SONG OF THE DAY: Tiro Al Blanco (kudzu'd)

Aging, economically comfortable punks are the new baby boomers. They are a scourge upon all aspects of culture, but they also have the self-identity that they are the progressives and good ones, I guess because they’re only comparing themselves to like their uncles or some shit. What families are these that had all the hippies who became more conservative, then the punks who launder familial wealth through boutique businesses or running a microbrewery, and generation after generation they think they’re the alternative quirky forces of change, while the same shit keeps happening over and over? Fuck y’all. I hate a goddamned punk over the age of 50. If you were a good punk, you’d be dead.

WR3TCH3D TR4SH 3X1ST3NC3...

wretched trash existences 
get worn as identities 
for those born without culture 

SONG OF THE DAY: Canola Fields

Whenever I see somebody talking about how great Sturgill Simpson is, I want to talk to them about James McMurtry instead, but I know it’s a waste of time so I don’t bother. That’s like trying to convince fortysomething punks in the city they’re not first wave gentrifiers. It’s best just to keep it moving until you end up somewhere in better company.

SONG OF THE DAY: Gentched Up

Working up a long-winded intro to issue 12 of my Southern Gothicc Futurist zine about gentrification, specifically in Richmond, and ‘90s era punk rockers’ direct involvement. That’s gonna be issue 12. Just about done with an all Top Tens issue that’ll be issue 11. I send them out in pairs to supporters of my patreon, and in fact just sent out issues 9 and 10 recently (or am working on it still). You can get those, zines only, direct instead of joining the patreon, $10 by Venmo (@ravenmack23) or Cashapp ($ravenmack23). Mark it with emojis as friends, because you know. Apologies to XL Middleton for hijacking his “Gentched Up” song to sell some zines, but it’s all related, somehow. Everything’s relative. And related. So what’s up cousin?

SONG OF THE DAY: Marie (acoustic live)

I used to not like Townes Van Zandt, can't even remember why. I think maybe some early version of a hipster woman tried too hard to convince me how great he was at some point around my college years, when being a first generation student from a fucked up rural family surrounded by suburban assholes who thought they were the most progressive people on earth even though they were afraid of every black guy who wasn't from the suburbs. There wasn't no real consciousness of how being a first gen college student was a supremely fucked up thing to deal with socially, which causes all sorts of impostor syndrome and self doubt and anger and lashing out back then like there is now. I used to do a lot of edgelordy zines back then, weirdly enough more out of hatred of suburban kids than disliking anybody else in particular. I hate all that shit now, wish it never existed some of it, but also it got me to here where I am now. Most of those progressive super punk super PBR super wild and crazy people from back then own houses and even rental houses in Richmond now, and have regular jobs and own their own businesses, even though they have tattoos, but not fucked up tattoos, expensive ones that look nice, because all the fucked up ones got covered up years ago. I can't really do anything to piss them off now, nor do I really want to, because to be honest if I ever want to become a successful (meaning financially supported) artist, that's exactly the type of person who is going to have to want to buy my fucked up art - people who want weird fucked up looking shit to put on display to show how they're still weird and fucked up themselves despite having settled into the stability that was inherent to them. (If you're one of them types, I'm not talking about you - you're definitely one of the good ones. Message me for available haiku spikes too.)
Thus, I didn't like Townes Van Zandt for a long time, because I wrongly associated him with that type of vibe. But he was fucked up, drank codeine, and died early, before he could get Nashville money and turned into the 1980s version of Sturgill Simpson or some similarly fake shit like that. But it is nice having avoided Townes like the plague all that time, because even to this day, a new release will come out, and some song like this which I never heard before ever, will show up on it, and it'll be the saddest most fucked up beautiful shit ever, and I'll just keep listening to it while I look for the India ink to do a homemade tattoo, but then don't find it because it's one of those boxes I never unpacked when I moved the last time. Some boxes never get unpacked.