Hinckley Had A Vision

You may have noticed that I've been a little quiet lately. This is because I started a full-time job a week-and-a-half ago and haven't had the energy to write when I get home at night. Hopefully, with the passage of time, I will develop a brain callous that will allow me to do something other than vegetate in the evenings.

Afterbirth has not been totally dormant, however. As of last weekend, reader comments are now being handled by Haloscan. This means that they no longer go through me and will be posted almost instanteously. (Go ahead, say something outrageous!) Of course, nothing being free in the world, this enhancement comes at a price: there will now be advertising on the comments pages. But, while at first this may seem a little gross, when you think about it, what is rock criticism, anyway, if not salesmanship?

Thanks to Martin Reis of Bike Lane Diary for the Haloscan tip.

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Anyway, lately people have been asking me what's up with baby boomers. Like, how is it that boomers, who occupy all positions of power in our society, and control most of the wealth, can't even get it together enough to look up a phone number in a database?

The answer, my friends, is argyria. Yes, that's right, having been born with silver spoons in their mouths, baby boomers are now dealing with the effects of silver poisoning. A merciful end to the suffering cannot come soon enough.

The Crucifucks - Annual Report

The Crucifucks was the vehicle of singer/lyricist Doc Dart, of Lansing, Michigan. The band's self-titled first album, released in 1984, is a collection of grating, rumbling tunes, musically and lyrically similar to today's song, "Annual Report." In addition to ditties attacking Christians and fretting about lost pieces of blotter acid, the album features a series of telephone conversations between the local police and Doc Dart, including one wherein Dart poses as a citizen concerned about an upcoming concert featuring a band called Millions of Dead Cops. Extreme stuff to be sure, but, like all strong medicine, ultimately good for you.

The Crucifucks did a show in Toronto in 1986. It was, and remains, the best gig I have ever seen. My words will not do it justice, but it was … punk rock. Doc spent an hour or so baiting the audience, referring to people with funny haircuts as "butterfly heads" and "caterpillar heads," all the while getting more and more drunk. Finally, Doc puked on his microphone and passed out. It was, in a word, absolutely brilliant.

The second Crucifucks album, Wisconsin, which came out soon thereafter, was a somewhat different kettle of feces. With clear references to the sound of the early Who, the occasional jangling acoustic guitar, and vocals that sound more like Pete Shelley than Jerry Lewis, the album is actually pretty in spots. And, while Dart's obssession with dead cops continues unabated (as on "Pig in a Blanket"), his lyrics have become more oblique and poetic. In "When the Top Comes Off," he writes about opening a can of worms --literally-- and, in "Concession Stand," he makes the point that "you can't see the game from the concession stand." A great record.

Some time later, Doc Dart released a quiet, harrowing solo album called Patricia, containing exactly none of the vitriol of his previous work. Rumours abounded that he was grappling with mental illness. The album never clicked with me, my attention wandered, and I assumed Dart would never be heard from again.

As Mark Prindle and his readers make clear, however, Doc Dart is still around and still recording -- currently under the name 26. The discussion about Dart, his family background, unconventional beliefs and behaviour is fascinating. Particularly priceless is the submission by one reader who writes "Anyone who condones the death of innocent people should fuckin die."

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The first two Crucifucks albums have been reissued together on one compact disc as Our Will Be Done. If you're only going to buy one CD of 1980s hardcore punk, a strong case can be made that this should be the one. Our Will Be Done is available from Alternative Tentacles.

April 10, 2005 | |

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