurate on that. As far as any extra songs there might have been a couple. There might have been some songs that made it to Seven Inch Rock Scar that we were doing during the Real Gone Pale Face era that waited until we got to the next album. While we’re talking about Unsatisfied albums, please share where your physical albums can be purchased. Tell us what you have available physically, I’m sure there are a few good people out there that would like to have an Unsatisfied Record or CD! That’s a Lysa question, she’s the go-to on what we’ve got and where to get it. LS – We currently have Street Shaman on CD and 12” black vinyl. We also have Songs the Belt Taught Us on CD and on limited edition autographed CD. These are available at live shows and on our website at: theunsatisfied.com , just check the merch and discography pages. Or feel free to email me at: theunsatisfied2020@gmail and just ask, and I will put together an invoice for you through there 😊 This last option works best if you are buying multiple copies or combinations. Real Gone Pale Face will also be available this way after Nov 1 st . If you would like to hear samples of the songs, check out the discography and EPK pages of the website at: theunsatisfied.com
Several weeks ago, Tracy had the opportunity to sit down with Victor Elian, guitarist and vocalist of the Brazilian Death Metal band Escarnium. In their conversation, Elian offered insight into the group’s current projects, the state of the underground metal scene in Brazil, and what lies ahead for the band. Known for their uncompromising sound and relentless energy, Escarnium continues to carve out a place for themselves on the global stage, and Elian’s perspective sheds light on both the challenges and the passion that drive the band forward. Can you give us a brief history of how and when Escarnium came to be? Escarnium started taking shape in 2008/2009. I already had a handful of song ideas and finally began giving them real life after I left Impetuous Rage in late 2007—not the friendliest split, let’s say. From there we pulled friends in, rehearsed anywhere we could, and by 2010 we were playing shows and putting out demos. You guys are from Salvador, Brazil. What’s the metal scene like there? Salvador’s scene is often overlooked—even by locals—but it’s vibrant. Classic names like Headhunter DC, Mystifier and Malefactor paved the way, and killer new bands such as Devouring keep popping up. We have committed promoters, zinesters and distros; everything a healthy scene needs. Sure, we’re outside the Rio/São Paulo/Belo Horizonte axis, so the city sometimes gets forgotten, but to us Salvador (and Bahia as a whole) is still the best place in the world to play. For the new album, did you have many of the songs prepared before you recorded? If so, was there a lot of collaboration and adding ideas to them once you were in the studio? Yeah—drafts of several tracks were around as far back as 2019. COVID and an old-label mess delayed things, but that also gave us freedom to refine every riff. In 2022 we proudly released the EP Dysthymia ; many riffs on the new record were written in that same creative burst, so the EP now feels like a clear harbinger rather than a stopgap. Pre-production opened the floodgates, and once we hit Walzwerk Studio, Sergej (who runs it) kept pushing fresh ideas. His talent and instinct really elevated the final songs. This is your fourth full-length overall. How has the band’s sound evolved since you formed, and what’s the biggest evolution you notice on this album specifically? The core is still dark, straightforward death metal, but we’ve let our influences roam more freely—crust, punk, grind, black metal, even jazz or soul. Experience in the studio taught us that sometimes a two-note riff can crush harder than a thousand-note sweep. To me the new album is a natural step beyond Interitus : same raw violence, sharper dynamics, deeper atmosphere. Nothing reinventing the wheel—just 100 % Escarnium, honed. Being signed to Everlasting Spew Records, what is your relationship like with them? Fantastic. They’re transparent, supportive and genuinely care about underground extreme music—no shady moves (we’ve had enough of those elsewhere). We’d wanted to work with them for a while; once our deal with Testimony finally ended, Thomas Haywood at Redefining Darkness (our U.S. partner) connected the dots and Everlasting Spew welcomed us instantly. Grazie to both labels.
A few days ago, it was announced that Jason McMaster, Paul Lidel, Jack Pyers, David Beeson, and Mark McLain would be releasing a new EP under the banner of HOT SHOT. If you're a little long in the tooth or just have an insatiable appetite for Rock N' Roll, you already know these guys are straight-up Rock royalty, having played major roles in bands like Dangerous Toys, Dirty Looks, Broken Teeth, and Sacred Reich. Naturally, The Rev. and I were all over it. We immediately reached out to cover the EP and lined up an interview with Jason himself. We wanted to keep the spotlight squarely on HOT SHOT so we and the rest of the world could get the full scoop. The Rev. took the reins on the interview. His questions were spot-on, so I didn’t mess with a thing. Sometimes you just let greatness speak for itself. So, grab yourself a strong drink and dig in, this is one you won’t want to miss.
I can’t lie, I swiped “Halfway to Halloween” idea from the Horror Music label, HorrorShock Records. The label was promoting their upcoming show of the same name, and I thought what a genius idea. It also didn’t hurt that the label had sent us a few of their releases to review for the site. So, I put it all together and turned it into a special little celebration for us, the label and all the fans of Horror! In doing so, I wanted to reach out and do an all-inclusive interview with the label owner, Rev. Chad Wells. The Rev. has been in the Horror scene for several years now and he’s responsible for one of my favorite Horror bands – The Jackalopes! Not only that, but Chad’s also the vocalist of a newer Horror band, The Creepy Crawlers. Wells is a staunch supporter of his scene and a real family man at heart. I have a great deal more respect after conducting this interview and from trading barbs back and forth. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a kinder gentleman in the Horror scene. Since you’re in charge of a Horror Label/Media group, can you share with us what first attracted you to the genre of Horror no matter whether it be music, movies or media? What planted the seed of Horror first that lead you to start this business up? That one’s kinda tricky. I was born to teen parents in the early 70’s and horror was sort of ever present in our world back then. Every TV show had a spooky Halloween episode. Scooby Doo was on every day and that’s definitely horror adjacent. The Universal Monsters were sort of everything at that point in time. My uncles had these floppy rubber action toys that were non-posable, sticky, ridiculous things, but they were Frankenstein’s Monster, Wolfman, Dracula and The Creature. But it was really the limited, non-cable TV we had back then. Lugosi’s Dracula was on TV one Sunday afternoon when I was probably 5 years old and seeing that imagery made me want more. Also, our local TV network had its own very cool and fun late night horror host, Dr. Creep. Dr. Creep was the host of “Shock Theater” and had white face paint with his orbitals blacked out with greasepaint. He had a jawline beard and semi long hair. He was a big heavy man in black - like an alternate universe Santa Claus. He was the biggest gateway drug. I think that KISS, Alice Cooper, The Misfits, King Diamond and Dark Throne all owe my fandom for them to this awesome old horror movie host. He used to MC the openings of businesses and stuff. You could go out to the new Burger King on Main Street and Dr. Creep would sign autographs there. I attended many events in my childhood just to shake his hand and have him sign a photocopied promo shot. Will you please share with us what all Horrorshock Media does, are you all just a music label or can we expect something else? We call it HorrorShock Media because we don’t want to limit ourselves. We’re all interested in music, video, movies, art, books, and events. Expect the unexpected. We get really bored with things fast. When the whole scene seems to be doing one thing, I’d rather go back the other way and maybe even take the long way around to discover something new that strikes my curiosity and then we’ll do what we want to do for the sake of pleasing ourselves and the people like us. We’ll work with certain acts forever and other acts get one shot, and it feels wrong, and they’re gone. We’re not here to make a bunch of fake friends or collect followers. We’re here to build platforms for our own art and the art of people we want to boost. So far, what obstacles have you faced as a label owner, aside from sales – those are always tricky, specifically today given that most folks have went digital. Sales are weird. If you want the business to pay its bills and grow, you need to see some way to accrue some financial gains. That’s not an easy game nowadays for all the reasons you mentioned and more. I think the hardest obstacle for me is the “peopling”. Every scene has busybodies who are friends with everybody just so they can float around and talk shit about everyone. I don’t do a lot of the interpersonal “friendly” stuff for that very reason. The bad news is that we’ve worked really hard to make a cool thing and certain people make it their business to try to tear it down. The good news is that those people have only been successful in looking foolish and being turd stirrers. Comparison is the thief of joy, so we don’t look at what anybody else is doing. We have our blinders on and are burning our own trail and that’s where we want to be. If you compare what we’re doing with what other labels or bands or scenes are doing, we look terrific from one angle and we look like we have no idea what we’re doing from another angle. I like not knowing what I’m doing. It’s always a surprise that way! Are you a physical media guy or have you moved over to digital, personally? I still have a ton of physical media, and I love creating and holding new media. I’ve got thousands of records, tapes and CD’s, VHS, DVD, Blu Ray’s, stuff on hard drives… I’ve even got old floppy discs. But for discovering new music I just really love the digital realm. Youtube especially, but I do use that evil corporate tyrant Spotify as well. I can find something, go down a rabbit hole, find more, playlist it, burn it out by overplaying it and see if I still like it in a month or three and then, maybe I’ll buy that insanely expensive $30 to $40 vinyl release or a couple T-Shirts at the show. I love the ease of digital. I wish that vinyl and CDs were as inexpensive as they once were. Some labels and distros that have huge rosters do it right and have $10 vinyl if you buy 5 or more. I think that’s a great way to go.
The Monster Squad is a cult classic that blends Horror, comedy, and childhood adventure into a fast-paced, creature-filled romp. Released in 1987, this film carries the DNA of the '80s, quirky characters, punchy one-liners, and a deep love for classic monster lore, all wrapped up in 90 minutes. I vividly recall watching it for the first time and declaring it the best movie I’d ever seen! As a matter of fact, I watched the VHS 3 times before I returned it to the Video Store. The story follows a group of monster-obsessed kids who find themselves in the middle of a supernatural shit storm when Dracula assembles a team of legendary creatures, including Frankenstein’s monster, the Wolfman, the Mummy, and the Gill-man to take over the world. Only the kids, armed with their knowledge of monster mythology and a healthy dose of courage and balls, stand in their way. What makes The Monster Squad stand out is its unapologetic embrace of classic Universal-style monsters while injecting a youthful, irreverent energy that keeps the tone light even when the stakes are high. The practical effects hold up surprisingly well, with each monster given a distinct look and personality, thanks in large part to the craftsmanship of the makeup and effects teams. There's a real affection for the source material, and that respect shines through in every scene. The young cast delivers performances that are surprisingly grounded for a film that features ancient amulets and creatures of the night. The chemistry between the kids sells their friendship and makes you root for them, even when the dialogue occasionally leans into the era’s cheesier tendencies. The film straddles the line between a kid-friendly and something darker, and that balance is key to its enduring appeal. While it might not have landed huge box office success on release, it’s easy to see why The Monster Squad has gained a loyal following over the years. It captures a specific kind of youthful imagination, the belief that, if monsters were real, only the most dedicated fans could stop them. The movie isn’t perfect, the plot moves fast, sometimes too fast for its own good, and some characters feel underdeveloped, but the charm, energy, and fun more than make up for it. The movie also plays into stuff that we were going through ourselves as kids – being bullied, being overweight, nerdy, un-popular and just all-around uncool. A lot of us were misunderstood, we didn’t have the best home life and growing up just wasn’t the best. It spoke deeply to me as a young kid who had experienced it all at such a young age. I wanted to be a part of “The Goddamn Club” – I know they would’ve let me join up, stake some Vampires and raise hell along with them. With every watch this movie gave me hope that I’d find a place where I would fit in and be wanted eventually. Sadly, that never came to fruition in “real life”. However, I carved my own path through playing music, writing and other random sorts of internet madness. Now I don’t give a damned whether I fit in or I’m wanted or not, and I’m a firm believer that ALL kids should be raised this way… In the words of the immortal Dee Snider, "I Am, (I'm Me)". For bone-US points the documentary “Wolfman’s Got Nards” is wonderfully written and shot documentary on the movie that goes in deep on every nook and cranny of the movie. If you’re a fan, it’s something you absolutely can’t miss! The Monster Squad is a love letter to monster movies and all of us kids who adore them. It’s funny, spooky, and full of heart, exactly the kind of film that has earned its place as a Halloween staple for generations.
I didn’t walk into Clown in a Cornfield expecting to feel like I’d been dropkicked straight into the rotting guts of small-town America, but here we are. This thing hits like a 3-day bender on Red Bull and fertilizer fumes. It’s a slasher, yeah, but not the shiny Hollywood kind. It’s the kind that smells like gasoline, dried blood, and the desperate sweat of a town that gave up on itself twenty years ago. Kettle Springs, that’s the sad little speck of a town where this mess unfolds. They used to have pride back when factory jobs paid the bills and everyone smiled through their teeth at Sunday service. Now it’s just dust, broken dreams, and a clown mascot named Frendo that nobody gives a shit about anymore. But ol’ Frendo, he’s not taking retirement quietly. No sir, this bastard comes back to slice, dice, and cleanse the corn-fed sinners one screaming teen at a time. It’s got that classic slasher DNA, kids getting picked off for being loud, horny, or alive, but there’s something nastier festering under the surface. Every kill feels like a punchline to a joke about how far gone we are as a species. The blood isn’t there to shock, it’s there to remind you that this place has been bleeding for years. The teens are exactly what they should be - smartasses who think they’ve outgrown the rusted-out ghost town that they live in. And maybe they have. But when the killing starts, they’re not running from some random psycho, they’re running from the entire ideology that built the town. The clown’s just the blade attached to it. The violence is unrelenting, beautiful and glorious. It doesn’t dance around with slow buildups or ironic detachment. When Frendo gets going, it’s chaotic, loud, messy, and cathartic. You can almost taste the blood and corn dust in the air. The kills are mean, the pacing’s relentless, and it all feels like a middle finger to nostalgia, a scream in the face of “make small towns great again” delusion. In the end, I wasn’t rooting for survival. I was rooting for obliteration. Clown in a Cornfield isn’t just Horror; it’s a grimy reflection of a country choking on its own traditions. It’s blood-soaked, fast, and mean as hell. Exactly the way I like it. I didn’t waste any time purchasing the Blu-ray edition of this movie, I couldn’t get in the door at Wal-Mart fast enough to collect my prize – I’m going to get a shit ton of life out of this movie! For those who stream, the movie is on Shudder, but trust me, this one is going to be something you want on your movie shelf. But yeah, the next time you’re driving through a dying town and see a faded billboard with a smiling clown, don’t look too long - he might still be waiting out there, in the dark, laughing his ass off with a machete…
Lock the doors, light the candelabras, and sharpen your fangs, because The House on Haunted Hill is a séance at midnight where Vincent Price himself presides as the master of ceremonies! This 1959 creeper from William Castle doesn’t tiptoe into Horror, it kicks the crypt doors open and drags you screaming down into its shadow-choked mansion. The premise is simple: a pack of strangers are lured into a haunted meat grinder of a mansion, where surviving until sunrise means cash in hand and possibly your sanity intact. Easy enough, if you ignore the blood-curdling screams echoing through the hallways, the bone-chilling basement that looks built for dismemberment, and a skeleton that’s got more stage presence than half of Hollywood. And then there’s Vincent Price. Sweet, sinister Vincent. He doesn’t act in this movie, possesses it. With every venom-dripping line and devilish chuckle, he’s both a charming host and grinning executioner. Price has this supernatural ability to make you love him even as he tightens the noose; a phantom trickster playing his guests like marionettes dangling over an open grave. He is the lifeblood of this flick - if blood came in martini glasses and was served with a razor blade on the rim. Imagine a theater in 1959, filled with wide-eyed Horror fiends, when suddenly a rattling, bony ghoul swoops overhead. Pandemonium! People shrieking, laughing, ducking, pure grindhouse magic. William Castle, the grand ghoul of gimmicks, went full freak-show with “Emergo,” a stunt where a skeleton would fly out over the audience during screenings. Yeah, the effects are corny. The skeleton looks like it got lost on the way to a fifth-grade Halloween pageant. The jump scares are more funhouse than frightmare. But that’s the wicked joy of it all! The House on Haunted Hill doesn’t care about realism, it’s Horror as theater, atmosphere dripping like candle wax, shadows stretching like claws, and every doorway looks like a portal to the grave. By the end, you’re not just watching, you’ve been hexed, rattled, and baptized in old-school Horror glory. This is the kind of flick you spin on a stormy night, glass in hand, cackling with the ghosts that rattle in your own walls. The House on Haunted Hill is a coffin-shaped thrill ride. A reminder that Horror doesn’t need gore to make your bones shiver, it just needs Vincent Price, a haunted mansion, and a director crazy enough to throw a flying skeleton at your head.
Tonight’s feature isn’t just a movie, oh no, tonight we’re cracking open the mausoleum doors and letting out the radioactive stink bomb from Hell itself: RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD! Buckle your seatbelts, kiddies, because this ain’t no slow shuffle of the dead. This is a full-blown PUNK ROCK HOLOCAUST on celluloid! Picture it: a bunch of dimwitted stiffs at a medical supply warehouse crack open the U.S. government’s biggest screw-up, and BOOM! Toxic gas shoots into the sky, rain pours down on the graveyard, and suddenly every rotting meat sack six feet under is crawling out to party. And by party, I mean eat your BRAAAINS like popcorn at the drive-in! These ghouls don’t stumble, they don’t groan, they RUN, they SCREAM, they speak… And ohhh, the cast of freaks caught in this mess! Punk rockers writhing on tombstones, leather-clad delinquents cackling into the night, and one infamous cemetery striptease that burned itself into midnight movie history like a pentagram carved in flesh. The effects? GORE-SOAKED GLORY. Tar Man, that slick, slimy cadaver with moves smoother than a drunk uncle at a wedding, oozing across the floor, chomping skulls like popcorn shrimp. Melting bodies, twitching corpses, and Zombies that TALK BACK – “Come in dispatch, SEND MORE PARAMEDICS”! This film doesn’t just spit in the face of good taste; it slaps it across the jaw and dances on its grave! And let’s talk about that soundtrack, it’s a flaming chainsaw shoved into your ears. Punk rock anthems blast like the soundtrack to your last night on Earth, driving this freak show into the red zone. Featuring 45 Grave’s “Party Time” and of course my personal favorite “Surfin’ Dead” by The Cramps. This isn’t background music; it’s an open casket rave. If you don’t have the soundtrack, stop right now and seek it out, the vinyl reissues are readily available. But wait, if you really want the full necrotic scoop, crawl your maggot-covered carcass over to the documentary MORE BRAINS! It’s the behind-the-scenes tell-all that proves the making of this film was just as deranged as what ended up on screen. Fights! Egos! Meltdowns! It’s like the production itself was cursed, and we’re lucky the film didn’t just crawl out of the projector and eat the audience whole. So, here’s the deal, you decomposing degenerates: Return of the Living Dead is not a movie. It’s a toxic waste barrel cracked wide open. It’s a love letter scrawled in blood to every Horror fan who likes their terror with a side of sleaze, slime, and a killer backbeat. This film doesn’t just rot, it RAGES. Now dim the lights, tune into this movie, the documentary, the soundtrack and let’s do the DEAD, yeah TURN BLUE!
movie and documentary reviews
Explore the intersection of music and film with our in-depth movie and documentary reviews. We critique the latest releases that delve into the world of rock, metal, and punk, offering insights and opinions that cut through the noise.
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unfiltered Concert reviews
Get the lowdown on the most electrifying shows around the country. Our concert reviews offer an uncensored look at live performances from your favorite bands and emerging artists. We cover every detail, from the setlist to the crowd's energy, ensuring you feel like you were right there in the pit.
Whether it's a dive bar show or a massive festival, our reviews capture the raw power and intensity of live music. We don't just tell you about the concert—we take you there. Read on for brutally honest assessments and photos that bring the experience to life.
There’s no better omen than a Friday the 13th to hit the road in search of noise, danger, and sweaty communion, and that’s exactly what my comrade-in-debauchery and I did. Destination, Boggs Social & Supply, Atlanta, Georgia. A venue I’d never set foot in before but now consider hallowed ground. Boggs is a dive bar reimagined, not some sticky-floored hellhole, but a joint that lures you in with killer food, cheap drinks, and a staff that actually gives a damn. The place gets it. It breathes in neon, exhales soul. I’ll be back, over and over again like a sinner to the confessional. This night kicked off the Savage Master and NITE tour, and from the jump, there was that unshakable buzz in the air, the kind that says you’re about to be baptized in riffs and fury. For NITE, it was their first taste of the East Coast, a long-overdue collision between coasts. And for me, it was my first time finally seeing Savage Master live after years of near misses. Chariots Overdrive, a local Atlanta act I’d never heard of, opened the gates and didn’t just warm up the stage they lit that Sombitch on fire. Their sound is a snarling cocktail of early ‘80s Speed Metal and NWOBHM sweat and swagger. Like Angel Witch and Exciter had a nasty little one-night stand. The real kicker, a Heavy Load cover, thrown down like a gauntlet, raw and righteous. I didn’t see any merch at the show, but I hunted them down online and bought their downloads which is something I hardly ever do. If you’ve got blood in your veins and denim on your back, go find them. Now.
April 3, 2025 I’ve been a major Cancerslug fan for over 20 years and I was always disappointed that I never got to see them live. Now, I’ve seen them live twice in the past couple of years. I wouldn’t be upset if this trend continues. Please keep coming to this cesspool that is Florida!
This lineup could rival any other three death or thrash metal bands anyone could put together. Admittedly, I am not the biggest Possessed fan, but respect the hell out of them for their contributions to the genre and was really interested in seeing them perform. I had my earplugs in, but took those mother fuckers out when they took the stage to take in all the blasphemous hymns! Their set was short and sweet (about seven or eight songs) and when they played "Tribulation" I was amped because that's one of my favorite tracks from 'Beyond the Gates' and they killed it! My biggest issue with their performance is that while Jeff gave everything in his vocal performance, it came across as a little subdued. The instruments drowned his efforts a bit which is rather unfortunate. And I know this is super trivial, but their bassist did not move from his position on stage at all. It was almost like his feet were glued to the floor and it was a bit distracting. The fact that your lead singer moves around more and he's in a wheelchair speaks volumes.
This past Friday, (August 9 th) I took my girl to see L.A. Guns & Tom Keifer (Cinderella) in Peachtree City at The Fred Amphitheater. Unfortunately, I didn’t know about the show until a few days before. To be blunt, the PR for the show was trash, otherwise I would’ve had front row seats or a “table” as that was the thing at this venue. Nevertheless, we were able to land great seats and the way the Amphitheater is set up I knew we were going to be able to see the bands well. I was still a bit pissed about the lack of PR though, if I’d missed another chance to see L.A. Guns, I would’ve been MAD AS HELL!! The ride to the venue was highly amusing, we took the backroads and had an adventure, it also helped that my girl was half in the bag and feeling a strong wine buzz – she’s always hilarious, but when she’s on the “drank” and we’re traveling she’s even more fun! We got to see several old farmhouses, ranches and so forth. About 30 minutes outside of Peachtree City we rode through some small town where they had what I believe to be a hunting store with two large statues of Bigfoot standing outside which turned my girl’s tickle box on full tilt and she laughed herself into a stupor. Right then and there she decided we were going to ride back down that way on Vacation to see what's up with the Sasquatches. I’m sure that’s really going to happen, although we have no business in a Hunting Store whatsoever. After an hour or so of my wife loud talking, dranking and giggling we pulled into The Fred and were greeted with FREE PARKING – HELL YES! I’m not sure of the age of the venue but it’s the newer style of Amphitheaters that are starting to sprout up all over the place that tends to cater to the local folks who have plenty of money and are just looking to have a good time and drink themselves blind with their golfing buddies. It’s a bit on the high falutin’ side, if you will. The Amphitheater is nestled deep back in the woods a few miles off a main highway, but you don’t realize it, it feels like you’re a million miles from nowhere. Aside from the normies in khaki shorts and collared Polo shirts, it was a brilliant vibe and there was enough of our tattooed brothers and sisters around to make us feel at home or at least me – my girl was buzzed, she didn't care, she was just happy to be there with me and I with her... L.A. Guns hit the stage at 7:35PM it was still light outside, but that didn’t sway the band or the crowd. Those ole Hollywood Vamps came out guns a'blazing. (If you haven’t seen LAG, this is a standard, they don’t fuck around, they dig in and deliver the goods). We were treated with ten-mile-wide smiles, laughter and cheers from the band too, they were as happy to be there as we were. LAG, stuck to the standards - “Sex Action”, “Electric Gypsy”, “Over the Edge”, “I Wanna Be Your Man” were a few of the notables. The band also sprinkled in some of their newer tunes – the much loved “Speed” from The Missing Peace record. They also opened the show with one of my personal favorites “Cannonball” off the “Checkered Past” album, which I thought was a nice touch. Sadly, they only played one track off their new album, “Black Diamonds” and that was “Like A Drug”. Naturally, the band played their biggest hit “Ballad of Jayne” and while I still adore it, I’m cool if I never hear it or see them play it live again. I’ve been a fan since the debut album in 1988, so it’s a bit old hat to me, but I know all the cool kids in collared shirts had probably never seen the band play it live. Plus, my girl had never seen LAG live, so that was a moment for her too. The band was highly interactive with the crowd, but this is the LAG way, they’re all about the fans and being in the moment. There were a few of the ladies down front who were a bit too excited to see Phil Lewis & Tracii Guns so we were all treated to a little “Breast Wishes”, but it’s all in fun and hey it’s an L.A. Guns show, if you can’t be sleazy there where in the hell can you be sleazy?! If you’ve never seen L.A. Guns live, don’t miss the chance when they come to your town, the band is still as good as they were in 1988!!! I’d go see them again tomorrow if they were playing near me. To be fair, I try not to miss L.A. Guns when they come to town, they’re one of my all-time favorite bands. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I still miss and love Steve Riley (R.I.P.) on drums, but the new guy held it down well enough to get the job done. Now we come to the hard part of the night - Tom Keifer’s set. I haven’t seen or heard Tom live outside of his time in Cinderella and that was years ago when we were both still young and wild. It’s well documented that Tom has fought a long hard battle with vocal cord paralysis. Over the years several surgeries have been performed and he’s basically had to teach himself to sing again over and over. From the first note I knew something was wrong, someone was singing off-key, or something was happening somewhere. Much to my dismay, I soon realized it was Tom. I was hoping it was just the on-stage volume and they’d get it figured out after the first song, however when Keifer spoke I could hear that his voice was gone, it cracked instantly as he welcomed the crowd. I’m not slagging Keifer at all, just calling it down the middle. Honestly, I didn’t think this was an issue anymore, I’ve got a few friends who’ve seen Tom several times, they go out of their way to travel miles and miles to see him and not a word has been said. My mind immediately went to this thought - I could leave, be disappointed and turn my back on one of my childhood heroes. Or either I could stay, scream my ass off and raise my hands in the air and cheer the man on as he sang and played his heart out for us. You all know I stayed and screamed, looking for that sacred “Shot of Gasoline”!!! Tom got me in my feelings several times when I was least expecting it too. The 3 rd track of the set was “Heartbreak Station”, and the intro was so heartfelt I was tearing up before he sang the first line. I stood their awe struck and dumbfounded with tears in my eyes remembering how much the song has meant to me through the years and how much of a pleasure it was to hear it live for what could be my very last time. It also stung me deep that Jeff LaBar (R.I.P.) wasn’t up on-stage playing guitar. These feelings hit me even harder on “Coming Home”. Of all the songs Cinderella released, this track has always been my favorite, it’s a bio of my life, warts and all. All I’ve ever wanted was to be loved and to “come home”, it felt like forever to be able to achieve that feeling. A million thanks to my girl for giving me that home that I yearned for my entire life. “I took a ride in a world I'll be spinnin’ for the rest of my life” … Keifer went on to play all the hits, he hit us with “Hot and Bothered”, “The Last Mile”, “Nobody’s Fool” and I thought the crowd was going to full on riot when they played “Somebody Save Me” and “Nightsongs”. It was a fantastic scene. There were several other classics played throughout the evening. I’m sincerely glad I stayed for Keifer’s set, the young man that still haunts the halls in my memory needed it. Now my cup runneth over with love for all the things that I’ve experienced and all the places I’ve been. It’s not just Tom who’s gotten older, I’ve done fucked around and gotten old too. Thankfully, us old dogs can still get up there and fucking get it when it's time. If either of these bands roll through your town, get off your ass and go! While Tom isn’t the young man he once was, know this, the voice he had in the in the late 80’s was wrecked for us and all in the name of Rock N’ Roll. Keifer deserves to hear the crowds roar and every one reading this “NEEDS A SHOT OF GASOLINE”! And if you can’t get down with Keifer, them Hollywood Vampires, L.A. Guns still got that 100-dollar bill and a bottle of lotion – S.E.X. Who’s next?! ~Black Angel