Amoeblog

MASSIVE METAL Vinyl Collection Acquired by Amoeba SF Hits the Shelves This Weekend!

Posted by Kells, August 14, 2012 01:05pm | Post a Comment


Attention all METAL heads
: last weekend a behemoth metal vinyl collection descended upon Amoeba Music's San Francisco location!!! Hundreds of records spanning from roughly 1980 to the early-1990's era of vinyl production disruption, including virtually every style of metal imaginable from heavy, hard, hair (glam), thrash, speed, sleaze, and everything in between, including some far-out regional private press pieces. This hoard of remarkable bangers are in excellent condition or maiden (i.e. factory sealed). We're busy readying the beast for release in stages with the first wave to be presented for sale this weekend on Saturday, August 18th. Come feast your eyes, and beware of Stevil and metal Ben's "Buy Or Die" maxim!


The images that follow are only a taste of the overall scope and breadth of this collection, from Accept to Znöwhite. While details concerning the who, what, and whyfores behind the collection remain deliciously mysterious, I can relay (on a personal note) that confronting the prowess and megaforces latent in this darkened pain cave's worth of vinyl treasure is enough to render one's powers physical regulation helpless. I went rogue. And much like attempting an impromptu dual-impression of Nitro's Jim Gillett and Michael Angelo Batio, I found myself short of breath, overwhelmed, and somehow unworthy.

For me, one of the two most impressive pieces to surface in this collection are Mötley Crüe's debut Too Fast For Love,  independently pressed on the band's own Leathür Records label. These were the records that the band purportedly tossed out into the audience during their earliest gigs... you know, back when Nikki Sixx used to light his legs on fire. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have, at one time, considered giving my life for a chance to be among those who actually scored this record that way. But then that is the kind of thinking that comes of teenage years bookended by cheesey plastic rock 'n roll and proto-punk thrash metal, ever heeding liner notes that warned of "masked backwards messages."

The other record that made me do a double take was Odin's Don't Take No For An Answer EP. Perhaps most widely known for being featured in Penelope Spheeris' documentary The Decline of the Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years, Odin was a band seemingly poised to claim the "Next Big Thing!" status in the late-80's Hollywood rock scene. A memorable moment of the rockumentary depicts sleazy promoter Bill Gazzari, along with his newly crowned rock 'n' roll bimbo, er, winner of the 1987 Miss Gazzari Dance Contest, exhibiting an uncomfortably detached squareness as they chant "Odin! Odin! Odin!" heralding vocalist Randy O. & co. to the stage for a live performance. Trotting out in a maelstrom of constructed glamor, Randy's leather-framed naked ass thrusts in to the rhythm of his best Tom Keifer impersonation (nobody and I mean nobody does Tom Keifer like Tom Keifer, nevermind that Cinderella still resides at the very height of under-appreciated cornerstone acts of the era), caterwauling the lyrics to "Little Gypsy" with a level cocksuredness that only comes of a personal belief that one's band is about to become multi-millionaires. Back then, when MTV used to regularly air Decline after Headbanger's Ball, I too believed the hype and it is likely that I would have bought the record from the local soundhole if I could. Knowing that the band would never really "make it" only compounds the attraction to this rare relic of throwaway trashiness and broken dreams that characterized the once-upon-a-time Hollywood rock scene.

ANYWAY, enough about my interests, here's more shots of the collection. Get there early and LET THEM EAT METAL!




Warrant Frontman Jani Lane Dead At 47

Posted by Kells, August 12, 2011 07:22am | Post a Comment

Jani Lane
(born John Kennedy Oswald), the flaxen-tressed former lead singer of 1980's hair-metal band Warrant, was found dead on Thursday in a hotel room in Woodland Hills, California.

According to The Hollywood Reporter, police found the body of Lane, 47, at a Comfort Inn, with no cause of death available at press time. Lane was best known for the Warrant hit "Cherry Pie," which he wrote and features a guitar solo by Poison's C.C. DeVille. The double entendre-filled video for the song — featuring a barrage of footage flaunting the accolades of Lane's future wife, celebrated Star Search spokesmodel champion turned video vixen, Bobbie Brown — quickly became a programming staple on MTV's Headbanger's Ball when it was released in 1990.

The singer was born in Akron, Ohio, on February 1, 1964. He began his career as a teenage drummer before moving to Florida and playing in a series of metal bands. Eventually he made it to Los Angeles with future Warrant drummer Steven "Sweet" Chamberlin in search of fame and a steady gig.

He was recruited to join Warrant in 1986 and the band released their major-label debut, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich, in 1989, spawning the hits "Heaven" and "Down Boys" -- a vastly underrated song that, as far as I can tell, is about a wild child, looking cool on the cheap and ogling, i.e. "the way the street lights silhouette your thighs through your dress." But it was 1990's Cherry Pie that really put them on the map, selling three million copies and realizing their dreams of "making it" as hair-metal superstars. Supposedly, the title tune was written on the back of a pizza box, which can be seen on display at the Hard Rock Café in Destin, Florida.

Continue reading...

The Art of the LP Cover- All For One Pt 2.

Posted by Mr. Chadwick, July 30, 2011 02:10pm | Post a Comment

Another batch of matching outfits and / or hairdon'ts.
Check out my 2009 gallery here.

DOWN AT LULU'S OWNERS DO WHAT THEY LOVE

Posted by Billyjam, August 7, 2007 08:00am | Post a Comment


Located on Telegraph Avenue near 66th Street in North Oakland, close to the Berkeley border, is the unique hair salon and vintage boutique Down At Lulu's -- which is owned and run by the fun, music-minded duo of Tina Lucchesi and Seth Bogart, two good friends who both happen to love music, fashion, hairdressing, and retro rock culture. They also clearly love what they do at Down At Lulu's which, while only a little over a year old, has won a Best of the Bay award and gained a strong clientele. The store, which is located roughly midway between the White Horse pub and the Smokehouse burger joint, has a festive storefront window with the large glittery words GABBA GABBA HEY -- a nod to one of their mutual favorite bands, the Ramones. Inside are records (not a whole lot, but carefully selected ones), cool clothing, and of course, the hair styling stations. I recently stopped by the store and caught up with Tina (Seth was away on tour with his band), who talked about Down At Lulu's, and about her and Seth's interests and passions -- especially music.

AMOEBLOG: How would you describe Down At Lulu's to someone who has never seen it?

TINA: Hmmm !!! A John Waters, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, Rock N Roll High School, the Madonna Inn, Rock N Roll Burrito!

AMOEBLOG: How exactly did Down At Lulu's come into being?

Continue reading...

(In which the group's adventures come to a close.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 11, 2007 09:14am | Post a Comment
Everyone awoke a little gloomy. It was our last day, and check-out time was only four hours away. Logan in-particular was not okay with this and sought out the front desk to plea our case. The result was a new check-out time of four o’clock, at no additional charge.

I’m not sure what Logan had to do to get this sweet deal; knowing her, they were probably just charmed, but that makes for a boring blog, so let’s pretend she seduced the owner’s wife, or at the very least threatened them with rad karate moves.


"Hit me with your best shot" - Logan in control

With only half a day left, the majority agreed that the best thing to do was give me a haircut.

Uh, wha...? Really? It’s that bad?

What I saw as my sexy, shaggy mop – so hip and suave was, unbeknownst to me, something akin to Eric Stoltz’ hot look in the movie “Mask”. Apparently I had been unwittingly turning Greek adventurers into stone with my mere hairdo. Who knew?


Bad hair daze: Eric Stoltz, Medusa, and me

Carrie was adamant. She was going to cut my hair. My boyfriend immediately switched to publicist mode, yelling demands and controlling events from his chaise lounge. “Short!” he kept shouting, “Short… short!”


BEFORE: Carrie assesses the situation


The Master Hair-stylist can adapt to any situation


Beauty and the Beast

My own opinions were merely tolerated as flights of fancy. I had been reduced to a pre-Suffragette woman with hopes of one day earning a living for herself, winning the right to vote, or at the very least, opening her own door without being seen as a dangerous lesbian.

“All I want is a room of my own,” I implored, “Or a beer and a smoke. Get me a beer and a smoke!” I transformed into a high-maintenance star. I demanded fresh, cold bruskis and lit cigarettes. Logan, who photographed the event, became my unwitting slave.

“I want music!” I howled.

“The turntable’s in the living room,” Logan explained.

“Then move it into the kitchen!” I screeched. I reasoned I could afford to be so petulant, because I had subjected myself to the group’s desire to convert my coiffure. Suddenly, the cliché roles of Hollywood celebrity-versus-production company made new sense to me. They wanted to use me as a product; as such, my body/mind must succumb to their vision, the payoff for which is the need to keep me happy, lest I sabotage everything.

It’s a circle of life.


AFTER: Apparently I gained 15 pounds during my haircut

To her credit, Carrie gave me what I honestly believe to be the best haircut I’ve e’er had.

(For the last six or seven years of my life I have cut my own hair. I began doing this out of spite. Every time I went to a barber, I would carefully and clearly explain what I wanted, then they would proceed to do whatever gruesome scheme had been dictated them over the night by the dog down the street. Hair by Son of Sam. And for this I would pay money. Actual money! Finally I snapped and refused to stay in such an abusive relationship.

“I may well f**k up my hair by cutting it myself,” I reasoned, “But at least I won’t be paying for it, too.”)

After the styling, Corey couldn’t keep his hands off me, which is exactly the sort of behavior I encourage.


"Get that camera out of my love life!" - Job & Corey, post-haircut

The four of us milled around our beloved bungalow and lamented losing it. The time came to pack and we did. It was the first time in three days we had to do something we didn’t want to do, and we were little, whinny, crybabies about it.

Logan spoke of returning to Los Angeles as though she were being returned to Guantanamo Bay.

With heavy hearts and a loaded car, we left 29 Palms. We set course for an hour-long detour through scenic Joshua Tree. Carrie took it upon herself to play DJ with my 80-gig iPod, causing sonic whiplash as she segued from “Miss Clare Remembers” by Enya to “Nasty” by Janet Jackson.


We stopped along the way to take photographs. At some point during the shoot, Logan and Corey spotted a rattlesnake relaxing nearby. At the exact moment they announced this, I was snapping a picture of Carrie, and the face I captured is hilarious! But to keep her from deleting it, she made me promise not to post it. Let me tell you, you are missing out. But a promise is a promise and you won’t see it here on my blog.

HOWEVER, send $17.00 and a blank t-shirt to me, c/o Amoeba Music Hollywood, and I will make you a “Carrie reacts to news of a rattlesnake” t-shirt; destined to be a collector’s item and quite possibly the end of her friendship with me.


Christine McVie & Stevie Nicks... oh wait, it's Logan & Carrie.


"We'll build the next Amoeba Music on that rock, there" - Logan & Job

By the time we made it through the desert, night had fallen. It wasn’t long before we were once again engulfed in neon lights and acres of strip-malls.


This is what a Manager of Amoeba Music looks like. Apply within.

We stopped at In-n-Out Burger. Carrie and I could have sworn we saw a customer order “peppers” and receive some from behind the counter. She and Logan were also wowed by my fries, which I had ordered “animal-style”, an option they weren’t aware existed. I also order my double-double “protein-style”, which is sans-bun for those of you not in-the-know. It led to us pondering what secrets In-n-Out still has.

“What other options are there?” we wondered. Could I order my milkshake “Full House” and receive it with an autographed 8x10 glossy of a nude John Stamos?

Dude… that would rock...


[Insert a few minutes of silence here as the author ponders this, before sudden embarrassment snaps him back to reality.]

Logan was beginning to suffer from her recent sunburn, but gallantly drove us the whole way, cashing in on that private-reserve of stoic determination that God bequeaths all Daughters of Sappho. We played games of 20 Questions the whole ride home.

(I was unjustly ridiculed for some of my answers, dear reader. You would be horrified to learn of the way my fellow travelers abused me during this game. It was inevitable that my best friend and my boyfriend, meeting on this vacation for the first time, would eventually join forces against me. It was cruel, oh my brothers, so that even the Angels would weep for my soul as it was tormented by my friends’ total poopy-facedness.)

It’s moments like now that make having a blog so worthwhile.

Logan and Carrie dropped Corey and I off at his home, and we said our good-byes.

The next day, Carrie and I rendezvoused one last time for a brief shopping stint on Melrose, then we walked to Amoeba, where a taxi took her away from us. John Doe was playing an in-store, but even that couldn’t lighten Logan or my heart.

Huge, grey storm-clouds appeared and began drizzling. Babies cried, and mothers went out in a vain search for food. Men stood in unemployment lines, as cattle died of disease. Stock markets crashed and World Trade Centers crumbled again and again. French fries turned cold. In short, all was lame.

Until ten minutes later when I began watching season two of “The L Word”.

The end!