Outstanding, brain-numbing club set from Pentagram (nee Death Row) in 1983.

Happy Birthday, Dion ... one year old as of this month, we see him here pensively staring out from his crib, wondering where his youth has gone and trying to figure out what the hell to do next.

There is no sleep for us in this house. The transition from family bed to private quarters has not been welcomed, in fact has been deemed betrayal itself ... we are all a bit hazy and on edge, as so it shall remain until the advantages and satisfactions of a room of one's own dawn upon our son and he accepts this important first step toward independence.

In other developments, I've been studying up on Satan's influence on rock and pop music, particularly the deceitful nature of the CCM industry and so-called "Christian Rock" ...

Available now, after yet another lifetime of wait. As with BSH-003, a combination of production mishaps and personal disruptions delayed the release of this record by at least a year. The real-life travails were sweeter this time, the birth of my son rather than the death of my mother, but equally demanding on my attentions. Hopefully the next record can meet light with more expediency ... we've begun recording new songs at the usual joints (Backseat and Ghetto) for what will either be a vinyl LP or another succession of 7" singles, depending on how the results hang together. So far only one review, but it's one I'm happy with -- Brett Callwood of the Metro Times describes "Days Of Plenty" as a cross between The Mamas & The Papas and the original Wicker Man soundtrack. I'll buy that for a dollar, and now you can too.

Lori and I have been circumspect about exposing too many photos of Dion to the dark ether of the internet, despite our desire to show off his bright eyes and drooling smile, but since she recently posted a few to her Facebook page (which are undoubtedly the property of some vast sinister stock photo company by now) I'll take a chance on one as well ...

This is actually a month or so ago, he's already bigger and toothier by now. I will continue to post out-of-date photos of my baby boy at irregular intervals in the future, so don't go anywhere. In the meantime, for no particular reason other than I recently found it and consider it charming, here is a photo of my late grandfather and namesake, Fred Storz, as a boy ...

He's the kid on the right, circa sometime in the 1920s perhaps? As there were no talent scouts prowling Erie PA back then, he and his pal never took their rightful places in the cast of The Little Rascals, and were doomed to live normal, healthy and productive lives.