Friends of Max
"This is the weirdest interview I've ever done," says Soulfly's Max Cavalera, as he wanders down the highway from a broken-down tour bus outside of Salt Lake City. "I'm walking around mountains. It's actually refreshing."
The former Sepultura/Nailbomb frontman checked in with Outtakestwice last month, the second time just a few days after the announcement that Soulfly bassist Bobby Burns had suffered a mild stroke. Burns has been replaced by none other than ex-Megadeth bassist Dave Ellefson on select dates and Dan Lilker (of Nuclear Assault/Anthrax/S.O.D./Brutal Truth fame) on others, including the Fort Lauderdale show.
Outtakes: The first thing on everyone's mind, of course, is your reconciliation in August with your brother Igor, who recently announced his official departure from Sepultura. At this point, with both you and Igor having tensions with [Sepultura guitarist] Andreas Kisser, what is it going to take to bridge the gap with Kisser?
Max Cavalera: I hope not much. That kind of friendship doesn't just disappear. Not to me, at least. The time you have with somebody like that, man... I hope it'll come to the point where we can laugh, talk shit, and fight again. And [Sepultura bassist] Paolo too. I love Paolo. We always fought when we were in the band! Me and Andreas once trashed a hotel room in Russia fist-fighting. I don't hold grudges. I'm more about making friends than enemies.
OK, so say everyone becomes friends again. Say Igor re-joins Sepultura which, at this point, still seems possible and you guest on each other's records, etc. They still have a commitment to your replacement, Derrick Green. How would you feel if they decided to continue with him? Igor has said he's still very good friends with Derrick.
It's not up to me. I say let the fans decide. I've never met the guy, but if the fans think that that's Sepultura, then let them continue.
In Nailbomb liner notes, it says, "Fuck Skin-head O'Connor and Michael Jackson." Why?
Nailbomb was a hate project. Albums always say "thank you" to this and that. I hate Michael Jackson, and Alex [Newport, Nailbomb co-founder] said, "I hate Sinead O'Connor." We wanted to say that instead. At that time, I didn't know much about her. It was more like punk rock fun.
So she never did anything to you, and you never met her?
But wouldn't you feel like an asshole if you did meet her and thought she was cool?
Probably. Saby Reyes-Kulkarni
Soulfly performs Thursday, October 5, at the Culture Room, 3045 N. Federal Hwy., Fort Lauderdale. Also onstage are Full Blown Chaos, Scars of Tomorrow, and Incite. Doors open at 7:30 p.m. Tickets cost $19.99. Call 954-564-1074, or visit www.cultureroom.net.
Don't Hate the Hater
The man, the myth... the feces. When he was alive, the combative, often naked and shit-covered GG Allin was many things to many people. OK, so maybe he was only one of two things the savior of rock 'n' roll or the antichrist. But when Todd Phillips' documentary, GG Allin: Hated in the Nation, was released shortly after Allin's 1993 death, he became a celluloid hero of sorts. No longer was Allin the polarizing figure that was the subject of many a debate in the pages of MaximumRocknRoll magazine. Fans claimed he was the real deal, a guy who lived minute-to-minute and didn't answer to anyone. Others just saw Allin as a violent, misanthropic nutcase with an ax to grind. (The long-running joke was that Allin's anger stemmed from his teeny weenie; it was that small.) But now that he's gone, the only thing to do is watch Hated and marvel at one of the most horrifying frontmen in the history of rock music.
Most of the footage was filmed within a year of Allin's death, featuring concerts (lots of flying fists and fecal matter); spoken word performances (including an NYU gig where Allin stuffs a banana up his ass and throws the remains at the audience); interviews with fans, bandmates, high school teachers, and old friends (Allin grew up in Concord, Vermont); and miscellaneous filth (a hooker pissing in Allin's mouth as a birthday present). It's not all freak show, however. GG's brother, Merle (who played bass in their band, the Murder Junkies), gives insight to their less-than-normal childhood (dad was a religious kook) and admitted to turning GG onto drugs via an acid-laced donut.
For years, Allin had promised to shoot himself onstage. But when his time came, Allin went out like a typical rock star, as Phillips points out he died of a heroin overdose. The common eulogy for fans always includes some bit about how there'll never be another GG Allin, only carefully crafted imitators. The obvious pop culture comparison is Marilyn Manson, whose onstage behavior and offstage commentary have pissed off way more authority figures than Allin ever reached. However, Manson has a target audience he wants to piss off. Allin had only one audience and only one use for it. As Allin says in the film: "My mind is a machine gun. My body is the bullet. The audience is the target." Jason Budjinski
A bona fide "hukilau," Tiki Kiliki says, is a Hawaiian fishing festival. Villagers come together, cast broad nets, and haul forth whatever feast the ocean sees fit to provide. It's not straining a metaphor to describe Fort Lauderdale's own Hukilau, now in its fifth year, as something akin to that oceanic sieve. As Kiliki (government name: Christie White), the organizer and co-founder of the blowout, tries to name the fishes in her sea, she gets as far as lounge lizards, surfers, punks, swing kids, rockabilly hipsters, and hapa haole Hawaii-heads. "Tiki," she explains, "is a medley of all these groups. The common factor between everybody is this nostalgia niche."
Segregation, Sputnik, homeroom duck-and-cover, polio postwar America was the complete package. But it was also when TV hit upon rock 'n' roll, big-band jazz matured, and Bob Moog started making synthesizers synonymous with outer space. GIs returning from the South Pacific brought a taste for steel guitar sunsets, helping the nuclear-family '50s develop an aesthetic beyond the fear of getting nuked. The tiki style today is at least as much cultural heritage as it is kitsch.
The musical mishmash includes a performance by APE, a Polynesia-and-surf inspired California rock quintet that employs an ax-wielding tiki carver, Crazy Al, who carves on-stage during the shows. Florida groups Wholly Cats!!! and the Intoxicators bring swing and surf rock. A bright-eyed Italian band called I Belli Di Waikiki busts out some of your favorite Hawaiian ukulele classics before going all mariachi as Los Terribles de Tijuana. Look for Seattle DJ Selector Lopaka to revive old styles Brazilian, lounge, exotica that seem to come back every five years or so.
The headliner, APE, plays Friday night at the Bahia Mar with legendary, 91-year-old steel guitarist Billy Mure. When their former surf band, the Swamis, was breaking up, bassist Lane Murchison tried to cheer guitar/ukulele player Eric Rindal by buying him some old LPs from a thrift store, choosing by album cover alone. Among them was one of Mure's "Supersonic Guitars" records, which inspired Rindal to expand his surf repertoire into exotica, rockabilly, and jazz, and to form APE in 1998. "For us," Rindal says of playing with Mure, "this is a very full-circle experience." Today APE is possibly the world's only band to feature an artist, in this case Crazy Al, who with a hatchet, mallet and chisel carves a tiki head from a raw log, working in time with the beat as the musicians play. (Al's greeting, incidentally, when he replies to an e-mail: "ALoooooooooHA!!")
"I don't think people 50 years ago realized they were starting something," Kiliki says. "They were just having fun. Now it's sort of like you're stepping back into that time, when things were taboo and stylized." She's driving and talking on her cell phone (so futuristic!) as she tries to explain who digs on this retro scene. Then she pauses. "I'm passing a '57 Bel Air right now," she says, "and it's beautiful." Sam Eifling
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