Sunday, July 2, 2023

Dinosaur Jr., Taipei, and I just don't get it!!

Written by Detroit Jack

In 1991, I was living in Taipei, Taiwan, where I was teaching wonderful little kids at Good Time English cram school, great experience, except for the time one of my eight year old students came to my lesson with black and blue bruises from head to toe, because his father had beat him for failing an exam at his school. I refused to teach the boy that day, though I don't know if that was a good decision, but, I couldn't stand looking at him in that condition. But, I digress. 

There was a Tower Records not far from the school, and they had the best of everything! I could buy William Burroughs and Jack Kerouac books, and the latest CD releases. I used to just look at the covers, and if they looked cool, I bought them as an experiment, to try, seek, you know the routine. One of those CDs was from a band called Dinosaur Jr., you probably know the iconic cover of a young long-haired 80s kid with a cigarette in his mouth. To make a long story shorter, I bought the CD, took it back to the Taipei Hostel, and listened to it . . . , and honestly, I just didn't get it. I tried over and over, over several years, and still, I didn't get this sound! I have the disc in my collection till this day. But, I'd say it was around 2014, I saw the Dinosaur Jr. album 'Beyond' pop up on YouTube, so, I gave it a try. 

I've always been into giving bands a second, third, fourth chance. Well, I have to say, my mind was blown away, and I began searching out every Dinosaur Jr album, and I listened to them ALL, over and over, and I have say, love love! Oh, and then I discovered that Lou Barlow had been in the band, and that started my love affair with Sebadoh, who I actually videotaped (their full live show) in Portland, Oregon in the mid-90s! The moral of the story is, never give up on art, even when you don't get it, because art precedes our so-called cultured minds anywhere from 30-150 years, depending on the art, and the state of ones culture. Here is Dinosaur Jr.

Ps. Just listened to 'You're Living All Over Me' twice, while writing this. Love love!!

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

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!

*All photos and content property of Jack Waldron (photos may not be used without written permission)

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

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.

*All photos and content property of Jack Waldron (photos may not be used without written permission)

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Neurotic White Fang Burgers!!

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Sun. April 27, 9:60pm PT

You really seem to keep a good vibe no matter the times . . . , "Yeah, I manage to have good spirits, even though, well . . . , ya know, I'm always happy when sugar's around me."

What, me?  "Funny!"  What was that other brilliant thing you said?  Somehow this has to be about White Fang burgers, cuz they saved R&R today.

I wanna be your dog is the tragedy to these comic canines, sunk deep into the marrow of this dying art, resurrecting from the ashes of pop culture the very core of light that chokes on . . . , namely, thyself.

Today, R&R was born again, without pretense, laid out raw, bleeding,  . . . . , White Fang Rocks! Portland Rocks!!  

Burgerville U.S.A. penetrated the impregnated buns of pop culture . . . , finally!!

*All photos and content property of Jack Waldron (photos may not be used without written permission)

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Thick Bubbly Paint In Mommy's Gun

By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Sat. April 20, 4:20am PT

The 420 vector was penetrated with a minimal velocity subterranean hallow point originating from the steady hand of a bubbly mommy gun in the late frosted air somewhere in the record room.
The conference released over the airwaves was tracked and trailed along a path crossing the Appellation divide, reaching into and beyond the warm remnants of San Francisco nights to a cold and shallow welcoming at 23rd & Going St.

Unaffected bounding layers of Thick Paint held a story seldom told, which hung splattered in red stains that dripped from ceiling.

Record Room, Record Room, Red Room, Red Room, Red Room,  read the obituary in The Dream Scene.
Stagering across the dark green cesspool dividing Portland, thoughts of what could have been lingered in the minds of the homeless that lined the bridge known as Broadway.

Friends gathered, and then dispersed, pushed on by the Will that will not rest.

*All photos and content property of Jack Waldron (photos may not be used without written permission)

Saturday, January 19, 2013



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 Br√∂tzmann release titled "Dare Devil". Apparently the Hano/Br√∂tzmann 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.  

Thursday, August 9, 2012

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.

*All photos and content property of Jack Waldron (photos may not be used without written permission)