The Kids Have Had Their Say

 

S.S. Decontrol's The Kids Will Have Their Say 12-inch is arguably the most important American hardcore record of the early '80s to never see a legitimate reissue...well, until now. Why it has remained out of print for the past 40-plus years is mostly due to guitarist & main cog Al Barile's well-founded distrust of the often-flaky punk rock business model as it pertains to being properly compensated for one's efforts. We often fly by the seats of our pants in our attempts to spread the punk rock gospel, not always keeping in mind how much our physical media actually costs despite wanting to keep prices as low as humanly possible. This idea of simply "breaking even" is a nice one, but how often does that really work out for our creative endeavors & how long can it be sustained until the business model collapses? Furthermore, what of the lives of the creators who certainly are putting in more of themselves economically than they would ever likely to see returned? Putting on killer shows & releasing great records is awesome, but so is being able to sustain Real Life after the show has ended. Our standards of living may vary, but it is depressing to see people who are considered founders, innovators & veterans of our subculture living marginal lives & passing away with nothing to show for a lifetime of contributions that bettered the lives of others.

I have to remind myself of these harsh realities when I think about how much punk rock forms of entertainment cost now & how those changes affect everyone involved on either side of the stage. That is why I ultimately accepted the fact that this reissue LP would cost nearly $30 even at a place like Thrillhouse Records where I got the last yellow vinyl copy just a couple of days ago. I thought about how Al Barile has his own health concerns like I do for myself & decided that it was worth every dollar to own the legit vinyl reissue of one of the most fierce-sounding straight edge hardcore records to ever exist. However, I do still wish that Trust Records had also issued a simple, no-frills black vinyl copy that could be most common to find for those of us who would simply be happy to own one. My bootleg copy of The Kids Will Have Their Say that I bought from Felix Havoc at a Burnt Ramen show 15 years ago is black as the night & plays perfectly fine. Unfortunately, buying bootlegs only puts money in the pocket of the bootlegger & not the rightful owners of the music. Still, I think about the line "How much art can you take?" & transpose it in regards to how many different colored vinyl pressings exist of this reissue—how many variants can you take?

Hearing SS Decontrol's The Kids Will Have Their Say for the very first time via an internet download in my early 20s was quite mindblowing & also refreshing. My general tolerance for what passed for sXe hardcore in the ensuing decades after bands like SSD, Minor Threat & the like was quite low & still is, but listening to The Kids Will Have Their Say put the movement back into its proper perspective. SSD sounded much angrier & more fierce than Minor Threat did, smashing their way through each song with a strangely militaristic bent that was intimidating. They were also unmistakably a hardcore punk band—not the youth crew or mosh metal abominations that plagued the sXe movement to where it bore little to no resemblance to its punk rock roots. Al Barile's guitar sound put SSD & Boston hardcore on the map, practically writing the blueprint with stun riffs that were loud & rudimentary while also betraying the slightest arena rock influence from the likes of an AC/DC or local boys Aerosmith. I was not in the least bit surprised that so many people loved SSD & that The Kids Will Have Their Say was such a sought-after record.

I don't know that I would go so far as to say that listening to this legitimate reissue is like hearing it for the very first time all over again, but it certainly beats bootlegs & MP3 downloads. Early '80s hardcore punk is not a particularly complicated genre of music where one can hear the subtle nuances & dynamics that are usually victims of digital compression, but this may also be the very first time that I really noticed Springa's heavy Boston accent as it is fully displayed on "How Much Art." Al Barile's guitar still sounds tough & hard as nails while maybe lacking some of the original LP's crisp, explosive quality. That's not exactly a complaint, mind you. Whatever remastering process The Kids Will Have Their Say has gone through after unearthing the original reels rusting away in the basement has been to its benefit. Long awaited & most certainly a welcome addition to this record collection & yours. Hopefully Al Barile & Trust Records choose to keep it in print on a steady basis with vinyl & CDs in stores right alongside those of Minor Threat, Negative Approach, Black Flag & the Dead Kennedys. Frankly, the idea of SSD maintaining their legacy, sharing their history & enjoying the income generated from doing so should've happened much sooner than now.

Click here for the S.S.D. page on the Trust Records Company site.

Harley Race

 

This is the face of a man who was as dedicated to the art of violence as one could be in his day; you would be foolish to doubt his physical toughness. Harley Race had a legendary in-ring career spanning over thirty years, in which he held the NWA world heavyweight championship NINE times! That was rather impressive back when I first read about Harley in The Pictorial History of Wrestling as a little kid in the mid '80s. Although only seven of his nine reigns were reported on back then—the other two took place on overseas tours of Japan and Australia—nobody else in the True Sport of Kings had tasted world championship gold on as many occasions as Handsome Harley Race.

George Napolitano's above photo gave me my first impression of Harley Race—he looked like the meanest, nastiest man alive. I wouldn't have wanted to meet him alone in broad daylight, let alone a dark alley! Harley came off like a low-level hit man for the local mob; not the kind of guy you wanted looking for you to settle up your gambling debts. I wasn't sure how a guy like Ric Flair could have survived a cage match with Harley to become the NWA world champion and the promotion's standard-bearer. I had to see that for myself one day. 

Harley came aboard the WWF in 1986 about a month after WrestleMania II. This was one of my first lessons in how an individual wrestler's accomplishments didn't seem to matter prior to their World Wrestling Federation debut. Harley Race was a multi-time titleholder and a clear threat to Hulk Hogan's WWF championship reign, but you wouldn't know that to hear the commentators passively refer to him as one of the great ring veterans. Only an educated wrestling fan would know why Race was one of the greats; viewers unfamiliar with wrestling outside of the WWF had no idea. Harley also came off as a senior citizen compared to much of the WWF's younger roster. I came to the conclusion that he was in the twilight of his career and picking up a good paycheck headbutting inexperienced jobbers on the WWF's Saturday morning TV. There was no fault in that. Everyone deserves a chance to make some money in their field.

Race defeated another former world champion in Pedro Morales in the finals of the July 1986 King of the Ring tournament, earning the crown as the WWF's way of acknowledging his past accomplishments. He would force his opponents to bow and kiss his boot after dispatching them on TV, demanding that they respect the King's wrestling royalty. This went on until Harley ran afoul of the Junkyard Dog, a man of the people who refused to kowtow to the King. Race and the Dog embarked on a rivalry that culminated in a match at WrestleMania III, in which the loser was to bow to the winner. Although the JYD came out on the losing end, he remained true to his word and still refused to bow down by beating up the King and stealing his royal crown and robe. This wasn't one of Harley's better moments, but I imagine that it proved to the WWF braintrust that he could play their games if needed.

One match seemed to briefly restore Harley Race to his former glory, although it ultimately ended his in-ring career—the infamous bout against Hulk Hogan on an early 1988 broadcast of Saturday Night's Main Event. Harley hung in there against the WWF champion, holding up his end of the match nicely and taking it to the Hulkster. Race was starting to look like the world champion of old when he had Hogan draped across a ringside table, readying him for one of Harley's falling headbutts from the ring apron. However, Hogan was able to move out of the way in time and Race crashed directly into the table. You could hear the table splinter as the metal edge forced its way into Harley's abdomen, causing a hernia that kept him out of action for much of the year. He would return to the ring at the 1988 Survivor Series, but would leave the WWF in 1989 after losing to King Haku at the Royal Rumble.

Harley Race hung up his boots in the spring of 1991 after working in Puerto Rico's World Wrestling Council (WWC), Stampede Wrestling in Calgary, All Japan Pro Wrestling, the AWA, and WCW. He sustained a shoulder injury during a WCW house show in December of 1990, compelling him into retirement from in-ring action. Harley returned as a manager at the 1991 Great American Bash, leading Lex Luger to the WCW world heavyweight championship. He would also manage Big Van Vader to world title status in 1992, adding an extra edge of credibility to the Mastodon's presence.

I would learn a lot more about Harley Race's pre-WWF wrestling career and legitimate tough guy reputation as I got online and began reading stories taken from various books and shoot interviews. All of the tales I heard about Harley confirmed what I had imagined about him when I first saw that photo of him in The Pictorial History of Wrestling as an eight-year-old. Maybe he wasn't a bona fide Mafia hit man, but he certainly was something of one for the wrestling industry in his days as the NWA world heavyweight champion. Harley Race remains one of my prototypes for what wrestlers used to look like and represent before the WWF's national expansion made professional wrestling more image-conscious and family-friendly.

Kevin Sullivan

 

Kevin Sullivan had already been a twelve-year veteran in professional wrestling when he took advantage of the religious right's obsession with "Satanic Panic" to create the gimmick that he inhabited for the rest of his career—the Prince of Darkness, as first seen in Championship Wrestling from Florida in the early 1980s. Sullivan spoke of praying to a god named Abudadein while eating cosmic cookies and chewing the betel nut, in which he was then tied to the Tree of Woe to gain insight on how to destroy his foes without mercy. He assembled his Army of Darkness, an incredible visual spectacle of rogue wrestlers gone horribly wrong and scantily-clad slave girls who would drape Sullivan's body with boa constrictors. One can imagine how the Florida territory crowds responded to such provocative antics at that time!

Although I was unable to see Kevin Sullivan at his peak in Florida, reading about him in The Pictorial History of Wrestling was quite compelling stuff. He was embroiled in a blood feud with Dusty Rhodes, which at one point escalated to a different level when Sullivan attacked the American Dream's own sister and threw a bottle of ink in her face to blind her temporarily! Sullivan actually triumphed in his rivalry with Rhodes, declaring the American Dream dead by running him out of Florida. Black Jack Mulligan met a similar fate at the hands of Sullivan and his Army of Darkness, who repeatedly left the popular cowboy grappler a bloody mess on television and at arena events.

Satanic Panic was mostly a thing of the past by the time Kevin Sullivan came aboard with Jim Crockett Promotions (soon to be rechristened WCW) in the late '80s. He toned down his gimmick considerably, losing much of his faux-Satanic trappings to become the Taskmaster. Sullivan as the Taskmaster remained in WCW throughout the 1990s, with brief stops in Smoky Mountain Wrestling and ECW along the way before transitioning into a backstage role until WCW folded in 2001.

Movie Review: Rambo: Last Blood (2019)

DIRECTOR: Adrian Grunberg. CAST: Sylvester Stallone, Paz Vega, Sergio Peris-Mencheta, Adriana Barraza, Yvette Monreal, Genie Kim, Joaquin Cosio, Oscar Jaenada, Pascacio Lopez, Fenessa Pineda, Marco de la O, Rick Zingale, Manuel Uriza, Mirka Prieto, Sheila Shah.
Could this be the last entry in the RAMBO series? I do not know if that is the case, but RAMBO: LAST BLOOD does serve as an appropriate finale. Rambo has found peace at last. He is now kindly Uncle John, managing his late father’s horse ranch with an old friend and her granddaughter, who he considers an adopted niece. His niece sneaks off to Mexico searching for her biological father, but is kidnapped by one of the cartels and forced into a sex trafficking ring. Uncle John drives to Mexico to rescue her, but she dies of a forced overdose on the way back. Rambo then comes out of retirement to avenge his adopted niece and kill as many people as possible. He does exactly that in quite grisly fashion. Rambo’s destruction of the cartel hit men calls back to both FIRST BLOOD and amusingly enough, HOME ALONE. RAMBO: LAST BLOOD is not perfect; it is the shortest film in the series, feeling crudely assembled due to the running time. Fans probably will not complain too much, although it probably ranks second to last overall. I think all there is to do now is a prequel showing us what John Rambo was like before the Vietnam War and prior to PTSD, but I suppose we will see what happens.

Movie Review: Tightrope (1984)

 

DIRECTOR: Clint Eastwood. CAST: Clint Eastwood, Genevieve Bujold, Dan Hedaya, Alison Eastwood, Jenny Beck, Rod Masterson, Marco St. John, Rebecca Perle, Regina Richardson, Randi Brooks, Jamie Rose, Margaret Howell, Rebecca Clemons, Janet MacLachlan, Graham Paul, Bill Holliday, John Wilmot, Margie O’Dair, Joy N. Houck Jr. 
Clint Eastwood departs somewhat from his Dirty Harry character for this police thriller, in which he pursues a serial rapist and murderer targeting local sex workers. Clint’s Wes Block character leads a double life of a divorced father of two who also frequents New Orleans’ red-light district to indulge his kinky sexual interests. He soon finds himself in a cat-and-mouse game through the city’s seamy underbelly, in which he realizes that his impulses are like that of the killer’s. Who is chasing who here? Genevieve Bujold is fine as the rape prevention counselor who advises Block on the case and enters a relationship with him. Dan Hedaya is on the scene and Alison Eastwood earns special mention as Block’s precocious daughter. Only the killer himself fails to provide a worthwhile performance once revealed. TIGHTROPE takes its time getting to the finish line, which is not a particularly satisfying conclusion. Descending into typical cop movie territory with a lousy villain and ending ultimately wrecks what is otherwise a decent movie. TIGHTROPE deserved better than that.