Out From The Underworld Of Taiwan

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Tues. May 26, 3:15am PT

Photos and Video by Detroit Jack

In the closing days of the now famous Underworld, two nights of recording, twelve bands from all over Taiwan converged, and the beginnings weren't too pretty.

"Dark dark dark, 80's 80's 80's . . . , please show me some R&R, some blues roots, a rough spattering of anything that resembles what we've been begging for since Taiwan gained access to the world of rock.

Half a set, outside for another cig and beer . . . and left wanting.  Is this it?  "Doesn't anybody play drums anymore?!"

Then a spark of guitar lightning, with drums . . . and passion . . . stage presence!  Cut 'n' Fuck that Long Hair Monster in its metal headed osmosis of what we rockers live for!!!

Without a doubt, the world of rock that is available on the internet has brought musical democracy to the toe tapping teens of Taiwan.

The days of crewing those old Chinese spoon-fed pop tunes in karaoki boxes are numbered . . . in decades if you will, but yes, numbered.

This may be in its infancy, but R&R has finally made it onto the Taiwan stage, and the guard cannot prop up the walls of Chinese commercialism in the new millennium, which is a R&R millennium!

Legends of the Dead Moon

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Fri. April 24, 5:40am PT

Photos by Detroit Jack  and David Farve

Seized in the artistry of guitar linguistics . . . , paralyzed by the waves of soul between strings thick and thin.

A wink, smile, frowns of tears and laughter, an acknowledgment of life spent and spoken through cords of love.

Spellbound, the beat, the imperfect, perfectly picked fret by fret . . . , there is no other garage god in the Tonic temple high on the plateau . . . , a crest of clear flowing beauty, reflected in Pierced Arrows under a Dead Moon.

How fortunate were we, to be raptured by those long lived years, culminating at the dusk of legends in a river valley, known as Portland.

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Beyond The Tracks: 
Starring the Dare Devil Band is a full length 90 minute feature film by Detroit Jack, which will wisp you away on a journey through a Japanese period of mind, then and NOW!!

The Dare Devil Band is a hardcore improvised rock trio fronted by Shoji Hano, with guitarist Makoto Kawabata (Acid Mothers Temple) and bassist Atsushi Tsuyama (AMT).  The band name was taken from a 1992 Shoji Hano/Peter Brötzmann release titled "Dare Devil". Apparently the Hano/Brötzmann release was to be titled "Boar Warrior", but the translation to English was misinterpreted and the release name became "Dare Devil". Hano liked the name and used it for this trio.

Beyond The Tracks starring the Dare Devil Band is a full length movie running 90 mintutes, and features the band live at Super Deluxe in Tokyo on September 11th, 2003.  This amazing performance in sound and picture is melded into the exposed space created upon impact of the Atomic age, when the culture of Japan was left thinking as it glanced toward a retreating future commencing from ground zero Hiroshima.  

Boa! Boa! Boa!

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Sun. Aug. 9, 2:57 am TT

Photos by Detroit Jack

Boa hugged the creases between the ceiling and the walls, ready to strike the only scent detected through the darkness of night . . . 

Slow random tasting of the pheromone ladened air, the thick silky atmosphere lay heavy in the dew of the late summers touch upon the colored skins of the hidden . . .  

Blinded by survival through a harsh fraught existence, gallantry abounding in a weakened body of being, at the mercy of evolution . . . 

Weary scales of damaged love guarding regenerated vessels of bloodied perfume to be lavished like Spring rain, washing away the doom . . .  

Coiled openly, unseen, heptagrams warning of potency and spell, that would enslave in rapture the choice of prey, bringing succor and warmth, in the ending hours . . . 

Paralysis laying out conscious eyes as clear stretching juices moisten the rigid lips of the feast at bay, glands swollen with perfumed sacks of heavenly musk . . . Boa struck.

Rattus Scabies, Brian James & the Texas Bomb!!

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Sun. June 17, 12:00 am TT

Photos by Detroit Jack

Oh, the humanity!!  Heads hung in disbelief as the Colossus Rat spread Scabies over Texas.  Overcome and disillusioned, mass burials overwhelmed the Damned.

The Legend Story tells of the return of Karni Mata the hindu rat goddess who vowed to return to earth as a colossus rat and lay waist to the human scourge that had ravaged the land in their quest for immortality.

Prior exposure to a like event has never been recorded in the annals of history, thus were the condemned left to fend for their land, their customs and the souls.

The wondrous rhythms lead the unsuspected down a path with no Looking Back, as the past had been erased from the minds of the entranced mass.

Escape was not an option, as the pipes of the Pied Piper were turned on human dredge by the god Typhoeus, leaving a trail of corpses circumventing the globe.

Sick Of Being Sick forced those who could not endure to take themselves off to the nothingness where they were promised they would no longer Feel The Pain.

Though relegated such a reprieve, the gods and goddess were Born To Kill, and for them, no compassion nor sympathy could be spared on the Problem Child known as humanity.

In the end of times there could be no understanding of Being and Time, as all had been built on the myth of MCMLXX.

There would be no Texas, no enduring legacy of what had come before, and for the last standing, there was only the remainder of The Damned.

Detroit Jack translates for the Rat Scabies/Brian James interview for Old Fashion Punk Magazine . . . for which there were no Vaccines!!

MOTOR CITY NIGHTS!!

Gories, Oblivians, Brother Cartright, Brother James

and Barbiturate Heaven . . . REVISITED

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Sat June 28, 3:59 am TT

Photos by Detroit Jack

Back in the Motor City after a ten year hiatus in Tokyo, mission one upon landing . . . get Gories/Oblivians tickets! Mission two . . . get stoned . . .and I nearly did, when I made a case for the "Not god bless America, but, goddamn America" statement, and offered a reasoned argument defending Bill Ayers: well, it was nice to see the family anyway.

But, more importantly, The Gories/Oblivians! Got my pass to the show of the year at the rockin' Majestic Theater on Woodward two weeks in advance, and thank Heidegger for that, because it sold out within days. Following The Dogs "Rustbelt Tour" the previous week, getting my SRB album signed by Scott Morgan, and finally getting stoned, what more could a philosophical beat rocker ask for . . . , than a one man rooftop gig by the master heartstring puller himself, Brother Greg Cartwright and his gathering of disciples in the Garden (that video at a later date!).

I'm not going to review any of these shows, because there is nothing to say. If you were in Detroit and didn't make these shows, well, you must have the best damn lie in the world. If you were one of the well informed, and made the shows, well . . . we still might be stupid human tricks, but at least we grasped a hold of something righteous and worthy.

To prove my point, I happened to be blessed in the company of Brother Cartwright and his disciples on the day of the sacrament (of which we partook), by the one and only Sinister Six man himself Brother James!! Now, this truly was a miracle, that this soul rockin' toxic soil should be anointed by thee kings of the Far East, West, South and North to bring Human Nature sinner-gy back to Motown.

True story: I begged Brother Rick to stop by Hitsville U.S.A. an hour before we found out Michael had followed Thee King to barbiturate heaven.

Rock Soon,
Detroit Jack

Droid Bats In The Belfry . . .

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Sat March 11, 11:43 pm TT

Photos by Detroit Jack

Brushing hardened steel shoulders as we ascended the darkened well, one could not assess the features behind the direct gazes of the android beings as they passed.

Winds bristled our locks with the sounds of deeper intent as we neared the light that focused our gaze as we climbed.

Breaking the proscenium seemed a sacrilegious act, though few attempts garnered a following, theee Bat laid waste to any forbidden sacrament.

Flaying into the unsuspecting punters, leveling them at their knees with the thuds of meat on anvils, the mutant Android Beach Party was just getting under way.

With Chants of R&B, theee Bat pulled at the breast strings of scantily clad droids, who unwittingly bargained with the flutters of night in hopes of andraulic regeneration.

Droplets of sulfuric damage speckled the floor of fangs that lapped their mouths by the toes of leaking droids as the frenzy ensued.