Record Review: The 4onthefloor-4x4

The 4onthefloor-4x4(independent)
By Nathan G. O'Brien on Scene Point Blank

There is a type of rock & roll that is very, well, American—thunderous, hard-driving, electrified rhythm and blues with greasy guitars. Music that evokes a variety of American imagery—an oversized, gas-guzzling pickup truck covered in mud barrels down a gravel road; the driver—sporting a camouflaged hat and a farmer’s tan—rides shotgun with a six pack of beer and an actual shotgun. Or a group of bearded, pot-bellied men on a mid-summer motorcycle run up Route 66—nights spent drinking whiskey and slapping waitresses on the butt in roadhouse bars; mornings at the truck stop, refueling with large plates of biscuits and gravy and pots of black coffee. And my favorite; a couple of heshers working on a rundown car in front of their trailer house—a girl with bad tattoos and Daisy Dukes sits on the steps a few feet away, smoking cigs and hollering out unwarranted advice. You know; hog farmin’, flame-print skull caps, muscle cars, sleeveless tees, choppers, double cheese burgers, leather bikinis, manual transmissions, and suckin’ on chili dogs outside of the Tasty Freeze—the good ‘ole U.S. of A.  ...read entire review after the jump.




In case you forgot, us punk rock hip-hop hipster bike-riding graffiti-tagging agnostic anarchist normie motherfuckers is Minnesota as fuck. Respect.

"Up north", MN, 8/21/11


Record Review: Iceage-New Brigade

Iceage-New Brigade (What's Your Rupture?)
By Nathan G. O'Brien on Scene Point Blank

Like any self-respecting, ego-inflated music snob, I hate it when a good band gets huge. And these guys are totally capable blowing the F up.

Iceage pits gothic-tinged post-punk against discordant no-wave with angular hardcore attributes tossed in for good measure. (If you didn’t hate me by now, that sentence should do it for ya.) ...read entire review after the jump. 


Scenic Pines

Cty Rd 52, near Bigfork, MN, 8/21/11



Itasca County Fair, Grand Rapids, MN, 8/20/11



Mining road off of Cty Rd 58, near Nashwauk, MN, 8/19/11


Scene Report: The Dwarves Live at the Triple Rock Social Club

The Dwarves live, Triple Rock Social Club, Mpls, MN, 8/18/11
When Dwarves lead singer Blag Dahlia told the audience at the 3-Rock tonight that, "Rock legends stand among you" I thought to myself, Okay, so he knows the Dirty Biker and I are here, but who else is he talking about?  No, srsly.  After 25 years of pounding laughable statements like, "the Dwarves are the greatest rock & roll band in the world" into the heads of gunk punkers and sleazebags the world over, Blag Jesus' over-inflated ego might actually be justifiable.  Not just because of his relentless dedication to tall tales, bold statements, and songs about sodomy, but because their latest release, The Dwarves Are Born Again (and I know I've been saying this about a lot of records lately) is one of the better albums to come out this year.  And they are backing that up with a great live show, even in the absence of (for the third time in the TC in a row, I might add) the mysterious axe-wielding luchador known as Hewhocannotbenamed.  Also missing was bass player Nick Oliveri AKA Rex Everything.  He's got a good excuse though; he's too busy having standoffs with police and shit.  The set was a mix of classic jams from albums like Sugar Fix, Thank Heaven For Little Girls and The Dwarves Are Good Looking and a healthy dose of stuff from Born Again.  To my surprise and delight they even played a couple from The Dwarves Come Clean, including "There Better Be Women"--a song in which, Blag The Ripper professes, "I don't party with just anyone.  There better be women."  In the bar after the show we would learn that is not just something he wrote a song about.  He had no interest whatsoever in speaking with the dudes that would approach him, but he worked hard, and I do mean hard, at picking up the chicks...young chicks.  In particular, a quartet of crusty bicycle babes sitting next to the Dirty Biker and I.  Anyway, the show was good but I was kind of hoping for some violence.  Not the kind where anyone gets seriously hurt or anything; but you know, maybe some pushing and shoving, someone gets a bloody nose, someone gets thrown out, some broken glass, etc.  In between conversations with our new friend--an energetic barber shop owner from Lakeville--and trying to navigate the drink-getting pecking order of the bar staff, we had good laughs at the expense of the lead singer of Nashville Pussy.  Let me tell you, that dude is pathetic.  Kind of like his band.  Kind of like the opposite of the Dwarves.  Then we drunkenly stumbled down the block to the Cabooze, where we snuck in for the last song of George Clinton and P-Funk.  My gawd, what a bunch of snoozefest going there.  Pretty much exactly like the opposite of the Dwarves.


Found: Curby Pucket

Yes, I took it. Yes, I laughed.

24th St E & 25th Ave S, Mpls, MN, 8/12/11
I'm Faster Than My Shadow


Zine Preview: The Soda Killers

HDD is happy to present the first look at a brand new zine, The Soda Killers.  A collaborative work-in-progress presented by HotDogDayz and Anders Dinero, The Soda Killers will feature a survey of short stories, contemporary photography, and '90s pop culture.  Take a sneak peek... 




If you have something you'd like submit for consideration, contact bnb@hotdogdayz or andersdinero@yahoo.com.


the internetz don't lie

Young Money/YM/YMS/Flee/Flea/Filthytit in Mpls, on loan from PDX???...  The internets don't lie.

Pics: NASER, Mpls, MN, 8/8/11



Mpls-StPl, MN, July-Aug '11



International Canned Beer Month Opening Ceremony, BAG, StPl, MN, 8/5/11


Scene Report: Iceage Live at the Triple Rock Social Club

Iceage live, Triple Rock Social Club, Mpls, MN, 8/4/11
Iceage play 'core-tinged gothic post-punk and they doing it really fucking well.  Their debut album, New Brigade is one of the best records of the year so far.  If it's not on your summer playlist, add it like, now, because you will probably hate them next week when they get huge.  And who doesn't get off on playing the I-liked-them-back-when... game?  I love it.       

I'm always amazed that despite being the middle of summer here in the Midwest, there are still an astounding number of  people without at least some semblance of a tan.  Seriously, all it takes is to go outside for like, ten minutes once a week.  Other than that I don't really have any complaints.  Despite it being an 18+ show, judging from the amount of beers being drunk, I would say the majority of the folks in attendance were of the 21+ range.  Several older people as well.  Although going to rock shows and getting drunk is le statut supĂ©rieure of the young, it pleases me to see the old timers come out to play from time to time as well.

During the opening bands, it was easy to tell who Iceage were.  In fact, it's always easy to pick out the European rock dudes in the crowd.  They wear baggy sweatshirts over collared dress shirts, their pants are always too short for their lanky nonathletic build, and they have that swoopy-in-the-front haircut falling across their pasty faces.  Like a cross between Basketball Diaries-era Leo and made-for-TV artist, Miles Mendenhal.  So that's what the band looked like.  They are from Denmark, and you can tell. 

After their first song, "White Rune" which is also the opening track on their record, the lead singer Elias' guitar strap broke.  It appeared to be held on with athletic tape that was no longer working.  We were treated to a lengthy dose of feedback while the band worked feverishly to fix it.  In doing so, a string broke.  They went into the next song anyway, broken strap, string and all.  It was an almost-too-perfect moment, that, if I didn't know any better, I would have thought was planned.  It's the kind of thing "it" bands to that make them, well, "it." 

Initially I was surprised by the lack of the energy put forth by a band everyone from MRR to Vice to even the godawful, Onion is describing as "energetic."  That would change though, as eventually Elias ditched the guitar altogether and the rest of the band seemed to come to life.  The audience up front responded appropriately, as a smallish circle pit formed.  Unfortunately, it was all over too quickly.  Their set lasted all of 27 minutes.  Which is roughly 2 minutes longer than their record.  But it's not like they held anything back--they played pretty much every song they have.  I think everyone would have been happy if they would have just played the set over again as an encore.  In fact, New Brigade is one of the few records I will  listen to back-to-back so it would have been appropriate. 

Overall, Iceage is every bit good live as they are on record.  They very well may be "the next big thing."  And if they are, well...I saw them back when...



HDD Summer Series #5: Five

Well we asked for it.  And we got it.  The HDD Summer Series continues...


It was hot as shit that summer. More so than others. 120 degrees on the hottest days. Some days I thought my face was literally melting off. Like a heat-induced bout of Bell's palsy. Not a lot to do in the summer in Somerton, Arizona. Not much other than sneaking into your dad's stash, smoking up, and going the pool.

Somerton is roughly twenty minutes to the southwest of the city of Yuma, in Yuma County. Yuma County is a miserable fucking place, let me tell you. Poverty. Poverty and gangs. Crips, Nortenos 14, Barrio West, Strong Arm-7th Avenue, and an astounding number of 13 clicks--Surenos, Soma, Hollywood, Varrio Los Avenues, Naked City, Okie Town, Messa Barrio Locos, Plaza Wild, Little Town, and of course, Mara Salvatracha.

Like many broken familys in Somerton we lived in a trailor complex. Everytime you walked to Circle K or 7-Eleven you risked a wallet-jacking. Or, as was often the case with a scrawny punk rocker like me, a beatdown. If you rode your BMX, you better go fast or you might not come home with a bike. I had two Huffys and a Schwinn taken from me when I was a kid. A black eye or a broken rib as a receipt. After the third time, my dad decided I was better off without a bike. I saved my allowance and mail-ordered a Vision skateboard from CCS. Cholos didn't see any monetary value in reselling a skateboard, so it became my primary form of transportation.

Even if you didn't leave the complex, there was plenty of trouble to find. If you weren't looking for it, it was looking for you. On that hot-ass day trouble was hellbent on finding me.

It started out just like any other summer day. I got up an hour or so after my dad went to work. Turn on MTV and watch videos while I eat at least two bowls of cereal. Usually Apple Jacks or Fruit Loops. On this day it was Golden Grahams. I remember that now. I would go into my dad's room and pull out the old cigar box he hid behind his records. The Guess Who, The Lovin' Spoonful, Spencer Davis Group, The Kinks, The Animals, some others. I would pinch a little of the dry, crumbly herb and drop into the Zig Zag. Roll it tight and thin. Just like I saw my dad and my uncle do on the weekends that we would go to Lake Martinez. That's where they would drink Modelo and throw the Frisbee with me. In the tiny storage shed behind the trailer I would smoke it until it was gone. Then I would head to the pool for the rest the day. Or at least until I was hungry enough to come back and eat more cereal until my dad got home. The we would go to Del Taco or Jack in the Box. On this particular day I would lose my late-afternoon appetite.

The complex we lived in had a really nice big pool. Near the pool was a laundry room. Most days there would be some Mexican women there washing clothes. Always folding bright white tee shirts. I wondered how they got those tee shirts so white. Probably bleach. There was a game room too. But there was hardly anyone ever in there. I don't think anyone had quarters to spend on the pinball machines because laundry cost so much. Everyone in the complex was poor. Sometimes if my dad had left enough quarters on his night stand for me to nab, I would buy a RC Cola or a Tahitian Treat from the machine in the game room.  Lots of times the pool would be full of kids. Mostly my age. There was nobody at the pool that day. Just me and my buzz. It was beautiful. It was peaceful.

That is until seven older boys in blue bandannas, bright white socks and black corduroy slippers arrived. They were the type of guys my friend Antonio from grade school would call peewees. Antonio had moved to Somerton from Mexico. His dad was an OG from the Mexican gang, Wonder Boys. Pewees were the young cholos. Future OGs if they lived that long.

"Hey guero," The biggest one said. "You wanna join our click?" The rest of them laughed. I laughed too. Nervously. Like it was a joke. Hoping it was. "What's so funny, holmes?" He continued, "Familia is a serious thing, holmes. Not something to joke about, eh."

At this point the seven of them circled me. I had been here before. Many times. Just take your beating and then they will leave.

"You look scared, guero," He said. "Don't be scared. We not going to jump you in, holmes. We don't want to hurt you." Somehow I was relieved to hear this. I wanted to believe him. And then things went from bad to worse. "Nah, you're a little white bitch. You get to role the dice, holmes." He held his hand out. Two dirt-stained dice sat in his open palm.

It's called a Dice Roll. It's how cholos would initiate girls into the gang. You roll the dice and whatever number comes up is the number of blow jobs you have to give. I remember Antonio taunting the all the girls at school with his little chant. "You wanna join the click, you gotta suck the dick." I stared at the dice in his hand. Time stood still. I knew I wasn't actually being initiated into any gang. But I'm not a girl.

I looked around. Aside from the seven boys surrounding me, there was nobody in sight. Why the fuck isn't anyone doing laundry today?! Shouldn't someone should be folding tee shirts? I tried to crack a joke.

"I don't like my odds here." I said. "How about if I just role one dice?" We all laughed.

He looked around. I could see him counting. His fingers twitched in unison as he mouthed the count. One, two, three...

"OK, holmes, just role one dice. There is only seven of us here anyway." He paused briefly to think. Then, smiling, continued, "At least one of you motherfuckers aint gettin' his dick sucked by this little white boy." Everyone laughed again. Except me.

I considered trying to make a run for it. My legs feel like rubber. I won't make it. I had no choice. I looked around at all of them again. Looking for...praying for some sign that this was a big joke on me.

"Roll it, pussy boy." Someone said. Shit, they're not kidding.

So I rolled the dice.


Correction: TWO of you motherfuckers aint gettin' your dick sucked.

I felt a sharp pain in the back of my neck. The walls closed in. I remember seeing the pavement coming towards my face. Was I hit from behind? Or did I faint? I don't exactly remember. I came to briefly. I was being dragged away.

The next time I woke up I was on my knees. Someone was holding my hands tightly behind my back. Squeezing hard. My wrists hurt. We were inside a tight closet, off the side of the laundry room. The door was partially closed. I could see two of the guys nervously standing watch outside. Beyond them was the cool waters of the pool. I wanted to be there. I want to go swimming. It was so hot in that closet. The other five were above me. My face at their crotch level. Each of them had their cocks out. Holding them in their hands. Wicked smiles staring down at me. Even if I don't want to join the click, I still gotta suck the dick? One of them spit on me. Everything went black again.

When I came to again I was all alone. I was laying on the floor. It was so hot.  My lips were bleeding, one of my eyes was swelling and there was sticky goo all over my face. Cum. Nobody was in the pool or doing laundry. I walked very slowly back to my trailer. I tried to run but my rubbery legs wouldn't let me. My mouth tasted like hard boiled eggs and gasoline. I didn't eat any more cereal. In fact I didn't eat anything for a couple days.

A week later I went to live with my mom in Indiana. I never thought about that summer again until I moved back to this godforsaken place a year ago to take care of my ailing father. But now I remember exactly what it's like here. And I have to deal with it every day.

Not a lot to do in Somerton. Not much other than sneaking into your dad's stash, smoking up, and going to the pool. And sucking five dicks. Yeah, it was hot as shit that summer. More so than others. 120 on the hottest days.


send your stuff to bnb@hotdogdayz.com


HDD reviewed by Randy Spaghetti

A little bit more press for Issue #2 of the zine, thanks to zine junkie Randy Spaghetti.  Check it out here:


Thanks Mr. Spaghetti!  Very much appreciated!

We have a very small amount of these left.  If you want one, let us know:  bnb@hotdogdayz.com or thee.n.o.b@gmail.com.  Or, if you want to make a chaitable donation in exchange, simply follow the link on the top right hand side of this here bloooggayah.  Also available for trade.


Record Review: Buck Gooter-Devil Worship

Buck Gooter-Devil Worship (Flannel Gurl Records)
By Nathan G. O'Brien on Scene Point Blank

When I think of Devil worship I think of all the scary stuff from my youth. I think of serial killer Richard Ramirez. Also known as “The Night Stalker,” Ramirez is perhaps the most famous Devil worshiper of the era—famous for sporting AC/DC tee shirts, flashing the Devil horns while in handcuffs—a pentagram tattooed on his palm—and quotes like, “I love to kill people.” When I think of Devil worship, I think of King Diamond in Rip Magazine, Anton LaVey and the Church of Satan on the The Geraldo Rivera Show, and finding the remnants of Satanic ritual in the woods behind my house—a candlelit five-pointed star scrawled in ground, the mutilated carcass of a canine, and a forgotten weathered paperback copy of The Necronomicon. Yeah, good old Devil worship and I go way back. ...continue reading review here.