This recently acquired Death box now houses the first three Death albums, and was ordered directly from Drag City. A fourth album came out last year, that, unfortunately, won’t fit into this box, but is currently in the mail. If you haven’t, be sure to check out the feature length documentary on this iconic Detroit proto-punk band titled, A Band Called Death. Cheers.
So, for this coffin I’m about to open, this is where I stand… the Ramones are NOT, in my humble opinion, punk. Were they influential monarchs of the mid-70’s rock-crowd-extravaganza? Yes. Grandfathers of punk? (Fuck) no. Proto-punk? YeAH! Where does Death factor into this equation? If the Ramones are, globally considered punk, than Death, without a doubt should also be included into the fold. Disagree? That’s your right, but you’re wrong. 🙂
It’s Thursday evening… time to enjoy this Country Sunshine, complete with the confused, and somewhat befuddled look of master Croce impersonator, Jerry Reed (row one, column two… also below).
Presented by Goodyear and released by RCA Special Products, the long and unrelenting days of laborious fieldwork almost make themselves worth the back-breaking efforts when at the end of each sundown is a mason jar full of bootlegged moonshine and this, 1980 10-track comp ripe with shade-searching Country Sunshine.
Band name: Death by Trolley aka DBT. Does it exist? No, but it should. Do any of you remember the Twilight Zone episode, Judgment Night? For those that don’t, it’s a microscope peak into the looping, déjà vu hell of a German U-boat captain forever reliving the victim’s side of his own, malicious, and blood spilling attacks. For me, a death by trolley, accompanied by Eddie Cano’s version of The Trolley Song, is my own personal night of judgment.
The hit and run victim to this proposed, personal death loop, I picture myself merrily strolling along with a carefree heart, and a suspicious smile. All this is abruptly interrupted at around the 30 second mark when, WHAM! out of nowhere I’m violently struck by the Death Trolley. Able to force out a few, labored breaths, I accept my fate, and proceed to give in to the sweet, calming void of death… only for the entire trip to loop and begin its eternal cycle, that which has no end.
Eddie Cano plays my end song, a duet with the booming, forceful abruptness of the Death Trolley.
Death is more than just a five-letter word. Its vigorous weight is passed down from generation to generation without hesitation, and without cause for warning. It’s as timeless as an unforgettable memory, and as endless as hope itself. Death gives ever-needed sleep to an exhausted life, and provides that final exhale from all Earthly woes.
Death is present for few to ignore, a gaffe that many take for granted, and Death exists for those who are willing to remember. God save those who ever forget.