For Eric

My Road

On the road
Watching the ravens
Circle above,
Watching the clouds
Block out the sun,
Watching them
Shed tears of parachutes,
Watching,
Watching,
Watching the dead laugh
In their graves
As our lives pass us by,
As quiet as
Shadows.

It’s a fucking freak accident,
How did I end up on this road?
With these strangers
These Green
Bright and shinning souls.

It all seems like a dream,
But it’s
Not,
It’s my reality,
My world,
My road.

There are many,
Many ugly roads
I could have traveled up.
There are many,
Many cursed roads
I could have traveled down:
A weakling on junkie ave.
A prisoner on death row,
A bum on skid row.

I could have,
I could have,
But I did not.
I am here
A walking, drinking, shit talking, breathing, fucking
Hard on
Driving in a sea of air,
Right beside
Joy and pain,
Happiness and sorrow,
On my way
On my road.

Nada Rasta Local Music Review

Lately the parties in SLO have been buttock-clenchingly piss poor. There’s always an abundance of sausage and only one pair of tits in sight. If the party is somewhat decent, then SLO’s finest shows up to pay a visit. They handout ridiculous fines, crack skulls, and throw turds in the jungle juice bowl. This cannot go on. All of this negative activity needs to cease immediately. What I think this town needs is: fast women, enough booze to fill the Carrizo Plain, and the reggae/ska/punk sounds banged out by Nada Rasta.

If you don’t know who Nada Rasta is, well, you need to get out more. They are SLO’s official party band. They know how to throw a rager and there always seems to be more than abundance of beautiful belles at each and every one of their shows, which is only a few of the many reasons why everyone should go see them in concert wherever and whenever they play.

The first thing you’ll notice when you do see them live is that there will be monstrous clouds of smoke dancing to the music and it will smell as if they have just cremated half of the population of skunks that reside on the Central Coast. Then, after you become intoxicated by that sweet smell, your jaw will drop right through your grave because of the high energy performance they put on. You’ll see guitarist Paul Hanna playing bluesy solos with his teeth and while getting beer poured down his throat. You’ll get hit in the face by keyboardist Nate Wallace’s long dreads as he’s doing the windmill all over the stage. You’ll be mesmerized by the funky bass playing of Reverend Rudy Bonefinger and the guitar playing and rapping of Chase Kossack. Then, your eyes will burst out of their sockets from watching the drumming of a born to be ska drummer Chris Boyd. You’ll at least still be able to dance and sing with lead vocalist Ruben Urtiz as he flies off the stage and into the crowd.

It’s no wonder why Nada Rasta have recently won 107.3’s battle of the bands. It’s no wonder why they have such a huge following in SLO County that is going to continue to mushroom across California. It’s no wonder why you may doubt my opinion, but that will all change once you go see them live at one or two or all of the many shows they’ll be playing this summer. When you do make sure and do yourself a favor and lose all of your self control and inhibitions. Also, be sure to hit up Rudy for some brownies after the show, he’ll slip you one on the down low!

Concert info available @ www.myspace.com/nadarasta

My Epic Ablum Review

My Epic Yet

I’m obsessed with heavy, heavy music that shatters the stained glass windows of the most beloved churches and smashes the most sacred of crucifixes into dust with accompanying lyrics about dead family members rising from their graves and hunting down your new born babies to decapitate their teeny heads and rape their tender necks with maggot stuffed cocks. However, these aren’t the limits of my musical tastes. I do equally enjoy a broad spectrum of musical genres including soul, hip hop, jazz, blues, country, and experimental indie rock, which is what My Epic plays.

Hailing from Charlotte, NC, My Epic is made up of guitarist/singer Aaron Stone, drummer Jesse Stone, and bassist Jeremiah Austin. They all are influenced in life and musically by God and His strange and incomprehensible ways. His holiness radiates on each and every album they have ever put out. No, they aren’t as big as the official turd burglars of Jesus, Creed. They are heavier and deserve way more credit. And with just one listen to their new album Yet, you can hear why. Produced by Matt Goldman (Underoath, As Cities Burn), Yet is a raw and stripped down record with a bit of groove and a little bit of somber thrown in the mix. If I were to compare them to anyone it would probably be Thrice, but that doesn’t explain them entirely. It doesn’t give them justice. They have their own unique sound.

Yet’s opener “Author” starts off with a cacophony of feedback that leads into a piano driven track with screams to enhance the emotions of the overall song. Aaron’s voice can come off as whiny, but at the same time there’s a soothing comfort to it. Most of the album is calm and melodic. It reminds me of something you might hear playing in the background of your local youth church group. On the other hand, there are also heavier guitar elements laced throughout the album such as in the tracks “Lower Still,” “Ashes,” and at the end of “Sound and Fury.” My favorite track “Pour,” also has a slow and heavy breakdown that brings on one of the only instrumentals of the album.

The lyrics standout in Yet. They are what My Epic fans appreciate and love about them. Their words are insightful, hopeful, and memorable. For example, there’s a lyric at the beginning of the closing track “Perfector,” that sheds a new light into the dark thoughts that we all have of death. Aaron sings “Death is just a hook behind a door where I’ll leave my dirty clothes.” Yes, his lyrics are truly enlightening to say the least.

Yet might never be found in a metal maniacs album collection, but that doesn’t mean it should be ignored. My Epic has an appeal to them that can cross many musical borders. They may even inspire some metal maniacs to take a break from the slaughter they put their ears through on a daily basis. Those who listen might just be swept off to heaven, instead of their daily hell, with the serene and beautiful melodies My Epic has released to all of God’s children.

And Hell Followed With interview

This is an interview I conducted with murder city's own deathcore heroes And Hell Followed With, well, actually with one of their guitar players, Kyle McIlmurray. Hope you enjoy...

RD: Introduce yourselves...
KM: We're And Hell Followed With.. Cunt yeah!

RD: Now tell us what makes AHFW stand out from other Deathcore bands around the globe?
KM: We like to think we bring a little of everything to the table.. Crushing heaviness, intricacy, and angelic melodies.

RD: Do you guys consider today's metal scene to be stagnant as of lately?
KM: Honestly todays scene is everything but stagnant. Seven kids out of ten are a part of the tough guy "mob" and usually have little care for anything but the bands they already listen to.

RD: What inspires AHFW to push the band into new and challenging directions with your music?
KM: Listening to stuff outside of metal.. Mozart, Beethoven, Vivaldi, miscellaneous jazz artists.. Any style of music that involves immense musical abilities.

RD: Tell us about the upcoming 28 Days LaTour...what can we expect from "the most pissed off band live"?
KM: Expect exactly what it says.. Straight piss and fucking vinegar.

RD: Heard you guys ran into a lady that ate her own lipstick and still kept talking to you guys as if nothing had happened...gotta any other favorite moments from the maniacs at your shows...any rim job offers from hermaphrodites?
KM: I think some of our favorites are the bums we meet at just about every venue.. Those are the best dudes to kick it with.. Kids.. Pay attention to your local homeless dude!

RD: What metal band (dead or alive) would you guys want to play at your funeral?
KM: SlipKnot.. Hands down.

RD: Any last words...
KM: Get ready! Get stoked! AHFW is coming to a venue near you!

Happiness Is Only Six Feet Away

How many times will I have to touch a cold body
and look at its lifeless grin?
How many more times must I see the ones I love
join the eternal bliss?

I feel trapped
in this nightmare,
reality,
so called life.
Escape,
escape,
I must break away.

The thought of life,
of death,
repels us all.
Our existence is a sickness
that cannot be cured.
We can only hope to subdue it,
with drugs,
with fantasies,
with faith.

It's only the dead that live in peace.
The funerals we attend
are to remorse the living,
the suffering,
the ones that bleed everyday
and never
die.

The Hallucination of a Phantom

The perfect day came
with all of its glory.

I bathed in its pleasant silence,
danced with its ghosts,
leered up at its dirt.

Over my body turned,
face down,
back to the illumination,
descending into the void.

Dragged by
rusty chains,
closer than skin,
down to life,
back to reality.

Review: Infinitum Obscure "Sub Artis Caelis"

Tijuana’s own, Infinitum Obscure, has finally released their aggressive, unrelenting sophomore album “Sub Atris Caelis” on DeathGasm Records. This album definitely sparks the inner burning chaotic flame within and it is in special thanks, not only to the band, but also to the production done by the legendary Bill Metoyer (early Slayer, Morbid Angel). And it shows, especially when it comes to the drums. On their previous outing, the production was lacking. This cannot be said this time around.

The album starts off as if you were watching the mouth of a never ending night swallow all of humanity. Then, the “Death Metal Darkness” unfolds bleak and haunting solos, riffs, and tempo changes that are perfect for the soundtrack of the end of all times. “Seeding Darkness,” the opening track, wounds your mortal soul and Roberto Lizarraga’s vocals, reminiscent of a Mexican Chuck Schuldine’s, punishes what remains of your hearing. “Towards the Eternal Dark,” the next track, shines on the drums and the double bass sounds as if there is no stopping this ever closing mouth from swallowing the rest of your family and friends.

The album ends on a dismal, yet serene note, like it’s the last breath of a dying and forgotten God. It will give you the chills or an erection, especially if you are a fan of nihilism or the bands Death and Dissection. This is old school Death Metal at its finest. Worship and obey Infinitum Obscure.

Idiosyncracy Review soon to be published in Lynt Magazine

Have you ever felt like you were lost in a demented playground set in the fifties? Or have you ever taken a tab of acid in a graveyard just to see what happens? Or have you ever felt like going hellbent down highway 46 in a silver Porsche 550 Spyder? If you have, it would have been none other than the Central Coast’s own Idiosyncracy providing the soundtrack to your demise, with their eerie guitars, pummeling bass lines, and fast paced drums, as you crash head on into a diesel truck.

Formed in early 2007, Idiosyncracy has had their fair share of troubles, as every band has, but this progressive Psychobilly band continues to get better and better with time and the occasional lineup change. Lynt Magazine recently sat in on a practice session with the band, as they were cranking out new tunes to go into the studio with, to find out what their music is all about.

The leader of the band is Nick Darway. He has unusually tall, blonde hair that sticks straight up over the top of his stand up bass. He not only has a good look going for him, he can also slap the shit out of his bass as he belts out the lead vocals. The rest of the current lineup is rounded out by the finger picking, killer guitar player and backup vocalist, Eric Swason, and Ryan Nickell, who is a phenomenal and incredibly young drummer. Together they form a new band that is, as Nick told Lynt, “trying to do something different.” They are doing so by incorporating different musical styles and genres into a genre that has, according to Eric, “gotten kind of stagnant.”

The band blends influences of post punk, dark new wave, psychedelic elements, and country music with obscure lyrics that are as Nick, who is the primary writer, states, “are more so about life and life experiences.” Some examples include his anxiety problems, problems with drug addiction, slight nudges at Christianity, relationships gone sour, and also Norse paganism. If these topics don’t appeal to you, well, that’s tough shit. The real reasons why these talented musicians make music in the first place is to make what they want to hear because, as Nick put it, “I’m tired of hearing what I don’t like.”

If you are a fan of other Psychobilly bands such as The Quakes and Batmobile, or an old Alternative Punk band like The Gun Club, then Lynt Magazine definitely recommends you to check out Idiosyncracy immediately. It would only make you ears have an orgasm to give these down to earth musicians a listen. They will not disappoint, especially if you get a chance to see them live. Eric told us they love playing live shows and “will play anywhere, it doesn’t matter.” Now if that is not any indication to book them to play your bris milah or quinceanera or grandmother’s 103rd birthday, then it will be the drugs, alcohol, pools of blood, and good times, which are a standard at their shows, that will have them at the top of your list to perform for your next celebration. So do yourself and your community a favor and support local musical acts like Idiosyncracy and purchase their music. You can check them out on their Myspace page.

www.myspace.com/idiosyncracy1

The Murder of Death

Is it worth it?
To have Death
walk beside you
every waking moment?
To have him talk to you
in your dreams,
in your nightmares,
and steal your breath away?
Is it?

Where is the hunger in your eyes?
The hunger for life?

It makes me vomit at the heart
to think that only a few want to take a chance
to get hurt,
to feel pain,
to fall in love
and grow old
and psychotic,
but I can't lie
to myself
like I have so many times before.

My bones have felt this same way.

My hands have been too weak
to fight this everlasting war with Death.
My dreams, my life accepted
and embraced his black lungs
sucking the breath out of mine,
but over time
what felt like a never ending darkness
soon faded
and the dawn began to radiate my world.

And as the light swallowed the dark,
the strength in my hands grew.
Death became weaker and weaker.
My hunger grew more and more.
The war carried on.

My lucid wrath,
filled with rage,
void of remorse,
was the cause of Death's demise.
My hands murdered him
with the beauties of life.

After the darkness was swallowed whole,
I became as free as a child dreaming,
and there is no greater feeling,
no greater joy
than to embrace
every waking moment,
every dream and nightmare,
every second of well rested sleep.

Her Mountain

They buried her
in a mountain
of pills
and one by one,
she swallowed
each and every bitter tablet
until her mountain
vanished.
When she finished
she no longer had to worry
about
being happy
or healthy
or sane
because
she was
a bloated corpse.

Swingin' Utters Review

Upon entering Downtown Brew, the aroma of perfume and fruity cocktails grabbed me by the nose as if these surprisingly odd scents were a fisherman's hook pulling me into a brick dungeon. I say these scents are odd because coming to a punk show, most would expect to smell the raw stench of vomit and sweat from the groins of blue collar workers blowing off some steam. This was not the case, but the Swingin' Utters were in town providing the aggressive soundtrack for the punks and workers in the tornado of swinging fists, dancing on the floor below those unusual smells and big bouncing beach balls.

A couple of times, those big balls would hit lead singer, Johnny Bonnel, in the face. These minor distractions didn't faze him. He was a man possessed. He looked as if he was the striker who threw the bomb at the Chicago Police Department, the one that started the Haymarket Square Riot back in 1886. Over a century later, this bay area punk band is still fighting for the workers of America and do it in their own no nonsense way. I am not too sure if Johnny making jerking motions to the microphone has anything to do with that, but his voice, reminiscent of Mike Ness’ from Social Distortion, was getting everyone in the crowd amped up. His rebellious voice was ringing all throughout the dungeon and blasting throughout the amplifiers. His performance was contagious. Everyone could not help, but join him on his rampage.

The rest of the band was on point. The guitars and especially, the bass playing by Spike Slawson, were shaking my bowels loose, but it was their drummer that really dropped the load. Greg McEntee played the drums with the strength of Superman on steroids. It was hard to believe that he didn't put his drumsticks right through his snare down into the stage floor. This monster wouldn't let up. He was pounding the hell out of the skins all through the Swingin' Utters classics and into the two encores they performed.

The Swingin' Utters have been around for over 20 years and with their unrelenting, highly energetic performance, it's a damn shame more don't know about these punk legends. Next time they bring their show into town, there better be more concert goers joining their diehard fans and more vomit and more drunks pumping their fists into the ceiling of the brick dungeon, scaring the yuppies upstairs. Cheers to the Utters for a kick ass show and to all of the punks in the mosh pit, especially to the bold ladies that weren't afraid of smashing their heads into that damned pole in the middle of Downtown Brew.

The Loved One in My Dream

I had a dream about you last night.
I've never seen you so pleased
outside of your casket.
I wish I could say
the same
goes for the rest of us.

In my dream,
I could see your unforgettable face
shinning in the sun,
you were
playing,
laughing,
and just enjoying life
as we did
when we were young
and fearless.

As we grew up together,
you were constantly on my tail.
I hated your annoyance with a passion,
but the sound of your small footsteps
will never be behind me
ever again.

I wish you were with me,
right here,
every second,
every moment,
of every day,
going to the beach in the rain,
going to Chalk Mountain,
going to the bar to drink off our last fight,
going nowhere,
does not make a difference,
your footsteps are no longer around.

I can't talk to the dead,
I can't talk to my brother,
prayers can't make up for the loss,
words can't explain my undying sorrow,
only my dreams can bring you to life.

I want to stay forever in my dream,
watching you play
and roll around,
but no,
no dream will ever bring you back,
nothing will.

All I have left is memories,
some good,
some bad,
some no longer come to mind,
all
will stay in my aching heart
for eternity.

And one day
we will meet again,
I will be by your side,
only dead and buried
as you are
now.