#phillypunkrock

Rich Cucarese, author of the upcoming, fictional novel ‘PUNKS’

With the stench of beer, puke, cigs and weed giving the new club it’s break-in stank, the applause started again, begging ‘Crack’ for some encores.  

Gem, true to her word when she was at my mother’s house back in February, had the band learn her stirring cover of Joy Division’s, ‘No Love Lost’, which had our punk tribes moshing out of control until Ian Curtis’ spoken verses, utterly wrought tonight through his spirit, by the painful howls of one, Gemma ‘Swan’ Stinson, left the ‘Underground’ hushed and awestruck at that moment.    

Excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s( that’s me!!) upcoming, literary fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’...Chapter 34, ‘The Message’...

From the haunting, disturbing movie, ‘Control’.....

The girls uninhibited, sexual psychosis, created the perfect segue for ‘Crack’ to come scorching onto the scene with our first set, plowing through the originals of Dilby and Acer’s ‘Crack’ crew, and we added some new covers to the mix, such as GBH’s, ‘Sick Boy’, and Social Distortion’s, ‘1945’.  

Of course, Gem heightened the unrestrained lunacy by having us do the Limelight and Dobbs version of ‘I Wanna’ Be Your Dog’ which had me losing my shirt (again) and Gem riding around on my back, with me on all fours singing (again) and a shitload of girls getting onto the stage, with Sammi and Lena doing the honors of kissing me all over this time until Syd, who I guess didn’t have enough fun at my expense by just about stripping me naked in their store the other evening, decided to French my tonsils out tonight.

My Gem was no help here either, laughing and howling demonically while Syd shimmied her way under me, running her tongue across my chest until slipping even further down to the netherworld before I sat on top of her, delaying her progress towards leaving me in a ….gulp…over-stimulated situation, and in the process, sent a hysterical Gem toppling from my back.  Ever the trooper, my girl continued playing through a tangled mess of amp and mic cords, drawing some well-deserved applause when we finished.

During the break of our first set, after I unloaded nearly a full bucket of ice water on me to quell the um….heat produced by a certain Sydney, Gem and I jumped up on stage, with her deciding to wow the audience with some old time rock by running her ‘Robin’s Egg’ Gretsch ferociously through Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Child’; leaving the crowd jaw dropped at her guitar mastery and Acer and Dil beaming at their rising star’s proficiency.

And if that weren’t enough to make the evening an interesting one, we seemed to have lost Tim and Skate somewhere.  Dust, Oren and Steph decided to put together a search party but never got their chance to mount their rescue, when out of the night appeared two guys in ball caps, Schmidt’s coverall’s and close to seven or eight cases of bottled beer.

“Compliments of the Schmidt’s Brewery!” one of the employees exclaimed laughingly before the cap was snatched from his head by Dusty, who could only throw up his hands in utter disbelief when he realized the caper that had just been pulled. “Jesus Bleedin’ Christ….you two cat burglars just pulled off a beer heist!” he exploded in laughter as Tim and Skate beamed from ear to ear when the jig was up.

“Hell, there are so many people working in there, we just walked in like new hires, went to the locker room, grabbed these get up’s, headed straight to the loading dock  and tossed all of it onto this hand dolly.  Then it was off into the dark streets of the Libs for us!” Skate beamed with pride.  All in all it was just another day in the life for our human versions of Heckle and Jeckle.

An excerpt from Richard Cucarese’s upcoming fictional novel, ‘PUNKS’...Chapter 34, ‘The Message’....

Social Distortion interview and ‘1945′ live from CBGB’s!!  It was a great concert!!

Schmidt’s Brewery in Northern Liberties, Philadelphia!!!! R.I.P.....

THE NIGHT WAS PURE FUCKIN’ CRUST….A TOTAL, GOBSMACKED HIT!!!  Dilby’s opening night at his official, legit club named, what else, ‘The Underground’, was a smashing success and ‘Crack’ was glad to be a part of it.

Rolling loudly and triumphantly into the perilous depths of Northern Liberties like Roman Centurions on our gas powered chariots of chrome; we took to the stage after our opening act, ‘The Slit Throats’ put on a killer performance of their own.  With their sultry, firecracker singer and guitarist, Delia Dagger, thrashing about the stage in full effect, her band, along with our buddy Zip on the sax, shook the windows of this rustic, factory space.  She even had Gem join her onstage for a purely glorious, screaming rendition of X-Ray Spex, ‘Oh Bondage! Up Yours!’ that would have made Poly Styrene jump out of her fuckin’ skin!

Of course, during the song, Syd and a few of the ’SKINZ’ girls made it a point to hoist the bound, gagged and dildo violated, ‘Ranger Smurf’, proudly into the air before he was moshed, stomped, unstuffed and beaten silly by the wild, ‘Underground’ punks, while up on stage, the sexual tension between the two spiked haired beauties could’ve sliced Dil’s club to ribbons with a switchblade when the depraved lyrics were spewed through his new sound system….

“Bind me, tie me, chain me to the wall

I wanna’ be a slave to you all

 Oh bondage, up yours

Oh bondage, no more

Oh bondage, up yours

Oh bondage, no more

 Chain-store chainsmoke, I consume you all

Chain-gang chainmail, I don’t think at all

 Oh bondage, up yours

Oh bondage, no more

Oh bondage, up yours

Oh bondage, no more

 Thrash me, crush me, beat me ‘til I fall

I wanna’ be a victim to you all

 Oh bondage, up yours

Oh bondage, no more

Oh bondage, up yours

     Oh bondage, no more…….”

Excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!!) upcoming, literary fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’....Chapter 34, ‘The Message’...

Sketch courtesy of Rich Cucarese, author of the upcoming, fictional novel, ‘PUNKS’

“OUR NEXT STOP WILL BE PENN STATION,”…….the buzzing speaker crackles for the last time before our departure.  It’s been quite a trip from Trenton, so needless to say, all of the ‘Misfits’ are psyched to hear some maddening, skull crushing, hardcore acts at CBGB’s.  There were a multitude of emotions spent on the ride up, so we’re quite ready to get the spirits heightened and make sure our newbie member, Sammi, is prepped, but nothing can truly ready her for the chaos of CBGB’s on a hardcore punk night.

           Snatching our meager belongings, hustling rapidly from the stopped train, keeping our brisk pace through Penn Station, you can’t help notice the same story being played out in the Big Apple as well, where homeless lay everywhere, while the smell of piss and shit permeate the senses.

           “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, this shithole smells worse than CBGB’s bathrooms,” Dust blurts out to no one in particular.  I toss a Red in my mouth, lighting it up quickly. “Smoke em’ up, Misfits, at least it’ll kill some of the odor!”  

           Bathroom humor was definitely going to happen during this trip, because anyone who’s been to CBGB’s knows what the bathroom situation is like.  The toilets have no enclosures, filth and graffiti scar and scab the walls and if you have a smart ass friend at the urinal, or some fuck ass, drunken dick who wants to make life miserable, you may just end up with your boots getting pissed on.  In other words, it made for a great, memorable night at the ‘Cathedral of Punk.’

           Gem and I take the lead, running the gauntlet of night crawlers, pimps, hustlers and pushers, only stopping long enough to absorb the grand view of the sparkling Empire State Building looming above us. Spotting the friendly glow of the green globe above the stairs for the 34th Street Herald Square subway, we roar downstairs over the filth and trash to snag some tokens, take care of all the ‘Misfits’ fares to save time, get through the turnstiles in order to catch the next train to Broadway-Lafayette Street Station and jump into the subway car, laughing our asses off about how a crew of batshit crazy punks from Philly, its burbs’ and Trenton navigated the city without a hitch once again.  We’re only riding for a few minutes, but if you’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing the NYC subway system, it could be quite traumatic for the weak of spirit or stomach.

           Whereas the ‘Misfits’ may be looked upon in the confines of a suburban Philly SEPTA rail car as a menacing presence or a nuisance, in a New York City subway car, we’re nothing more than street freaks inhabiting some space.  Our Thursday night ride has accumulated its fair share of earlier rush hour litter, while graffiti covers its walls and windows from one end to the other.  It is chaos, despair and decadence; all of the elements which have spawned the birth of the punk movement.  What is an annoyance to most, is a punks’ feel for the new reality under the not so incredible Reagan Administration, evoking a sense of where we feel the future is heading for many Americans; a future of good jobs being lost, immeasurable poverty and a post-apocalyptic feel in many cities and industrial towns.  Don’t get too haughty, suburban America, because if this cycle continues, your demise will soon follow.

            A growing number of punks have become savvy to the realpolitik being peddled in America and none of us are buying into the “Morning in America” line of shit that a second rate actor, a former CIA head, and a carnivorous Wall Street tyrant have sold to the gullible masses.  

           Gem and I are personally disgusted at the amount of people from the 60’s, Anti-War Movement, who said never to trust anyone over thirty, though growing amounts of their numbers have become the Conservative, modern day pimps and scum whose mergers and acquisitions are tearing the country apart.   And as far as the Democrats go, fuck them too, since these limousine liberals have moved so far away from being a party of the people, like in the days of FDR, they should honestly be ashamed of themselves.

           There are those in the punk ranks who believe the system should be totally overturned in an anarchistic fashion to bring about true democracy.  There is a true, Orwellian feel about the future of America and many in the punk movement need an avenue to display their vitriol against it. CBGB’s has stood as a shining beacon for most of us, because it has given punk music a platform to demonstrate its disgust at the system through music.  On a more generic level, it also gives us a place to find commonality; a place where we can blow off some steam, have some enjoyment and not feel like we are the freaks, misfits or the rabble.  The hippies had their Woodstock, the punks have our CBGB’s.

           The subway car comes to a thumping, screeching halt as we pull into Broadway-Lafayette Station to the acrid smell of burning brakes pouring inside while we make our escape.  Gem torches up a Newp, sniffing the putrid, fetid air encircling us.  “Rome is burning, Robbs,” she says with a smirk.  “Sure as hell is, Gem.  Well, if we’re going to witness the fall of the Empire, no better place to do it from than CBGB’s.”

            Tattered jackets and filthy blankets adorn the sleeping homeless everywhere but our gang of twelve marches up the steps like a victorious army laying claim to our spoils…a place of pure debauchery, disorder and desolation to most, is now our place of solace.  Gem can’t help but laugh as I blaze up a Red and grin from ear to ear, the Punk Prince and his Punk Princess, in their element and owning the night, as we walk down East Houston and after a few minutes, turn the corner, before I face the ‘Misfits’, raising my arms towards the night sky.  “Misfits, welcome to our nirvana.  Welcome to the Bowery!!!”

An excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!!) upcoming, literary fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’....Chapter 12, ‘All Hell’s Breaking Loose’

The sorrow of the 80′s in America...rampant homelessness....

The now closed, iconic punk rock store, ‘Zipperhead’, on South Street, Philadelphia...