J-Zone took up drumming a few years ago, after announcing his retirement from making rap music. Well, like most rap retirees, he came back, and has released a slew of albums since. The only difference being, he now plays his own drums on his beats, instead of using samples. That’s cool, because he actually knows a lot about breakbeat samples, and recreates them with his drumset. In fact, he interviews a lot of funk drummers from the 60’s and 70’s for Red Bull’s website. This is some advanced artistic shit, with a lot of soul and groove. Questlove, throw your dawg a bone! Anyway, here he is drumming Special Ed’s classic and rapping at the same time. J-Live used to be known for scratching and rapping at the same time. It’s your turn now, J-Zone!
I’m in the living room with my mother and we discuss events of the day before. My older brother didn’t come home. Probably out partying with friends. Mom is getting ready for work. Suddenly, a deep voice bursts into laughter. Someone steps out of the hallway closet in stitches. It’s Billy, my classmate. Tall as Motumbo, and dark as the night.
How are you doing, Hugo? I don’t answer. Mom is too busy to ask any questions. I go into the other living room and somebody is laying on the sofa bed. Next to him, a bevy of empty bottles. I politely ask him to wake up and leave. Another friend enters the room. Something is happening in this house but I’m not sure what. I ask everybody to leave.
People start leaving, but others keep entering. Suddenly the apartment is filled with strangers. One of them, in a leather jacket, with a bandana wrapped around his head, with a weathered scowl, is nervously scanning the rooms. I think it’s Alan Vega. He looks alarmed, but focused. After a few minutes, and without speaking to anybody, he leaves. I get everybody else to leave before my father returns home from work.
My younger brother is in the next room, sleeping with his dog. I try to wake him up, but only the dog wakes up. He follows me into the next room, and then outside.
I leave the apartment to go for a bike ride. Lucky follows along. It’s early Sunday morning and the neighborhood is deserted. I reach the shopping mall and see nobody. Lucky is panting exhaustively. I place him in the bike basket and dash back home.
Alan Vega is back and walks in the kitchen, looking dazed. Without saying hello he goes directly to my older brother’s room. He lies down on the single bed and tries to sleep. I go inside and close the window blinds to cut off the sunlight. I move the plant from the windowsill to the floor. Then I ask, what’s up? He mumbles something and hands me a photo booth picture. It’s his mother when she was younger. He falls asleep and I leave the room.
R.I.P. Alan Vega
Discover another hidden piece of the mindblowing global underground punk puzzle. Counter Intuits embody the excavation of KBD garage, early Ohio no-wave, subtle ineptitude, and (unsurprisingly) twisted pop ambitions.
My human fly antennas begin to vigorously rub together and I detect the following influences:
- Dave E. McManus of Electric Eels
- Early Seattle Grunge
- The Cramps’ Ohio Demos
- Obscure rockabilly
- Early 90’s underground pop-punk
After doing some research, it turns out that this is Ron House’s band, from Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments. Does that mean it’s cool, or good? Most likely. It’s just great, you know. A series of stompers, that really stomp, but still lo-fi. The energy is just there, bursting out of the bass drum. The percussion is interesting, always a little pebble of tambourine, or sticks, totally unexpected. Great mixing. Not one song is skippable.
The Counter Intuits are playing Gonerfest 2016. You don’t want to miss this year! Everybody is going to be there: Useless Eaters, Nots, Midnite Snaxx, The World.