It was late at night and I was on the prowl. My Trans Am scraped the city streets as plumes of purple smoke swept through the t-top. My custom in-dash hi-fi was pumping out Black Sabbath’s Volume IV record at volumes few could withstand, and my mane undulated in the wind like a peroxide windsock.
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Da Chemical Brothas- Push Da Button
By Frank “Frankie Caps” Kosciuszko as told to Hadley Tomicki
Check it out, I’m doing my collections this morning, like normal, and next to a stack of soiled Black Tail Magazines and used Q-Tips (the swabs not the rapper, who by the way is a friend from way back), what do I spy in the dumpster but a new CD from Da Chemical Brothas? Push Da Button it’s called and has a real hippie cover with a raised blue fist coming outta some chess piece or lighthouse or some crap.
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Count Baron von Duke (as told to Editor-at-Large Hadley Tomicki)
Twice the Pain Twice the Pleasure
Hello, yet again, my good friends. ‘Tis I, your randy commentator of cacophony, hoping you can hear me over this delectable din. There are few rackets as glorious as the sound of seven ecstasy-fueled nineteen year-old models having a pillow fight and I’m afraid I cannot tear myself from the center of it for even a moment to carouse with you, my trusted intimates.
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Take a peek behind the veil of secrecy surrounding the wild underground of NYC’s strangest and best unsigned bands by the mysterious Zero 1… our underground reporter from the lower depths of Hell’s Kitchen…
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Greetings friends both new and old, it is I, Terrence American Buddhist back with a new music review.
Of late I have been embracing deep, all-consuming meditation, spending my days working on my calligraphy, taking long walks, contemplating the nature of the universe, and consuming large amounts of extremely potent cannibas sativa.
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Most clubs these days have like a VIP area or whatever, but for me, the real VIP area is the couch in the alleyway behind the club.
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I have told you many times now that life is suffering. It is for this reason that a Buddhist such as myself has no need for the soothing pleasures of marijuana buds and leaves that many of you have continued to send me despite my admonitions. As a Buddhist I have no use for the herb, for ss Tao te Ching once wrote, “we shape clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want.”
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