Right out of the gates, Crimefactory is firing on all pistons and howling full tilt boogie.
First off, I had fairly high expectations for this issue, and, I have to say, those expectations were not only met, they were blown away. An essay on Charles Willeford by novelist Scott Phillips? Well, you know, if that were the only good thing in here it'd still be enough to earn this sucker a big hell yeah and two thumbs way up. But not only did they get that great piece from Phillips, they also got an unpublished novel excerpt from Ken Bruen. Add to that the "Crime Sleeper Double Feature" by Peter 'Nerd of Noir' Dragovich (if you are unfamiliar with this guy's great movie and book reviews, you should correct that as soon as possible), short stories from Frank Bill, Steve Weddle, Hilary Davidson (pay close attention to these names, folks), and PI novelist Dave White and you've got yourself an out-of-control locomotive of a first issue here.
You can read it online, or print it out, or even buy a copy for your Kindle or Kindle application things. Buy it? Yeah, buy it. And it's a buck, folks. A dollar. Like that guy in Robocop said...
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Another Top 10 of 2009 list no one needs.
I wasn't going to do this. But then, I'm sitting her at work, waiting for the day to be done, listening to some Haunted George, and I think to myself, why the hell not?
So, in no particular order, here are my picks for the Top 10 records of 2009:
Something's Wrong/Lost Forever continues the just can't miss reign of Scott H. Biram. Seriously, if you aren't listening to this guy's music, I'd really like to know why. And what you're going to do about correcting that error in the coming new year.
Left Lane Cruiser continue to make a righteous ruckus with All You Can Eat.
Not just one of the best records of 2009, but easily one of the best metal albums of the last decade, Blue Record from Baroness floored me on the first listen and continues to do so again and again and again.
Shrinebuilder. I know, tons of hype surrounded this "supergroup" and their self-titled debut. But it's a damn good record that stands on it's own merit, rather than relying on the reps of the players involved.
And then we have Brain Cycles from Radio Moscow. A busted up psychedelic blues platter that's a step up from their debut, and truly impressive.
Grandpa Walked A Picketline from Otis Gibbs came out early in 2009, around the end of January as I recall, and it has been played many, many times throughout the year. This guy is incredible.
I've already got Biram and Gibbs, so you can probably guess that William Elliott Whitmore and his album Animals In The Dark had to be coming up soon. Another stunner from Whitmore. Like Biram, this guy is consistently nothing less than amazing.
Crack The Skye from Mastodon took that band in new directions and paid off. Easily their best album. Change is a good thing.
Kylesa upped the ante with their album Static Tensions. They were good before, but now? Dang me. They nailed it down and delieved the best album of their run thus far.
And so we come to Necro Deathmort. Their album The Beat Is Necrotronic is infectious fun. Honestly, not the kind of thing I really expected to like, but it continues to please my ears, so there you go.
Now, as soon as I hit the 'publish post' button, I'll probably think of a half dozen or so other albums that deserve to be on the list. Way it goes.
So, in no particular order, here are my picks for the Top 10 records of 2009:
Something's Wrong/Lost Forever continues the just can't miss reign of Scott H. Biram. Seriously, if you aren't listening to this guy's music, I'd really like to know why. And what you're going to do about correcting that error in the coming new year.
Left Lane Cruiser continue to make a righteous ruckus with All You Can Eat.
Not just one of the best records of 2009, but easily one of the best metal albums of the last decade, Blue Record from Baroness floored me on the first listen and continues to do so again and again and again.
Shrinebuilder. I know, tons of hype surrounded this "supergroup" and their self-titled debut. But it's a damn good record that stands on it's own merit, rather than relying on the reps of the players involved.
And then we have Brain Cycles from Radio Moscow. A busted up psychedelic blues platter that's a step up from their debut, and truly impressive.
Grandpa Walked A Picketline from Otis Gibbs came out early in 2009, around the end of January as I recall, and it has been played many, many times throughout the year. This guy is incredible.
I've already got Biram and Gibbs, so you can probably guess that William Elliott Whitmore and his album Animals In The Dark had to be coming up soon. Another stunner from Whitmore. Like Biram, this guy is consistently nothing less than amazing.
Crack The Skye from Mastodon took that band in new directions and paid off. Easily their best album. Change is a good thing.
Kylesa upped the ante with their album Static Tensions. They were good before, but now? Dang me. They nailed it down and delieved the best album of their run thus far.
And so we come to Necro Deathmort. Their album The Beat Is Necrotronic is infectious fun. Honestly, not the kind of thing I really expected to like, but it continues to please my ears, so there you go.
Now, as soon as I hit the 'publish post' button, I'll probably think of a half dozen or so other albums that deserve to be on the list. Way it goes.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Dan O'Bannon, R.I.P.
Remember the B-17 sequence in Heavy Metal? Dan O'Bannon wrote that. Remember the computer animation of the Death Star in the original Star Wars? That was O'Bannon's work. He was also the lead screenwriter on Alien. He wrote the screenplay for Lifeforce. And he made one of my all-time favorite movies, The Return Of The Living Dead...
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The Steve Weddle Memorial Airport Flash Fiction Chanllenge
Ah, the time has come. I've already read some great entries, and now here I am with my own. I had some fun writing this. Be sure to hop over to Dan O'Shea's blog and follow the links to the other stories.
Here we go...
Bruno Sanchez dropped quarters into a payphone and punched in a number he’d come to know too well. The other end picked up on the third ring. “It’s me,” Bruno said.
“Where are you?”
“O’Hare.”
“And?”
“He’s here.”
There was just enough of a pause from the other end for Bruno to regret making the call.
“Excuse me?”
“He’s here at the airport,” Bruno said. “I don’t know how, but he’s here.”
“You told me you took care of things.”
“I did, Mr. Acker.”
“Then how can Buddy Wayne be at the airport?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bruno…”
“I can’t explain it. There’s no way he could’ve survived the accident…”
“Except he did.”
“Right.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No sir.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Yeah. We had a beer at the bar,” Bruno said. “He’s got a ticket to Las Vegas. His plane leaves in less than an hour.”
“He’s coming here?”
“Yeah.”
“If he makes it to Vegas, you’re a dead man.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Acker.”
“You goddamn better.”
The line went dead and Bruno put the phone back in its cradle. Christmas day at O’Hare International Airport and he had to figure out a way to kill a man he’d already killed once in the previous 72 hours.
“Sonofabitch.”
Bruno took his time getting back to the bar. Killing Buddy Wayne had been a good gig. He’d cleared his debt with Mr. Acker and the cops didn’t seem to suspect a thing. The brakes on Wayne’s car had gone out at just the right time and jumped the rail on Lake Shore Drive. According to the reports, the driver had been killed instantly, and damn near decapitated. One cop said it was the worst accident he’d seen all year. And this year, the cop said, had been a very bad year in general.
It didn’t make any sense.
Buddy Wayne turned away from the bar and waved to Bruno. “Hey, there you are. Big line up to use the can?”
“Yeah.”
“How about another beer?”
“Sure,” Bruno said. “Why not?”
Buddy signaled the bartender over. He grinned as she walked toward them and jabbed his elbow into Bruno’s gut. “How’d you like a piece of her?”
Bruno shrugged. She was all right, he thought, though mostly she just looked tired. “I’m married,” he said.
“That right?”
“Yeah.”
The bartender gave them a weak smile. “Another round, guys?”
“You know it,” Buddy said.
Bruno put some cash on the bar. “I’ve got this one.”
The bartender put two beers and one shot of whiskey in front of them and took the money off the bar. Buddy downed the shot and picked up his beer. “You didn’t mention being married before.”
“It didn’t come up.”
Buddy craned his neck forward and looked at Bruno’s left hand. The stitches around his neck were done in green and red thread. A small glob of pus seeped from one of the stitches and dropped onto the bar. He spotted the gold band on Bruno’s finger and smiled. “Where’s your wife? It’s Christmas after all.”
“Vegas. That’s why I’m flying out there.”
“Really? And here I just thought you were following me around.”
“Following you?”
“Been seeing you around the city a lot. Just a coincidence, I guess.”
“That’s weird,” Bruno said.
“Think so?” Buddy tilted his head back and scratched at his stitches. “You want weird, try having your head cut off and then put back on. That’ll give you some perspective on weird, pal.”
Buddy didn’t know what to say, so he took a long gulp from his glass of beer.
“I suppose you noticed my festive needlework?”
“Yeah.”
“Put my car over the guardrail on Lake Shore Drive the other night. I shoulda been dead.” Buddy smiled. “Or, to be more precise, I shoulda stayed dead.” He laughed a big, booming laugh and slapped Bruno on the back. “I guess Christmas really is a time for miracles, huh?”
Bruno grinned back. Buddy had one purple alligator skin cowboy boot perched on the rail that ran along the bottom of the bar and was leaning heavy on his elbows. One good kick, Bruno thought, that’s all it’ll take.
Buddy finished off his beer. “One more?”
“Sure,” Bruno said. “One more.”
As Buddy turned away to get the bartender’s attention, Bruno kicked him in the knee as hard as he could. Buddy’s head hit the top of the bar hard. With a wet burst of blood and pus, the stitches broke.
The bartender screamed.
Buddy’s head rolled down the bar and dropped into a pilot’s lap. The pilot lost his holiday cheer all over Buddy’s head.
Bruno turned and walked away from the bar. He had a plane to catch.
Here we go...
Holiday Stitches
Bruno Sanchez dropped quarters into a payphone and punched in a number he’d come to know too well. The other end picked up on the third ring. “It’s me,” Bruno said.
“Where are you?”
“O’Hare.”
“And?”
“He’s here.”
There was just enough of a pause from the other end for Bruno to regret making the call.
“Excuse me?”
“He’s here at the airport,” Bruno said. “I don’t know how, but he’s here.”
“You told me you took care of things.”
“I did, Mr. Acker.”
“Then how can Buddy Wayne be at the airport?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bruno…”
“I can’t explain it. There’s no way he could’ve survived the accident…”
“Except he did.”
“Right.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No sir.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Yeah. We had a beer at the bar,” Bruno said. “He’s got a ticket to Las Vegas. His plane leaves in less than an hour.”
“He’s coming here?”
“Yeah.”
“If he makes it to Vegas, you’re a dead man.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Acker.”
“You goddamn better.”
The line went dead and Bruno put the phone back in its cradle. Christmas day at O’Hare International Airport and he had to figure out a way to kill a man he’d already killed once in the previous 72 hours.
“Sonofabitch.”
Bruno took his time getting back to the bar. Killing Buddy Wayne had been a good gig. He’d cleared his debt with Mr. Acker and the cops didn’t seem to suspect a thing. The brakes on Wayne’s car had gone out at just the right time and jumped the rail on Lake Shore Drive. According to the reports, the driver had been killed instantly, and damn near decapitated. One cop said it was the worst accident he’d seen all year. And this year, the cop said, had been a very bad year in general.
It didn’t make any sense.
Buddy Wayne turned away from the bar and waved to Bruno. “Hey, there you are. Big line up to use the can?”
“Yeah.”
“How about another beer?”
“Sure,” Bruno said. “Why not?”
Buddy signaled the bartender over. He grinned as she walked toward them and jabbed his elbow into Bruno’s gut. “How’d you like a piece of her?”
Bruno shrugged. She was all right, he thought, though mostly she just looked tired. “I’m married,” he said.
“That right?”
“Yeah.”
The bartender gave them a weak smile. “Another round, guys?”
“You know it,” Buddy said.
Bruno put some cash on the bar. “I’ve got this one.”
The bartender put two beers and one shot of whiskey in front of them and took the money off the bar. Buddy downed the shot and picked up his beer. “You didn’t mention being married before.”
“It didn’t come up.”
Buddy craned his neck forward and looked at Bruno’s left hand. The stitches around his neck were done in green and red thread. A small glob of pus seeped from one of the stitches and dropped onto the bar. He spotted the gold band on Bruno’s finger and smiled. “Where’s your wife? It’s Christmas after all.”
“Vegas. That’s why I’m flying out there.”
“Really? And here I just thought you were following me around.”
“Following you?”
“Been seeing you around the city a lot. Just a coincidence, I guess.”
“That’s weird,” Bruno said.
“Think so?” Buddy tilted his head back and scratched at his stitches. “You want weird, try having your head cut off and then put back on. That’ll give you some perspective on weird, pal.”
Buddy didn’t know what to say, so he took a long gulp from his glass of beer.
“I suppose you noticed my festive needlework?”
“Yeah.”
“Put my car over the guardrail on Lake Shore Drive the other night. I shoulda been dead.” Buddy smiled. “Or, to be more precise, I shoulda stayed dead.” He laughed a big, booming laugh and slapped Bruno on the back. “I guess Christmas really is a time for miracles, huh?”
Bruno grinned back. Buddy had one purple alligator skin cowboy boot perched on the rail that ran along the bottom of the bar and was leaning heavy on his elbows. One good kick, Bruno thought, that’s all it’ll take.
Buddy finished off his beer. “One more?”
“Sure,” Bruno said. “One more.”
As Buddy turned away to get the bartender’s attention, Bruno kicked him in the knee as hard as he could. Buddy’s head hit the top of the bar hard. With a wet burst of blood and pus, the stitches broke.
The bartender screamed.
Buddy’s head rolled down the bar and dropped into a pilot’s lap. The pilot lost his holiday cheer all over Buddy’s head.
Bruno turned and walked away from the bar. He had a plane to catch.
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