Darkness has descended upon my neighborhood of Sitka spruce and black cottonwood as I peck out these words on the computer terminal. The Cramps blare from the compact disk player positioned in the corner of the cabin. Somehow it seems odd to be here, in the midst of what would otherwise be ultimate quiet, listening to I want some new kind of kick.
I remember the first time I heard The Cramps. I was 11 years old and my mom, my brother and me were living in the back of a maroon colored Chevy Caprice Classic, on the outskirts of Los Angeles, California. Though the car was a four door with two wide bench seats, it was still a bit constraining for my kid sized brain and volcano like energy. Being confined to the car, the radio was often a major source of adventureespecially during L.A.s underground sonic revolution, circa 1981.
In my mind I can still picture it, 1:30 in the morning, mom curled in the passenger seat, brother sleeping in the back. I am wide awake and erupting as the smell of diesel exhaust from the 405 intermingles with my familys collective breath condensating on the interior. Captured within this sticky dampness I want nothing more than stimulus beyond my physical surroundings so I turn on the radio, pressing from station to station. Way down the dial, in what was the seedy realm of low frequency lurked the brooding voice of Lux Interior, the tumultuous treble of dual guitars, and a primitive trap set pounding out 1 2 rhythm. I had discovered The Cramps. Soon my life took a dramatic turn.
Voodoo Idol.
Garbage Man.
The Crusher.
I remember the first time I heard The Cramps. I was 11 years old and my mom, my brother and me were living in the back of a maroon colored Chevy Caprice Classic, on the outskirts of Los Angeles, California. Though the car was a four door with two wide bench seats, it was still a bit constraining for my kid sized brain and volcano like energy. Being confined to the car, the radio was often a major source of adventureespecially during L.A.s underground sonic revolution, circa 1981.
In my mind I can still picture it, 1:30 in the morning, mom curled in the passenger seat, brother sleeping in the back. I am wide awake and erupting as the smell of diesel exhaust from the 405 intermingles with my familys collective breath condensating on the interior. Captured within this sticky dampness I want nothing more than stimulus beyond my physical surroundings so I turn on the radio, pressing from station to station. Way down the dial, in what was the seedy realm of low frequency lurked the brooding voice of Lux Interior, the tumultuous treble of dual guitars, and a primitive trap set pounding out 1 2 rhythm. I had discovered The Cramps. Soon my life took a dramatic turn.
Voodoo Idol.
Garbage Man.
The Crusher.
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
so I think once you finish your female-vocalist radio show, you should instigate one for all the bands with females who don't sing. and the star performer should be Poison Ivy...