Valentine of JUCIFER
'Write What You
Know' by guitarist Pete Marr.
STATE OF THE ART METAL OF
Destinity, War From
a Harlots Mouth, Miseration & More.
MAKE YOURSELF UP WITH
Tribute to Nothing,
Maeven, I Killed the Pharaoh & More.
GET DOWN WITH SOLITUDE
Mournful Gust, Sanctus Infernum & More.
A JOLLY NIGHT WITH NAPALM
Stuck Mojo, Isole,
Tyr, Fairyland, The Modern Age Slavery & More.
METAL REISSUES GALORE XIV
Cerebral Fix, Tank,
Satan, Silver Mountain, Acid Drinkers & More.
TALES FROM THE CUTOUT BIN
Malevolent Creation, Fatal Embrace & More.
METAL REISSUES GALORE XIII
War Hammer, Blind
Fury, Destroyers, Subhumans & More.
RETRO METAL SQUARE OFF
Havok, White Wizzard,
Cauldron, Lazarus AD & More.
A JOLLY NIGHT WITH NAPALM
Monks, Hatesphere, Fairyland & More.
THE GOOD THE BAD THE
Ethereal Dirge, Old Timer & More.
METAL REISSUES GALORE XII
Brutality, Mortification, Diamond Head & More.
A JOYFUL NIGHT WITH
Dodsferd, I Shalt
Become, Horna, Azaghal, Necronoclast & More.
#1 "THE GREASE"
From a Book by Jucifer's Gazelle
is an excerpt from a book I've been writing about what
it's like to play music and why I think people dedicate
their lives to it. The book is called*The Grease.*
(Somewhere, U.S.A., 2009*)
I want to describe the feeling, and it's grease.
Greased mind, cranking out the ideas. Greased wheels on
the bus, on the trailer, edging up and over the million
mile mark on a trip to nowhere that is never done.
Greased body, shining under stage lights, pounding
itself into a pain that won't be felt until the morning
after. Meanwhile. That
feeling of oiled muscles and perfect balance and
infinite capacity when the universe aligns to strike
that chord with the full resonance of life and death.
That feeling when a glance from under tangled hair has
the power to mutilate or to heal. My glance. My power.
The kids in the crowd, do they know? Some calculating
how to steal this feeling for themselves, counting
amplifiers, watching for a movement to imitate, a moment
to repeat, some truth to bring back to the practice
space. Some lost in reverie, blowing back and forth in a
gentle wind until we hit a pause or a blast beat and
they are jarred awake. Some greased with drugs or
alcohol or maybe they've tapped into ours, grinning and
fists raised throwing themselves into circles or
neighboring bodies. When I'm filled with that power I
rule them all, even the ones who sneer and say we're
sucking. And who could blame them? I attacked first.
Insults at a hundred twenty db.
I'm watching the nth rockumentary of my life and it hits
me, opens like a spring in my head. Each one of these
bands that I watch, I feel a kinship. I get it.
*We all need the grease.*
Pink Floyd Live At Pompeii was the first for me. I was
fifteen, I fell in love with giant amplifiers and
ancient stone and slow-mo gongs and skinny drummer arms.
Imprinted. When I saw it then the movie was a revelation
and an entrance to forbidden lands, sneak peek into
Olympus. Home of the gods. Now I watch it and I know it.
The hours of travel, the heft of gear, the cuts and
bruises a constant from moving it. The ferry ride, the
tired breakfast. The interviewers with the patronizing
questions. The fans that scare you, the fans that succor
you. The awkwardness of trying to re-create the power of
a live show when your crowd consists of cameras and
dolly tracks and boom operators and you hit it anyway,
you rise above the awkwardness and you hit it but the
shot was all wrong, the film jammed, director makes you
do it again.
*Home of the gods.*
I love Freddie Mercury for saying so well how foolish it
is to treat each album as a mission statement. It's not
our "new direction" fuckers, it's an album! Just an
album, a beautiful piece of our band's lifeblood. Not
for you, it's for us.
I feel it for Jimi Hendrix when he's playing that
dawn-damned Woodstock. The headliner gets screwed again
when the show schedule isn't kept --- ah I know it well.
And that guitar is cutting out and he's pulled down to
earth with a whoosh, balloon popped, the audience
doesn't know the difference but he's fighting.
The Led Zeppelin movie, *Song Remains The Same*, my GOD,
so much work to put this show into fairytale context!
The pastoral vignettes, the high art concept, the sloppy
unsalvageable show. But you'll never hear a bad critique
of that film because it doesn't matter. The grease
transcends us, transfigures us, plays the music for us
when we're too drunk too tired too baffled.
We watched the Pixies movie last night. About their
reunion tour. That's when the spring opened in my mind,
and I was looking at their sweat and the word "grease"
expanded on the screen that is my mind's eye. Something
about watching a band that was done, but they got
another chance. And they're kind of old, at least by
modern bullshit plastic surgified eternally 21
standards... but it doesn't matter. Because it's
electric, when they're united. Because that fat bald guy
and the lady that doesn't give a shit about her hair or
her clothes chainsmoking and trying to kick her drug
habits, when they come together, the world tilts. Even
if they don't like each other that much, or can't work
out how to relate.
No one can force a power like that. You can't steal it,
you can't build it. It's the grease. I know that's a
sloppy word. Gross even. But there is something so
personally invasive, yet so life-giving and
death-bringing, about this power that the word has to be
nasty. Like blood, placenta, semen. You can't stand to
look at it but you can't stand to look away.
And without it you don't get to live.
of Jucifer by Edgar Livengood