Dinosaurs in Vietnam, Panama Stem Cells, and Review of HMF 2021

 

From the National Affairs Desk-

*Pre-post note. Ok, they have finally done the trick. I am fully vaccinated but have stayed away from endorsing or dissuading from anyone else doing it, but Their constant beating down and smothering my fortitude has finally worked. This week we were submitted to the rantings of their true secret bio weapon- This debased piece of work:

That did it. My spirits are broken. Please, I am 100% endorsing the vaccine. Anyone reading who has yet to get it, get it. I cannot stand a single additional moment of this. They have won. I am defeated. I have finally taken a side. Get the shot(s). The worst part is I think he's worrying about the wrong virus eyyyooooo. Ok, on to the post...

     "There's dinosaurs in Vietnam," has been blasting through the high powered speaker system in the National Affairs Suite at the JCMsTown Compound and I'm drinking some Kool Aid and outlining what damage I can cause during the JCM Las Vegas Story later this month when the buzzer goes off at the Sports Desk which has been closed for an hour now. The Mojo Wire has been fucked at the National Affairs Desk for a few days now which has me in a very weird state of mind with the Vegas assignment in only a few weeks.

I hop on over and see an incoming message from Skippy. Skippy is a friend from a friend from years ago. Nice guy, one of the most buttoned down, stand up guys I know, not an evil bone in his body. One could call him a "square" but then they'd have me to deal with. Skippy's message was simple enough, "Hey Bryan, my wife is out of town this weekend and I was thinking about going to that Hamtramck Music Fest. The thing is I don't know much of anything about any of the bands, the Fest, the venues, or Hamtramck. I saw a few of your posts about it but didn't read them. I did see the hubbub about Smalls and their vaccine requirements. I like to think of myself as pretty punk rock and that is pretty punk rock. I want to support punk rock and I figured you'd be covering it."

I wasn't planning on covering it. I figured that my previews were enough for this year. However the thought of dragging this poor guy around Hamtramck to see what "punk rock" is in 2021 would be enough to shatter his psyche and prevent future messages. After all, the more these old punk fuckers stick around the more they end up becoming part of the machine they think they are ranging against. The world has enough Chris Taylor's and Brett Callwood's out there. Plus it would be fun to show him how catastrophically unorganized the thing was along with the threats of physical harm that come with the territory. Plus there was a part of me that was curious about it all. What would the turnout be like? Would other venues have mask policies? After all, this is the first HMF/Blowout type of event in a pandemic. There really are no other local journalists in town. Years ago I said that as a joke to rile people up, but it has come true. I am the last one.

   "Count me in, but you're driving. I'll have a schedule and map ready. I can trust you right?"

   "Of course Bryan. I'm better now," Skippy reassured. 

I had reason to be cautious. The last time I was with Skippy he asked me to meet him at an Enterprise car rental in Madison Heights and insisted I be completely sober, drug free, and have my notebook. Since he works in the stock market I figured he had a good lead that I could piggyback on. I arrived at the rental place just in time to witness him in an argument with the staff. I had never seen him this way.

   "Do you know who I am? I asked for the tank. The heaviest vehicle you have with the absolute fucking worst gas mileage. Money is no object," he was shouting. I felt the need to assist.

   "Excuse me. Maybe I can be of assistance. My name is Bryan Sebastian Metro and I am this man's biographer. We need the car he reserved. It is..."

   "This man has no reservation," the clerk interrupted.

   "We must have the car. The tank. Money is no object as my client has stated."

After another half hour of this theater they just gave us the car to get us out of there and we were on the road in a GMC Yukon Denali XL, Skippy at the wheel. He kept insisting that I have his insurance papers and memorize a script that he had typed up. 

   "I don't understand. The things in this script are incorrect. I am a doctor, yes, but not your doctor, and even then I can only marry or bury. Well now I can also provide vaccination exemptions but I'm still working on the legalities and..."

   "No no no, not MY doctor, but it helps with the story that you ARE a doctor. By the way, what do you know about stem cell therapy? I have to have a hip replacement and my guy says that Panama is the place to be. What can you tell me about Panama?" he asked still making zero sense.

   "In this script I keep calling someone Will. Who is Will?

   "Will is who I am calling the cop. It could be any name though. Make sure you get his real name before calling him Will."

   "What cop? I am lost!"

   "Just make sure you have the main parts memorized. So, nothing about Panama then?"

   "I think I have it but HOLY CHRIST! You just ran that cyclist off the road. Stop! He's not moving."

   "Yeah, sucks. Just memorize the lines. They have to be said exactly as written. My real doctor drew them up. I've taken a large quantity of...one second," he says and then clips the passenger side mirror off the rental by dragging an underpass.

   "Jesus man, that is going to be trouble," I am starting to panic but not really due to the large quantity of anti anxiety medication I had already taken. I have a Pez dispenser of them on me at all times.

   "Car's insured remember. Okay, get your head on straight. It's Go Time!" Skippy yells and promptly slams into a Kia forcing it into the median, "Two points," he screams.

Before I can assume crash position I see him force two other cars into oncoming traffic though with minimal damage.

   "Hey Metro be on the watch for another faggot on a bike. There's too many out there these days. So smug. So passe is more like it, am I right buddy? Fuck, its the cops. Already. Okay, have your lines ready. I'm chomping the pill under my tongue right now. It'll be in the system by the time we get to Beaumont."

He then slams on the brakes and completes an entire 180 while simultaneously kicking the seat back. All the vehicles are now stopped. I get out.

   "Officers, this man needs dire help," I say trying to remember my lines, "He is my sponsor and was taking me to my AA meeting," (That bastard), "but he started having a convulsion. I saw it all. He is an epileptic with a bad heart. Here is the rental's paperwork. We are fully insured, but this man needs a doctor!"

I look and see Skippy peeking at me, grinning, with a thumbs up. We are quickly transferred to the hospital where he is admitted and I am given a ride home by his wife, who is completely confused. I am not as shocked as I should have been. Earlier that week I saw a similar incident on the internet involving former JCM correspondent Loretta Scarr who pulled a stunt like this but neglected to have a witness, insurance, a registered vehicle, and a reasonable explanation.

This was eight months ago and this buttoned down closet nutcase is on his way to pick me up to go to the largest ill-advised local music festival in the country. What terrible plans would he have this time? I didn't want us to be late or lost so I attempted to print a map and schedule for Friday at HMF. Jesus Christ. Did anybody else attempt this? The map was completely black with circles representing each venue but had no names or addresses. The band schedules were just as bad with each venue printing out on its own page. Impossible to deal with and completely worthless. So I scrambled together a wish list, left the HMF provided crap for the cats to deal with, and waited for him to arrive.

When Skippy arrived he informed me that his wife was out of town so he would have to be on his best behavior, but he needed to get out and was already twisted on pot and mushrooms. It took us 30 minutes just to get to the freeway which he bypassed anyway to take surface streets to Hamtramck.

   "You keeping up with the drag racing epidemic around here?" he asks as I tense up.

   "Yes," I add to this unfortunate conversation.

   "They even use ATV's now. They really need to shut it down. I'm not saying anyone needs to die, but it would benefit everyone if they just hurt a few." 

Jesus, he's gotten worse. We park at a chicken or pizza place a block away from PLAV #10, the HMF HQ, and get our things together.

   "Do you think I'll get towed? I don't see any signs. Do you mind if I smoke a joint before we go? Let's go down this street away from the car," he asks, so many questions.

   "That's not a street. It's an alley. Let's do it here in the lot. Nobody's getting towed. Hamtramck doesn't even have any police I think," I lie knowing full well they were busting people for U-turns everywhere the night before at the kickoff show.

   "Okay, you want any? I plan on quitting by the end of the summer anyway."

   "Nah why not wait until the end of Fall? Then you'd have Halloween and Thanksgiving," I suggest, not helping.

   "Good call. Forgot about the Fall. Yeah, maybe winter even," he rationalizes, my work here is done, "So, Bry, no police here eh? Those fuckers defunded them too. So close to home now. This may be an advantage."

I finish getting my notes, camera, voice recorder, and cash packed up and we get ready to roll, but Skippy's still on edge. A group of three black guys walk past us coming from the alley. They are not wearing wristbands.

   "Hey is it okay to park here? I just don't want to get towed," he asks them as I try to decide whether to laugh or cry. They don't even reply. They are probably just as baffled as I am.

We agree that it's okay to park the car there in the lot and head over to PLAV #10. Halfway there I notice that Skippy is carrying a medium-sized tin coffee can. He notices me noticing.

   "Yeah, this... Well the wife is out of town, but all of last week I was staying in the camper you sold me because she kicked me out," he explains, "Kicked me right out of the house."

I had sold him the camper back in 2016 after the naming party fiasco resulted in it being called [REDACTED]. It had caused enough headaches for me as it was.

   "So, I'm in the camper, J Slim, trying to figure out a way to get back at her so I grabbed this can of Folgers here to cook something up. Then she decides to visit her folks before I'm finished and I'm stuck with it..."

I say nothing.

   "This is what you call Prison Brew. Its usually used for payback on a crooked guard or a snitch. I have been pissing and shitting in this very can for the entire week, letting it sit outside in this miserable heat and humidity. This can is Grade A ready to go, man. Nobody is going to mess with us here. The second they get close enough to smell this gift from god they will be sorry, let me tell you. For six and a half fucking days this can has been sitting under my cot in the camper, festering, and when it wasn't under there it was outside in this Michigan summer covered in flies. Its probably filled with maggots. I haven't looked in a few days. I had to start a new one back home. So if any of those dingerbats from the parking lot tries anything with the car I'm going to rip the lid off this vile creation and whip seven days of the worst human production right into their faces. Let me tell you what would happen after that. They will be so baffled and confused it would give me plenty of time to slide this screwdriver into the back of their knees, crippling them for life, and then I start a brand new Prison Brew right on their gasping faces. I bet you thought it was funny when I asked them if it was okay if we parked there or if we would be towed. I was just planting the seed. I want them to try me, us. Fuck, the car isn't even in my name. You want funny? I'm Jerry Fucking Lewis except this clown is all out of tears, let me tell you. We're testing that Hamtramck police theory of yours tonight."

We get to PLAV #10 and I was shocked at how empty it was. This is their HQ! A ghost town. Skippy sets the Prison Brew down and orders three $2 hot dogs as I go to get our passes. As expected, I was not on the list. The volunteers were very nice but overwhelmed which is stunning because I was the only one in line. I asked where I could get a 2021 HMF t shirt that I saw them advertising on Facebook, but they informed me that the t shirt person no showed. They did provide me with a nice printed map on hard stock paper that would have been wonderful to have beforehand....

Back at the bar at PLAV #10 Skippy had predictably disappeared, but I did run into E First who I hadn't seen in months.

   "Hey Bryan, sorry but I'm off social media for a while now just doing the brew thing. Why are you looking at me funny?" she asks.

   "The brew thing? Not you too..."

   "Yeah, the brew thing. Me and my friends all do it. Sometimes at the end of the night if we have any brew left over we all try to see who can drink the most the quickest. Hey don't judge."

It is even worse than I could have ever imagined I think to myself. Or maybe I said it out loud. Still she continues...

   "When I'm not doing that Bobby has me flying all over the world working on these projects. We don't even worry about the superflu. His vaccinations are so much better than theirs. If you want I can see if you can come along for the next one later this month in New Orleans. I started a cult there but the plan all along was to wipe them out. The son of the main challenger to the Louisiana governor is in the cult. He's fun, but not smart. Do you understand?"

I nod along but am concerned because the dialogue she is reciting are lines I wrote for her in 2011. The Louisiana stuff is new, but everything up to that point is old including the references to Bobby. I'm Bobby!

After paying for her drinks I excuse myself and head over to Barter Bar or whatever its called to check out the scene. To nobody's surprise they didn't check my wristband. I purposely was not wearing mine, but rather had it in my pocket for the experiment. Barter was pretty full on the outdoor patio and around the bar, but the band section was light. There were no wristbands anywhere.

But there was some decent Slash. More on that later in the GNR section.

I jogged over to High Dive and was stopped at the door. "Ok, here we go," I thought.

   "ID please," the doorguy asks.

   "No no I'm only here for the music fest. I don't plan on voting," my feeble attempt at political humor falls flat, "Just kidding, here it is. I'm a journalist. Covering this for something. This is the Hamtramck Music Fest right? I'm here for the bands. Okay? Anything else you need? Good to go? Nothing else?" I was begging for him to ask me for my wristband. I almost offered to show it to him.

   "Nah, go ahead. Have fun."

No wristband checks. To save time later in this post, this happened at EVERY venue I stopped at during the Fest on Friday. Every one. Nothing much was going on at High Dive. I think more people were at the bar instead of watching whatever band was playing. The vocal recorder malfunctioned so I have no record, probably for the best.

When I got back to PLAV #10 Skippy had resurfaced but his can of prison brew was missing. I was not sure if it was lost or worse so I made sure not to bring it up but did have my can of mace I purchased from Harry's Army Surplus last year within reach just in case his parking lot experiment backfired and I had to spray the entire can of "Chemical Billy" into some savage's face.

Duende was playing upstairs and I had to catch a few songs as they are always pretty good. They would be good for Skippy whose only musical request of the night was "No fucking jazz". As soon as we got up there I saw that the t shirt girl was set up and was printing shirts. Well, not exactly because nobody was buying any which was sad because I thought the design was semi cool this year. Much better than those awful Prince rip offs a few years ago. I felt bad for her so I bought two, one of which I planned on listing on Ebay to help cover the cost of the wristband, drugs, gas, and other expenses. Duende was great as always even though their drummer despises me. It was sad that there weren't more people there. This is me at my most sincere and earnest. It really bummed me out.

They went from performing with JCM at a semi-packed May Days years ago in front of a crazed, twisted crowd.....

.....to this, performing next to a bathroom.

I had to get out before somebody called in a wellness check so we went to Polish Village to check out JCM Fan Club president, but not really, Mitchell Allen. Polish Village was also light on crowd although the HMF sound girl was very sweet and I plan on posting a "Missed Connection" after I get done with my Ebay listing. There were people there though, mostly musicians and those wanting to get away from the STD petrie dish Dear Darkness was cooking up at Whiskey in the Jar. The crowd here was more reserved aside from a table of four drunk girls (two maybes and two passes, a decent ratio for HMF on a Friday). I considered warning them to stay away from the chicken or pizza place's parking lot we parked at because Blowout, but fuck it. Chemical Billy and I (and Skippy who was fading) would be back there soon enough. Mitchell was great as always and it was really nice to see one of the true friends who are still chooglin' and not hiding or in fear. He didn't even mind the old hazmat suit prank. Nobody did. Sigh.

Skippy and I left soon after and he was already plotting on going to a strip club. 

   "Metro, you always attract the twisted ones, these total drug addict fractured creatures that have the best....drugs. Wanna go?" Before I could say yes he was fumbling for one of his scripts which helped make my decision.

   "No," I replied, "We should get you back." This has turned dark for me. We didn't speak much the rest of the way.

The next day I woke to a message from Skippy asking if I wanted to go back Saturday. I declined and decided I had everything I needed for my review: Light crowds. No wristbands. Little fun and less danger. Decent ratios. This was not my scene anymore. I decided to check out Suicide Squad instead.

It was fun! That's my review. A R-Rated Guardians of the Galaxy. The middle section dragged a bit, but the cast was obviously having fun which can be contagious, and it delivered when it needed to. As expected from a James Gunn helmed superhero film, the soundtrack was dated but memorable. There were really no weak links in the cast except for, shockingly, Harley Quinn. Her dialogue felt forced at times and limp. The character may have run its course, but no fault of the always game Margot Robby Starr. Her romantic subplot with the evil general killed the momentum. Avoiding spoilers, the ending was suitably over the top. Overall, it had traces of every superhero movie ever, The Expendables/Dirty Dozen, Watchmen (mocking Alan Moore's pretentious ending), and even Cabin in the Woods with the office people running the show. A solid B+

Sunday I met up with Wang Yellowbone and went to the Guns N Roses show down at Comerica. Sadly we missed Woodman and Bust Nuts performing on the street. I really would have liked to play the dollar bill trick on him and then ask why he was so quiet on the HMF front this year which I think is the real story. It was glaring. You can't say it was to let others have the attention because, once again, he was playing on the street before a Guns N Roses show. I love Woodman, always have always will, but I had to wonder why bother with this. Was it for attention? I didn't even see a guitar case or hat for money in the video I watched. Very depressing. The ghost of Detroit and the Friends of Bryan Metro (good band name) Decline and debasement continues. First Duende's bathroom set and now Woodman going from performing with a wild crowd with JCM at the New Way...

... to apathy on the street. This is like some bizarro Dickens novel.

Ye gods, baby baby baby we're really out of time.

Comerica was not as full as I expected. Wang and I were in the blowjob seats (I refuse to use "nosebleed"), but still had a great view.

The band was on point; amazing actually. Slash is an absolute master. Multiple times I had to stop and think why was he trying so hard. Duff looked to be in amazing condition for someone whose pancreas once exploded giving hope to us all, and his cover of The Stooges' "I Wanna Be Your Dog" was a highlight. Axl was good as well. I had my worries coming in, and he did struggle with "Live and Let Die" and "Knockin' on Heaven's Door", but was good to great on everything else. The best song of the night was "Double Talkin' Jive", an underrated gem that JCM once covered in 2011 at LJ's Lounge. Overall, a B+ show. Would see again.

So that's it. This post was a monster. I know, tl;dr, etc etc. Hope you enjoyed it and hope you got some insight in case you are one of the hundreds who missed everything this past weekend. The next post is the biggie. The Las Vegas Story. I'll try my best not to let you down. Not a prediction, but a spoiler. Oh, buy the merch. Cash me mah fah's.

From the Iceman Commeth,

Dr. Bryan Metro