Bella Morte has signed a deal with Cleopatra Records wherein the company will oversee the re-release and distribution of their latest disc "Where Shadows Lie." The new Cleopatra-spawned "Shadows" will have the band's name added to the cover art and will feature a bonus Morte treatment of Berlin's "Riding on the Metro." Your original band-released version of the disc may have just gone up in value.

Viewers of Richmond's Fox 5 television network may have noticed a string of kooky commercials for Chesterfield Auto Parts which began airing a few weeks back. Discerning local music fans will recognize the side-burned country mechanic in the ad as Wes Freed, singer for "hillbilly soul" band Dirtball. Hilarity abounds.

Now, a little crawling:

trombone ritmo

Wednesdays at the Outback Lodge have enjoyed some spicing up with a string of weekly Bio Ritmo shows. The Richmond-based Latin jazz ensemble has been exhibiting their world-class salsa variations for a couple weeks now. I swung through on May 17th to give it a listen and was thoroughly impressed by the elegant complexity and irresistable intensity of their arrangements while at the same time underwhelmed by the moderate turnout of tango dancers and appreciators. Let there be no mistake about it: Bio Ritmo deserves every accolade heaped upon them, and you owe it to yourself to stay up late one Wednesday night and witness their addictive south of the border recipe for yourself. Autentico!

Saturday, May 20, 2000 A.D. -- In an effort to break free from the "same old grind," I was lured to a notorious Belmont practice space for a barrage of punk lunacy. Upon entrance I was accosted by the Counselors' mess-making, rant-generating Jeff Melkerson, temporarily in charge of watching the door. He wanted to mark my hand to show that I'd "paid," but I immediately set him straight: "No way in hell am I letting you near me with that blue marker! -- I've seen you work!" At this point he launched into a top-velocity tirade about Lita Ford. Lita Ford, the majestic. Lita Ford, the mighty. Magical, mystical Lita Ford. "Cripsy Duck, these kids have never heard of Lita Ford!"

flawlessly raw

The first band up was Raw Dog, or as they are sometimes called, the Family Nadz. Raw Dog are an unadulterated noise band, painfully loud and fanatically wonton. "Reckless abandon" adequately sums up their musical impetus. I loved them. Mr. Melkerson loved them more. "Now that's true punk," he screamed over the almost unbearable din. "The kids don't even know what to do with it." He was right. Attendees were nervously clinging to the walls while the dueling lead singers rolled around on the ground making badly distorted space-ship noises over a background of thunderous drum-pummeling and guitar torturing. Every so often players would trade instruments and launch into new freak-outs. It was really quite gratifying although I felt they needed some sort of paper mache idol to sacrifice during their cataclysmic eruption, just to provide that "big mess" effect. (NOTE: For future reference, this band is Duck rated "earplugs absolutely mandatory -- no exceptions!")

reading the riot act

After the Rawness came anthemic punk supergroup

The local punks are an interesting lot: generally tolerant and good-natured with the characteristic punk urge to "go over the top" in some fashion, be it hollering, drinking or thrashing about. There are a few mildly unstable or at least way too drunk individuals on the scene, but fights are generally spurned and over-heated situations are usually defused by the bigger scenesters. It's a happy, albeit disfunctional, family.

seek counseling

The Counselors spilled forth with the mess factor, releasing a stack of old RIP magazines which were hastily shredded and strewn about. Things were getting good. Melkerson, sweating like a greased piston, repeatedly told off the audience while the band plied through their gritty surf punk raucusness. All of this was rewarded with deep love and gratitude, of course.

goth+punk=gunk

Bella Morte did an unusual "rock band" set with a live drummer rather than their traditional programmed rhythm and keyboard patches. Without the synthesizers their more punkish tunes sounded more... punkish. Imagine that.

Least but not last (or something like that) came the maiden voyage of V8 Pussy, the unholy merger of the Counselor's rhythm section and Bella Morte's guitar player in a pumped-up spookabilly hoedown.

motor snatch

"Very cool" was the consensus and the crowd shuffled out to face the cold rain that had mysteriously developed on this ominous May night.

But I stuck around to begin work on my new supergroup with Jeff Melkerson where I get to play drums (which I can't) and he gets to play guitar (which he does). We're thinking of calling it Rolling Stone Can Eat My Shit and I'm sure it will be available at all of your major media outlets by Christmas. Bon Appetit!
--C.D.
cripsyduck@mindspring.com