Although it was only one time, I was fortunate enough to witness these guys onstage. It was before the release of The Shape of Punk to Come mid 1998 at Showcase Theater. I had never heard of them before this show and was told that they were from Sweden and were amazing. Well, I have to say that amazing was an understatement. Unfortunately, they disbanded shortly after the album was released. Keep in mind that this is just about 10 years old…a band definitely before their time.
What can Brown do for you? Well, they can start by not smashing my packages to shit. I purchased the new Obey/Alva prints last week and although I probably shouldn’t have bought them, I was pretty stoked. This is what arrived today…hand delivered by my friends over at UPS.
Not so stoked anymore, but I guess it could have been worse…at least it’s not torn. With a limited print run of 200, I guess I won’t be getting my hands on another that isn’t creased. Not what you want to see when you take it out of the tube.
Looking past the 6 or so creases up the side of both of them, these things are sick!
Both are signed by Shepard Fairey, Tony Alva, and Glen E, Friedman.
I will say that this is the first print to get smashed that I’ve bought, but I would rather it have been any of the others. Oh well…
my beloved chair went to the shop over a month ago (because my fat ass broke it) and she has finally returned…stuffed, polished, and rock solid. it feels like home again.
With lyrics like that, how could you not love this band? I would say that they are probably the most covered punk band of all time and rightfully so. Pick up any album and every track is pretty much about girls, farting, and eating…very funny, very short, and catchy as hell. They branched out into different bands and projects over the years, but this is where it all started.
While my fellow shred brethren were erecting infernos south of the border, a few others set out on a 250+ mile shredfest of our own. Sunday morning met up with Tige, Scott and Anthony in the IE and headed to a “super secret” concrete pond. When we arrived, we noticed piles of what looked to be hair in the bottom of the pool. Upon further inspection, it was just PILES OF FLEAS! So we all freaked out a bit, then got to work. A super creepy unmarked, windowless white van rolls up and we expect some guy to jump out and offer us candy. Turns out it was only Cohort’s fearless leader, CK…board in one hand, tall can of Coors in the other.
Morning deuce to tail block.
Hangin’.
Tige was happy to get out of the house and apply some metal to the coping. CK approves. Maybe next time I will not shoot it late…probably not.
Scott decided he was going over the stairs this day and even though unsuccessful, his attempts were valiant.
The wind up.
Swing and a miss.
“What do you think about those stairs, Scott?”
Packed up, left the Flea Bowl and Tige behind, picked up Shae-money and with a 10 to 215 to 15 to 78 to 5 fwy Grand Prix, we arrived in beautiful Carlsbad, CA, home of The Old Bro. Slowly waking from the freeway coma, we were welcomed by Bill, Chris, Mike, Dan, families, chips, salsa and sounds of the 80’s.
Chris, crail grinder.
Mike, sweeping the deck.
Anthony, backside.
Scott seeks redemption for the stairs with a FS air. Proper.
…and matching that with a backside.
…might as well throw in a scraper for good measure.
Anthony got this shot of my corner pocket carver and I give it the “OK”
Skated for a while, rocked Culture Club then headed down the street to Matt Hensley’s Flying Elephant for some grub and recap with the whole crew. Filled up, packed up and hit the highway home. A long day, but well worth it. I wonder how our Mexican hombres are doing with the flames…