Monday, March 17, 2014


Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Consummatum est.

Wednesday, March 05, 2014


Sunday, March 02, 2014


"The drawn line is the Devil's jiz stain." 
~ Robt. Williams

Robert Williams, one of the incontestable sires of underground comix and dick-kicking rough rider of representational graphics, celebrates 71 years today. I shouldn't have to extol the virtues of this American maverick who has done so much to define modern art over the past 50 years, but allow me to bang these keys in reverential cadence for just a moment in case you numbnuts don't fully understand the magnitude of his awesome impact. 

See, it's almost easy to overlook Williams' legacy in 2014 because so much of what we now take for granted in the arts- and what so many seem to have completely misunderstood- gained traction in the tremendous wake of his freewheelin' and pioneerin' days as a delinquent transplant in the City of Angels. Williams moved from Albuquerque, New Mexico to California in 1963, ostensibly to study art at Los Angeles City College (and perhaps evade legal trouble back home). He was a young artist who naturally gravitated toward hot rod culture, probably because his dad had operated a drive-in diner where as a teen he developed a keen appreciation for automotive engineering brilliance, rugged blue collar get-shit-done-ery and the newly emerging musical ruckus that suddenly provided the perfect soundtrack for both. You must remember that this thing called rock 'n' roll was also built for speed but had only recently evolved- some might say deviated- from the twisted earthy roots of black blues, gospel and horny white rebel music to challenge social restraint in the early 50s. Its sinister force was bustin' out but still rather pubescent in 1965- one year before the prohibition of LSD in California- when Williams landed his dream job as Ed "Big Daddy" Roth's art director, cranking out beautifully detailed monster t-shirts and magazine ads while dodging heat from local law enforcement and 1% biker gangs (according to folklore, Roth gave Williams a job and a handgun to defend himself while doing it). It was here, on the lunatic fringes of vulgar advertising aesthetics, that he began developing the body of work and hyperactive "kustom kulture" style that would characterize one of the most important artistic movements of the late 20th century.

In fact, the title of his first published art collection went on to be usurped by generations of art school lunkheads who are all too happy to brand themselves under the ironic "lowbrow" banner that Williams coined and championed from Zap Comix #4, published in 1969, to Juxtapoz Magazine, which he co-founded in 1994. Imagine how Venom must've felt when they realized the name of their sophomore record had become an entire musical sub-genre. Incidentally, Black Metal was released the very same year as The Lowbrow Art of Robert Williams (1982, in case you're keeping score), the collection that introduced him to a new decade of miscreants and featured his controversial painting Appetite for Destruction on its cover. Yes, just a few years later that painting became both the cover and the title of one of the greatest rock 'n' roll albums ever recorded. Perhaps unfortunately, Guns N' Roses were not the most articulate or even fully conscious defenders of free expression and the waning Moral Majority made it their business to see that cover quickly and unceremoniously replaced with the comparatively bland tattoo motif that your mom probably has tattooed on her ass known throughout the world today. It wasn't the first time Williams' art had been protested and censored, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The point is, rock 'n' roll has always been the Devil's music and, as Williams himself once so eloquently proclaimed, "The drawn line is the Devil's jiz stain."

I've only met the man twice in my life, both occasions brief and punctuated by my stammering adoration. At one such encounter on May 17, 1998 someone from his entourage mentioned that Williams isn't particularly comfortable with small children, so in the spirit of fair play I asked him to hold my daughter while I fumbled for my camera in the diaper bag and caught the awkward moment above on 35mm. I haven't yet seen the award winning documentary that came out last year, but I reckon I know Mr. Bitchin' well enough to confidently surmise that he ain't one to suffer fools gladly or run with the pack...even if the pack has exquisitely rendered colors. Or corporate sponsorship. Which is why I feel so many today have missed the fundamental outsider message...the underlying outlaw principle...the guiding inverted star of his creative wisdom. There is strength in numbers, perhaps, but little glory. And he should know. When Williams was drawing the outrageous cartoons that helped define the very term and concept "underground comix" he was one of only about ten artists in the entire world bold enough to kick against the wimps (if I may paraphrase both Nick Cave and the King James Bible) with a $3.95 funny book. He took the fine art world more or less by storm as he had always intended and dragged representational art- what he himself calls Conceptual Realism- into the 21st century so cretins like you and I can occasionally earn enough cash to pay the electricity bill while cackling madly under a full spectrum desk lamp. All I know is that Robert Williams, the well-spoken gentile of soft southern drawl and the rambunctious legend of demonic liberation through devotion to craft, means a great deal to me as an infrequent stutterer of words and even less frequent scrawler of images. Pandora's box has already been smashed wide open. Now what to do with all them demons? 

Thursday, February 27, 2014


Check out this great Drew Elliott painting circa 1987 that reader Richard Parr was gracious enough to share with me today! This would've been created around the same time Drew did his painting for Necrophagia's debut LP Season of the Dead. Here's that cover in both its original format and the digitally "enhanced" version that accompanied the 1998 Red Stream CD reissue.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Outlaw Archer

If you're at all like me (thank your therapist that you're not), you love the few people who matter in your life everyday of the year. So a dumb holiday like Valentine's Day becomes cloyingly sentimental at best...crushingly depressing at worst. If you need something real to celebrate today, why not bang your head for the triumph of STREET METAL? 33 years ago today, New York's Frigid Bich recorded their debut single 'Call Us Robin Hoods' at Master Sounds Studios. They were 16 years old. Suck it, cupid!

And this one goes out to my own lil teenage rebel who has been my Valentine for nearly 17 years (insert winking heart emoticon here). What? You think I'm a loveless cynic like you???

"Rock 'n' roll and alcohooool! Let's have a blast, let's have a ball!"

Tuesday, January 28, 2014


Bobby BeauSoleil has a new website where you can now stream and purchase nearly all of his recorded music and peruse a gallery of his exquisite colored pencil drawings in one place...far away from the din of misinformation and hysteria clogging the internet. My liner notes from the Lucifer Rising box set are available in the blotter section, along with photos I took on the drive to meet Bobby for the first time when he was imprisoned at the Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution. This is the only official website for Bobby online and I encourage any readers with genuine interest in his message, music and art to go directly to the source.

Monday, January 06, 2014


I first "met" Joe Preston on September 28, 1991. At the time he was playing in a band called the Melvins who were touring the US with another little band called Nirvana. Nirvana was really good that night, but what I remember most about the evening was the colossal slow motion bludgeoning that Joe and his bandmates delivered to a mostly unprepared audience of stoned punks at the Marquee in New York City. To be clear, we didn't actually meet that night. However, my central nervous system was introduced to the glacial four stringed armament that has made Joe an international legend...and my trembling bowels threatened to evacuate the premises in the process. Even the leather daddies strolling around outside the S&M club across the street with their pierced cocks flapping all over the place seemed genuinely unnerved by the sheer heaviness of this avalanche of sound.

Fast forward to May 3, 1997. Neurosis triumphantly punished a sold out crowd at Portland, Oregon's now sadly defunct Satyricon with a strange one-man-band called Thrones opening. I didn't realize until afterwards that this unassuming fellow was the very same juggernaut I had seen several years earlier. Since then I've had the pleasure of seeing Joe perform lots of times. I've seen him during his brief stint with High On Fire and I've seen him bellow mammalian syllables with Last Empire while anchoring their flights of fancy to the benthic zone. A couple years ago he even came down to the DJ night I was doing at the time to perform a cinematic all-synth set for those brave enough to stand for the cyborg demon in a dark basement on a Wednesday night. Joe is the Hasil Adkins of low end frequencies. He is the Abner Jay of white noise amplification. He saw Slayer with Mace at a southeast Portland theater in 1984 and doesn't need to strut around in a bullet belt to prove it. This weekend the gentle lover of felines rightly celebrates the 20th anniversary of his solo band Thrones with a special show at Rotture in Portland, Oregon. He's asked me to play some records in between the live shenanigans, which is unfortunate because I've purchased about 5 records in the past year and all of them were released on Varèse Sarabande. But when legend summons, it is wise to heed the call. Congrats, Joe.

Wednesday, January 01, 2014

2013 IS DEAD!

Best wishes to you all in 2014!

Monday, December 30, 2013


Happy 65th Birthday, Toody!

Friday, December 27, 2013


Do you like Bigfoot? Do you like the art of Bobby Beausoleil? If so, you might want to pick up this odd new book which features interviews with some of the world's most prominent Sasquatch enthusiasts as well as Bobby's playful rendering of a decidedly existential "Hairy Man" on the cover. Buy it at a local bookstore and tell Amazon to fuck off.

Saturday, December 21, 2013


Monday, December 16, 2013


I enjoy receiving real letters from real people almost as much as I enjoy exposing cunting parasites for what they truly are. One such pretender recently accosted me with a message that made snide reference to "talentless convict art," which fortuitously reminded me that I had a small shoe box containing such art in my basement. Back when I was publishing Destroying Angels it was my unspoken commitment to send a free copy to any prisoner who bothered to write a letter. I figured it could do a man well to have something to stimulate the mind while serving time behind bars. I eventually stopped because prisons have erratic mail policies and I was wasting a lot of postage on zines that were returned due to inflammatory content. During that period I received some lavishly embellished envelopes, mostly drawn with ballpoint pen. I thought I'd post just a few here for your enjoyment. I'm not crediting the artists by their legal names out of respect for their privacy. I don't know where these guys are now, but I imagine some of them might not want to be identified online. In any case, it is always worth considering the outlaw instinct and the aesthetics of involuntary confinement.

Sunday, December 15, 2013


I've seen my share of comical insults and self-aggrandizing outrage in my years, but the ugly little specimen that greeted me in my inbox this morning merits some distinction. I've cut and pasted the message below verbatim, exactly as it appeared in all its grammatically incorrect glory. I guess he was so stammeringly upset that he misspelled his own name. The underground is alive and well... 

Subject: RE: DOA #5 
Date: Sun, 15 Dec 2013 10:29:20 -0600 

Awwww... Big baby does not want to do interview with DOA Magazine. 

Way to go bigshot - we waste hours putting together insightful questions about your (fairly crappy) book and you don't wanna pway wit us!!! Waaaahhhh!!! 

In case you've been living under a rock for the past 20 years, SOD Magazine was the biggest fucking underground metal mag that ever existed, and now we still try to carry the flame for underground metal with DOA and you have the fucking nerve to turn us down for an interview??? Sorry, I didn't realize I was asking Mick Jagger for a few moments of his precious time. Good luck with your book - which I personally found to be a waste of time as it had shitty layouts and included way to much talentless convict art. 

Daviid Horn 

Entartete Kunts is still available! Drop me a line if you want a signed copy (see my direct e-mail address in the message above). I can probably pull myself away from the cocaine and hot tub long enough to personalize your book. Or purchase now from the Ajna Offensive. Happy Holidays!

Sunday, December 08, 2013