Hey. Check out CORPSE EATERS, the first Canadian gore film. Totally worth your hour if you think this might be your bag. More info courtesy Canuxploitation!.

First dance? Age unknown, but isn't it lovely?

Two more great shots of my mother, Diane Storz, as photographed by my grandfather Frederick Storz, circa late 1940s.

I inherited great dusty boxes of family photos and slides following my mother's death, so I've been gradually sifting through, sorting and appraising ... the above photo was included, although I'm not sure of the identity of these children. It can't be my brother Greg and I -- we were never this awesome. Perhaps some German relatives I've never met? Whoever they are, I hope they are still exactly the same.

More photos to follow ... my grandfather was a very good amateur photographer during the post-WWII years, and there are many creative and/or adorable portraits of my mother's childhood in this collection which don't require family ties to appreciate.

For example ...

Haloween 1947, as captured by my grandfather, Frederick Storz, in Flint MI. The model is my mother, Diane Storz, age 4.

I know it's rough out there, but for those in the biz, here's a new freelance writing opportunity. Good luck, all.

Hey, no one died today, least not nobody I felt like Googling (or as we used to say in the 90s, "Jeevesing"). This is merely a notice to say I found a full-length copy of a film I've been curious about for some time, a no-budget French gorefest called Ogroff, The Mad Mutilator (click the link for a cogent explanation of facts via the Bleeding Skull fellas). It's a cheap amateur job at best, but makes for  truly subversive environmental stimulation ... maybe if you spoke French it would make more (or possibly less) sense.

It's available thanks to a YouTuber calling hisself GoodOldeDaze ... there's plenty of nuthin' up there, including the absolutely wonderful American Gothic (Yvonne DeCarlo, Rod Steiger and Michael Pollard as a murderous backwoods family and a good surprise ending, again, click the link if you need more encouragement). This one I can heartily recommend, that is, if you're still reading ... those with horror interests should sit down for it, things get very weird here.





As for all else, I feel refreshed by summer and ready to tackle my windmills again. Cover art for BSH-003 is at the printer, vinyl pressing plants have been alerted, website prepared for extreme overhaul, and the outside doesn't feel so outside anymore.

PS. Should have also mentioned Mausoleum, which I've been waiting to see since a juicy Fangoria puff piece back in 1983. Features two of my heroes, Marjoe Gortner and LaWanda Page in service to full-on absurdity. Thanks again, GoodOldeDaze, whoever you are.

Seems like I never post anymore unless someone dies, and usually someone I've never met. Whatever, dude ... Bob Welch's suicide inspired me to seek out some awkward-stage Fleetwood Mac, and some of it is beautiful. So here we are.

The mass murder that occurred in a Seattle cafe yesterday took place somewhere I am very familiar with ... The End Times played many times at Cafe Racer circa 2007/2008, I lived nearby in the Greenlake neighborhood and it was a convenient stop any time I was walking to Scarecrow Video or the music store next door. I do not know the victims, nor could I claim to be a regular in the same way they were, but the events disturb me deeply regardless. Racer is indeed a warm, welcoming space, and as many others have said, the last place you'd expect sudden violence to erupt. I experienced many triumphs as well as minor agonies there, and to have this happen somewhere so important to my own past development is jarring.

My sympathies to the friends/family of the victims and the employees/management of Cafe Racer, who now have the overwhelming task of carrying on. I suppose there's nothing left to say. I feel numb and alone.

Goodnight, Donna. The On The Radio compilation LP was a favorite of mine circa age 13 ... I still have my original copy (plus poster). Probably haven't spun it since the 1980s, but I can recall every note to this day. That is all.

I extend apologies to anyone I owe correspondence to ... I feel very uncommunicative these days, and actually, let me amend this sentence without deleting and re-keying, I do not apologize for the state I'm in or my behavior, just the results, because this is just the way it is, I am here as I am right now with these particular blocks and hang-ups and what else? I do not know, but to Kris, Pat, Tim and others, I simply cannot communicate in a traditional manner thus far in 2012. My writer's block is deep enough that even the most basic one-line email response feels beyond me (never mind my more lofty designs, which currently languish in hopes of inspiration) ... I fight even through this paragraph, some kind of blanket apology to those it may apply to (you can decide for yourself if you fit this category), in hopes that more productive personal missives will surface in days to come, hopefully as a result of this exercise in blowing out cognitive cobwebs (and descriptives of such caliber). No?

I have wholly ignored Facebook for about two months now, and the change has been refreshing. I can't articulate what it is that feels discordant and dissociative about living that fully online, for so many years it felt freeing and seemed to add to rather than sap my real-world energies, but right now, no. I can't know or share daily moments in real time as I used to, they actually make me feel lonely and disconnected rather than engaged. So many people I have loved who I cannot be with in real time, constantly updating me with the minutia of lives I cannot take part in ... it's addicting in the true sense of the word, creating desperate cravings that can never know satisfaction, and my separation had to be severe. I'll be logging on again soon to take stock and evaluate future Facebook needs (I'll likely continue monitoring various band sites via a proxy), but even that final act feels oppressive.

As I mentioned in my previous, clumsily poetic entry, the Spring months of Michigan are upon us and the air is beautiful. My batteries quietly charge as long as I don't watch the levels rise. Discussions about future Great Tribulation experiments are underway, I return even tonight to Backseat to continue work on a handful of new End Times tracks, and spontaneous visits to friends in the flesh no longer confound or conflict. I stagger upwards.

It is inexplicably summer in Michigan, within days the air went from balmy to boastful and I fear there won't be much of a spring this year. The middle months can be so aggressive, but as of March 22 we know cool, damp mornings and optimistic afternoons, it's all too beautiful to regard the moist bite of sweaty air that swims past while the sun peaks as the harbinger of extremity that it most surely is. I pledge to breathe as much of the outside as I can ...

It took 44 years, but I've finally become a guy who posts pictures of his cat on the internet. His name is Gomez, and I love him. Shhh, he's sleeping right now.

The latest product from The End Times Organization ... due out on vinyl as soon as God allows. New recordings commence in two days.

A couple new entries up on my long-ignored video blog Frenzy of the Visible, including the you'd-think-it's-a-joke-but-it-isn't cancer-themed Peanuts television special Why, Charlie Brown, Why? which I was informed of today thanks to an Onion AV Club article.

In other cancer-related news, Black Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi has been diagnosed with lymphoma. Considering my mother died of the same ailment just a few months ago, I feel fairly pessimistic about this development, but I'm still hoping that the original lineup can complete the LP they recently started working on with Rick Rubin, who has been so successful with helping aging icons distill the primal urgency of their early years without sacrificing their hard-earned maturity and wisdom. Godspeed.

Black Flag Live in San Francisco, 1982

Found this balls-out Black Flag set this morning via Dutch record label Black Death Records' blog ... sound quality is great and the band is fucking frantic, plus it's got Dez on rhythm guitar and Rollins defending his newly-advanced hair length by mocking the crowd's uptight hardcore puritanism. It seems ridiculous now, but Flag's shaggy manes were an actual controversy at one time ... welcome to teenage myopia.

An experiment with Mediafire ... just a test to see how well this fits with my needs.

El Smasho That's What I Want

What we got here is the "lost" El Smasho album, recorded mere months before we broke up in acrimony in 1994. Commissioned by the long-defunct Icon Records of Detroit, who released our third 7" single in 1993, but wisely passed on releasing a full-length CD by an essentially-unknown local band with no means to promote or exploit such a thing after we (mostly) went our separate ways. Over the years I've had many requests for copies of this, all fulfilled, so it may be that critical mass has been met, but if you've never dug it before, I encourage you to check it out. We were fucking tight, if nothing else.

Tom Deja - vox
Brian Shaw - guitar
Fred Beldin - bass
Tim Ford - drums
Produced by Scott Sendra (down mf) and recorded by Tim Pak (Angry Red Planet) at Woodshed Studios in Detroit, MI (except for the final three songs, which were meant as "bonus" tracks taken from our earlier 7" records). All songs by El Smasho except "The Dave Hill" (The Dave Hill) and "Solid State" (Scott Sendra).

I've said it before -- El Smasho was a great band that wrote some lousy songs, and aside from a few tracks that still sound strong in my old age ("Duncan," "Wristrocket," "Notorious," "Foster Brooks" and our cover of down mf's "Solid State") among others that wax and wane depending on my mood, that's still my take on it. We ruled our backyard of East Lansing, MI between 1991 and 1993, and for better or worse this band set me on the crooked path I've followed ever since ...

Dedicated to all members of the ELHC, past, present and future. FTW.

Happy New Year. The first day of 2012 was well spent, a calm day indoors cleaning the house and blasting biker films, including (for the hundredth time) THE WILD ANGELS ...



THE PEACE KILLERS ...



THE HARD RIDE ...



And ANGELS' WILD WOMEN ...



It all seems very appropriate. A cleansing ritual bolstered by savage images of outlaw freedom, men and broads who live for the now and leave scorched earth behind them. My 2012 has begun ...