Bibles, Lords and Tattoos Mad Mark After Dark, the man who hates everything except the real thing, coming to you yet again from the deepest, reeking depths of hell. Another wasted, hazy, hot, humid and sticky summer comes to a thankful and long-awaited end. My summer started off with a dark cloud over my head, a handful of financial woes, a broken video camera, undeserved, depressing broken promises filled with even more than the usual overflowing packs of lies by people I thought were my friends, I guess you live and learn. The summer almost ended the same way, but I ended up with a little more money, a fixed video camera and a lot more hopes and dreams for the upcoming fall season. In the darkness of my apartment, blazing out of my stereo into my ears in full volume and force, passionate howls ring out over this black night by my number one Rock-n-Roll hero and savior, Bon Scott. "Let there be a light- let there be sound - let there be Rock". As the soul and spirit of Bon Scott surge through my veins, a certain amount of anger begins to build up inside me. It tells me that it has become more obvious that a true Rock community can't and won't ever exist in New York City. This scene has a run of destructive, meaningless cliques, back-stabbing fake friends and a misunderstanding of, as well as a misinterpretation of, what a true Underground Rock music scene should be. When Rock music did exist on these dirty streets and when there was a scene, going to and playing a show was more like a tribal experience, like the Native American Indians dancing around the campfire and smoking their peace pipes, not an overblown fashion show. The look and attitude of a band weren't as important as it is today. What I have noticed about the current state of this so-called "Underground Rock Scene" is it's almost entirely based more on appearances, how much of a clown you can be, how many pieces of tin you can stick in your face without getting stuck into a gate, and how many people you can use and abuse than how your music actually sounds. Another big factor is which bars the cool and hip people are at tonight. As we all know by now, it's who you hang out with that makes you so much more important than anyone else. The generosity of the makeup sponsors who have donated all of their products to all of those great Rock parties could never satiate the average scenester's need for artifice or lack of originality and talent. Ronnie Van Zant always and forever taught me to be a "Simple Man" with pride and respect for the roots of Rock-n-Roll, and the "Freebird" will always fly. I was almost thankful that I made it through the decade that buried Rock-n-Roll and turned it into some kind of a joke. It seems to me that most of the musically impaired imbeciles on today's scene admire this soulless, over-polluted, over-glamorized poor excuse for Rock-n-Roll. All of those hair bands of the mid to late 1980's not only ruined and perverted the true meaning of Heavy Metal with their overplayed, limp-wristed power ballads harassing your eyes and ears, wearing terrible excuses for hairspray, makeup and Spandex. Let history and the current times show that it also destroyed the music I know and love in my heart and soul called Rock-n-Roll. Even one of the patriarchal ancestors of the Glam Metal movement with all of his talent could make a drunken buffoon out of himself at one of New York City's finest Rock clubs, and the people on this scene think that it's some kind of monumental event. Events such as this one are the obvious last gasps and the final death rattle of Rock-n-Roll. This masquerade of mindless morons with all of its glitz and glamour tends to forget essential parts of music history. Maybe stories of any true struggling Rock-n-Roll bands that got their success on their terms, without kissing as much or not any ass to make it, intimidate the wanna-be's drive for success. Maybe these stories aren't as glamorous as your already pitiful, putrid and excessively dramatic lifestyles. I simply don't and won't ever buy into this sophomoric behavior and attitude. I didn't buy into it when I was young and very stupid in high school either. Lemmy has always told and taught me to say what's on ny mind, with an "Iron Fist", without fear, with the truth, and knowing that "Rock-n-Roll Shall Set You Free" and " Don't Let Them Bastards Grind You Down". If this doesn't make you wake up and start listening to Techno, maybe the statistical fact that more deejay turntables are sold today than guitars or any other musical instrument will force you to look at the corpse in the open casket. This might strike a chord in your already cold, soulless hearts and make you listen to what I'm continually saying. Maybe now a bunch of you scenesters could stop acting like trained monkeys and get ready to actually Rock. If your eyes, ears, and souls are shut to what I'm saying then there is absolutely nothing to look forward to except placing a flower at the tombstone of what you and I thought was an indestructible force. It's imperative to keep this music alive and well in this day and age. You must realize the difference between nostalgia, good or bad, and keeping Rock-n-Roll current. You must look back at the past to learn about Rock-n-Roll so that you can create its future. The deliberate, destructive high school cliques still exist in this moronic sideshow that they all seem to call a Rock scene, except that today's popularity contests are run by the made-up poseurs who claim to consider themselves Rockers and say they love Rock-n-Roll the way I do. All of these maggots who feed on the corpse of Rock-n-Roll and painted clowns have continuously used my Rock-n-Roll as an excuse to invent and have the same mentality as a classic high school football team with their ever so popular and clueless cheerleading squad. Fortunately for the men who have managed to achieve and maintain their misogynistic sexist goals, the women on this scene seem to sell themselves short and give away their talents for the fun of it. The pimps make sure to have their payday. The gods and monsters' egos that abound on this scene lead to unthinkable breaches of the law; friends become stalkers and think that they can get away with criminal behavior and are above the law. Between all the pep rallies, popularity contests, hit parade and hoopla, have you ever stopped for a brief moment or two to consider why your band has been ever so carefully selected by this meaningless peanut gallery as the current flavor of the month? Did you honestly think you were some kind of musical prodigy, or are your noses so far up each others asses that you all smell like crap? I hate to be the bearer of bad news: the reasons for this garbage dump's popular choices are that the home team's always winning the game because they are playing against themselves. As the chaff of trend and fad is swept aside and the rotted lipstick and makeup are washed away into the foul-smelling, stinking sewers of New York City, comes Rock-n-Roll and my personal favorite band in this jungle. Tijuana Bibles newest and long-awaited self-titled four song disc has arrived. Finally. I've followed this band since the beginning of 2000 and I hear all their improvements in songwriting style and approach. This is what a Rock-n-Roll band of this decade should sound like, with a mix of seventies Hard Rock combined with their own style. The band has a new lineup. Besides lead guitarist Chris Wei and Michelle Christman on rhythm guitar and lead vocals, comes welcome addition on bass guitar, Scott Kitchen and drummer Todd Labrie. The disc opens up with the Stones'-ey elements heard on "Lake to Cry". Screaming guitar, a fast beat, and reality-based, sad, depressing, poetic lyrics are an introduction to a sad life lived in Rock-n-Roll. Michelle's soulful style is shown again on "Walking Backwards", with ripping guitars and piano. This is the only band with the soul and guts to write a heartwrenching, introspectively quiet song called "Don't Belong". This song makes me feel like it's mine, with a lump in my throat and a tear in my eyes because I've always known that true Rockers never belonged in any clique or scene. The last song on this too short a disc is "My Head". It's a Rock-n-Roll ditty, with dirty riffs combining classic AC/DC with the soul of Skynyrd. The disc is a dark, loud mini-masterpiece which makes you want to hear more. This band is something to be heard live to really experience their energy and power, and this disc is just an appetizer to the live show. Philip Lynott always taught me to never let my "Spirit Slip Away".that when the music unfolds, let the mysteries be told to you." The Sovereign Lords spring out of New York with a solid hard Rock effort on a self-titled five song EP. The opening tracks, "From Me To You" and "Take Me" have constant reminders of late seventies - early eighties, pumped up, riffy Hard Rock with elements of Thin Lizzy mixed with classic New Wave of British Heavy Metal. The third track, "You Told Me That You Loved Me" inexplicably has a group of special guest vocalists and percussionists leading off the song. "Junkies Never Fall" , the fourth track opens up slowly with the peaceful sounds of a quiet village in springtime, then leads into a hard rockin' drug induced anthem. The first two songs are my favorites and I think that this disc is worth a listen. The music is an experimental version of Rock. Rose Tattoo is back with a new ass-kicking record entitled Pain that will whip you all into shape. Spawning from the mighty land of Australia where the great Bon Scott and AC/Dc were from. Angry Anderson's hell-bent lead vocals, Pete Wells bluesy slide guitar and rockin' Rob Riley on lead guitar with new additions Steve King on bass and Paul DeMarco on drums will blow your mind with mind-expanding Hard Rock-n-Roll. Their sixteen song disc on Steamhammer Records in Hanover, Germany will break your balls like their earlier works with similarities to 1980's Rock-n-Roll Outlaw , 1981's Assault and Battery" and 1983's Scarred for Life. The album rips open with a song called "Black Magic". Fast and furiously loud, with other songs like "House of Pain" , and "Union Man" bring you back to the days when Rock-n-Roll ruled the airwaves and was king. If you can find this genuine masterpiece in your import section, go out and get it. If you truly love Rock-n-Roll and pain, go out and get it. Four years ago, I started a show called Mark After Dark solely based on the sounds of Rock-n-Roll, new and old, without trying to fit in with any glitz and glamorous scene because that's not what the music is all about. Lately I have noticed particular people who latch onto the current flavor of the month to promote themselves and nothing more than themselves. This so-called leech decided to pick my brain and steal my ideas to start his own show. All I have to say to this is that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I thank you, wherever you are. There you go. Goodbye, good riddance and fuck you. Back to Mark After Dark BACK TO HOME