Hiroshima Yeah! Issue 12 / February 2006 “Whatever you do, trample down abuses, and love those that love you.” – Voltaire This issue written by Mark Ritchie Wednesday 4th January, 2006-Woke up at 9.50am. Went out to Byres Road for some breakfast then waited in the flat for Dave to show up. He arrived at about 11.15am. We went to the shop round the corner for some refreshments then set off on the road in his new-second-hand 10 grand Mini Cooper. It’s NICE! There were a few misty patches once we got outside Glasgow, so our view of Loch Lomond was somewhat obscured, but the mist lifted later on and we saw the hotel in Ardluui, where I went to Lesley’s wedding years ago. We stopped for a few minutes because I was feeling sick after my boozing session last night. Felt okay after that, though, and after having a swig or two of cider. We also stopped at a massive ‘Lord of the Rings’ style mountain so Dave could take some video footage. Lovely scenery and so much empty space. Really nice. It only took us 2½ hours to get to Fort William. We parked the car and went to see how much the Alexandria Hotel cost. £69 for a single room for one night! Fuck that! So, we decided on the Imperial Hotel, although no one came to the reception desk for 15 whole minutes. That was only £60 for a double room, so we decided that was the best bet. We checked in, had a look at the nice room (en suite bathroom with heated towels! Ooh!) then went and moved the car to the hotel car park. Then we walked about a bit – to the BIG supermarket, to check out the great scenery and to buy a postcard for Gary and Maggie and a Highland cow fridge magnet for my mum. Ended up at the Ben Nevis Bar which had a really nice view of the loch. We had four pints there and some kids were putting some seriously crappy music on the jukebox. Went back to the hotel for a bit and then went for dinner at the Crofter pub. Had a pint each and veggie burgers and chips. Not bad. Then we went to the Nevissport bar, which was just a little door next to a sports shop which sold ski stuff. It was nice inside. They had big detailed maps of the area on the wall. We had three pints in there. They closed at 11pm, though, which most of the pubs seemed to, but Dave remembered that the Ben Nevis opened till midnight, so we went back there and had another couple of pints. Met a couple of local girls, one of whom lives and works in Glasgow, not far from me. She was FAT. On the way back to the hotel, Dave was drooling over some swords and knives in this shop window. They had William Wallace swords for £130 and ‘Lords of the Rings’ style ones. Crazy! Back in the room we watched some TV and I drank a couple of cans of McEwans Export. Slept well. Thursday 5th January, 2006-Dave’s alarm woke us at 9am. I made myself a cup of decaff coffee and we watched some shit property show on BBC1 (they don’t seem to get Channel 5 up there, Must be because of all the mountains!) Dave had a shower and then I had a dump. Nicked all the little bottles of shampoo and bath gel (one of which burst in my bag) and all of the sachets of tea and coffee. We had to check out by 11am and the foreign girl at reception tried to give us a bill but we explained we’d paid yesterday. Went around some charity shops. Saw a Nick Drake book but I’ve already got it. Dave bought himself a cardigan. Got some grub from the big Morrison’s and then we set off. Drove to the place where Dave and Stephen camped a few years back, at the foot of Ben Nevis. They have a picture of Mel Gibson in ‘Braveheart’ on the campsite sign! Then we drove to Glencoe. Went into the visitor centre but it cost £5 to get in, so we just had a look at the (free) scenery then buggered off. It really is a spectacular landscape up there. Took about 2½ hours to get back to Glasgow and we sat in my room for a bit and I got all depressed ‘cos I had two letters from the Social Security CUNTS then we walked into town and had a couple of pints in the Bon Accord, which is a really nice bar in Charing Cross where my ex-lecturer Stuart used to go a lot. The barman used to be in Urusei Yatsura, according to Dave, Big wow. Then we went to Chinaski’s for a couple of pints of Red Stripe. Good music – Mazzy Star, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young, etc. A bit too upmarket for a place named after a Bukowski character, though. Then we went to the Brunswick Cellars for yet more beer. Got a couple of texts from STEPHEN! Didn’t even know he had a mobile phone! My mum rang too. After that, we got the subway to Hillhead and went for a couple in Oran Mor (Dave hadn’t been before). Ended up getting a 16” veggie pizza which we scoffed in my room while watching Nirvana and Bukowski bootleg DVDs. Dave crashed on the floor. HIDING OUT He ignores the telephone, throws unopened mail into the pile by the side of his bed, along with the half empty bottles and plastic toy guns. He doesn’t want to meet anyone or talk to anyone or go anywhere or do anything. But still he drags his fetid corpse to the same old haunt, where he drinks the same old drinks, sees the same old faces and tries not to think too much. Everyone is suspended underwater in this place where the sunshine is denied entry at the door. Where the real world fades away for a little while. He knows it is only a temporary reprieve, as the booze numbs his blood. This hiding out. This safe haven which isn’t really safe at all. HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE Fuck Shakespeare. Fuck Burns. Fuck all your easy literary gods. Fuck Satanism. Fuck Christianity. Fuck Buddhism. Fuck charity and hierarchy and sobriety. Fuck education. Burn down the schools and let your children dance in the flames. And fuck all those lilly-livered liberals who think ‘nigger’ is offensive, who think ‘cunt’ is offensive, who preach freedom unless it conflicts with their narrow-minded PC views. Fuck government. Fuck the human filth who send teenage boys to die in unnecessary wars. Behind the fake smile of foreign policy lurks a universe stinking of a thousand Belsens. We get what we deserve, it’s true. But what the hell have we done to deserve THIS? So FUCK Oprah. FUCK work-out videos. Fuck the dying light of stars too tired to shine. And, for all those offended by this poem, fuck YOU too. OLD AGE It is not only human hair that turns grey with age, nor is it only limbs that creak and groan and ache. No, the soul grows weary too. Where once it was flushed with the ample joys of youth, now it is ashen and pale. It sits, like a partially deflated balloon, tired and saggy. No pleasure left to give. Waiting for someone to put it out of it’s misery, so it can rest, at last. BOOK RICHARD YATES – COLLECTED STORIES (METHUEN) I’m ashamed to admit that it’s taken me over a year to read this collection. Usually, I can plough through books pretty fast, especially novels and biographies because they have a momentum all their own whereas, with books of short stories, you can dip in and out at your leisure. Sometimes though (especially during the six hellish months of last year when I was in full-time employment), I can go for long periods without reading anything at all. Anyway, this book is absolutely packed full of gems and it doesn’t really matter HOW long it took me to read the whole thing because the majority of the human race manage to get through their entire LIVES without ever reading ANY Richard Yates stories AT ALL. There are certain themes that link most of the stories in this book together… Heavy drinking, crazy mothers, TB wards, World War Two, etc. It turns out that Yates, despite being a master storyteller, only ever REALLY wrote about himself. He also seemed to be obsessed with his early life, from childhood to his thirties, when he had already been through a divorce. Living in seedy, cockroach-infested rooms, he would write, drink and smoke like a maniac, and many of the characters in these stories are quite clearly based upon the author himself. Another prevailing theme here is failure. No one in any of these tales is particularly successful or happy. Indeed, it’s the FAILURE to obtain success and happiness (in life and in love) which haunts Yates’ characters (to quote the great man himself, “I guess I'm not very interested in successful people. I guess I'm more interested in failures.”) There’s plenty of toe-curling embarrassment on offer too, so fans of ‘Seinfeld’ and ‘The Office’ should feel right at home. This is REAL LIFE, you see, not some soppy fairytale shit. If you fancy a dose of the TRUE, then go into your local Waterstones and read one of these stories. Just one. If you’re not instantly hooked then go back to your nice semi-detached house in suburbia and vegetate in front of ‘Celebrity Fit Club’, you soulless TWAT! CDS PLANETS & STARS – TYLER EP (AUDIBLE CROPCIRCLE) www.cropcirclecollective.com It’s impossible to dislike this charming little three-track CD, from the bright and breezy acoustic led pop of the title track to the gentle, lovely instrumental ‘A Voice Before the Voice’ with it’s warm washes of ambient sound and treated guitar. ‘Arctic Circle’ rounds off this all-too-brief collection and it’s a song containing something sounding not dissimilar to a xylophone solo! If this is slightly reminiscent of 9 on Bali, that’s because the main man in Planets and Stars (Dan Sweigert) is ALSO one of the main men from that very same band! So, it all makes sense, is some topsy-turvy way. This is really nice and you should hear it. It’s available at www.znrcds.com, www.bandmecca.com and cdbaby.com if you have the power of the credit card. What are you waiting for? Permission from your mummy?! ROYAL PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA – LET’S GET CLASSICAL (THE MAIL ON SUNDAY) Free-with-the-paper CDs are almost ALWAYS shite but this proved to be a notable exception. Lurking inside a bag FILLED with the shitest of shite CDs my cousin was giving to a charity shop, I managed to rescue this just in time. Hardcore classical fans would probably turn up their noses at the stuff on offer here, as it’s POPULAR (meaning a lot of these pieces have been used in adverts) but, because I know next to nothing about this type of music, I’m not as snobbish about it as I MIGHT be about rock and pop. This is all very beautiful, with peaceful pieces by Chopin, Beethoven, Mozart, Borodin, Satie, Elgar, Schubert, Bizet, Mendelssohn, Leoncavallo, Dvorak, Warlock and Vivaldi. That’s right - the gang’s all here! Shame Mahler doesn’t show up for the party but, then, you can’t have EVERYTHING. At 20 tracks long, it’s also perfect if you feel like drifting off into a classical reverie just like Inspector Morse (or Hannibal Lector!) GIGS BELLE & SEBASTIAN – VIRGIN MEGASTORE, BUCHANAN ST, GLASGOW, 17TH JANUARY 2006 Walked into town. Had a bagel for breakfast then went for a £1.49 pint just after noon in Hengler’s Circus. Had to hand some shit into the housing benefit office. Got a NICE lady, not the OLD HAG I saw LAST week. Had another pint in the Counting House and saw James M, who I worked with a few years back. Luckily, he didn’t see me or, if he did, he didn’t speak to me. He had a stupid hat on and is still a fat cunt. Said hello to Michael’s mate, Alan. He’s always in the boozer despite having a JOB (I saw him again later, when I nipped into RG’s for a piss). Bought a couple of DVDs – ‘Zardoz’ from WH Smith for £5.99 and ‘Withnail and I’ from HMV for £2.99 – then bumped into Dave Monaghan on Queen Street. He had a good time in the USA over Christmas (he was seeing his girlfriend, who lives in Portland, Oregon, home of Richmond Fontaine!) He was moaning about RHL, the job from Hell, and how mostly everyone he likes has left. Had a ridiculously over-priced pint of Budweiser in the Ingram Bar which was as quiet as a tomb. They had really crappy soul and R ‘n’ B music on, which probably drove all their customers away. Had a sitting-at-the-bar pint in the good old Horseshoe then went up to Virgin to see Belle and Sebastian. They were due on at 5pm but were about 15 minutes late, for which Stuart-the-singer apologised (‘it’s the lassie from the Daily Record’s fault’). Then he made a stupid joke about flying from Edinburgh to Glasgow on Concorde then said ‘sorry for the shite patter’ THEN said sorry for swearing ‘cos there were some kids in attendance. The place was packed, actually, and I got a ‘from behind’ view of the band. Nice arses! They did five songs – including new single ‘Funny Little Frog’, ‘Dylan in the Movies’, ‘I’m a Cuckoo’ and one by the guitarist. It was good. It was lovely. I enjoyed it very much. After that, I went and had a pint in Lauder’s and listened to all the indie rock they were playing there. Then I enjoyed a pint and lots of Teenage Fanclub songs in the dark and dingy Brunswick Cellars. After the Fannies, they played Depeche Mode and I began to wonder if they were fake goths or PROPER goths. Then they played Blur and I had to get out of there. Went to the Variety Bar and had a pint of Tartan Special which was very nice indeed. Shame the place was filled with sad indie twats. Maybe they were going to the PROPER Belle and Sebastian show later that night. Jazz music played. Got a pizza before I went home and watched ‘Big Brother’. After that, I watched ‘Zardoz’ and an episode of ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ on DVD before watching LIVE ‘Big Brother’ and drinking cider (well, the stuff I managed not to spill all over the floor!) until 1.20am. BOB MOULD - ABC2, GLASGOW, 26TH JANUARY 2006 Went to Jamie’s place at 10.30am for breakfast of coffee and a croissant. He and Alan were looking at flats yesterday but none of them had wheelchair access so weren’t suitable. He offered me a lift into town as he was getting a taxi to work but I had a few things to do. Went to the library to try and join but they had ran out of application forms. Had some lunch then walked into town in the early afternoon. Had to go to the housing benefit office AGAIN but at least I was in and out of there FAST. Celebrated that small victory by having a pint of Director’s bitter in the Counting House. Went to buy batteries for my walkman and went to the ticket place to confirm that the Ryan Adams gig really WAS sold out. It was. Was also told that they might not even GET any Morrissey tickets in tomorrow (when they go on sale). They’ll probably all sell out online. Damn. To make up for this, I had another pint of Director’s in the Crystal Palace then had a look at second-hand CDs in Missing, before having a THIRD pint of Director’s in the Sir John Moore and a lager in the Horseshoe, sitting at the bar. Browsed in Waterstone's for a while, as I was feeling a bit drunk, and then bumped into ex-workmate Charles in the street. We went to Nico’s for a couple of cheap drinks each (I had two pints of cider at £1.50 each, he had a couple of bottles of beer). He left RH-Hell not long after me. His French girlfriend showed up after a while but I had to leave for the Bob Mould show. Saw the support act, a guy called Roddy Hart, who was quite good. Acoustic singer/songwriter type stuff. I was onto my second pint of cider by the end of his set and was down the front in time for Bob coming on. The place was pretty packed, it being the smaller ABC2 venue. Bob treated us to a great solo set of half acoustic, half electric classics, like ‘Celebrated Summer’, ‘Wishing Well’, ‘Hardly Getting Over it’, etc. He seemed pretty relaxed and in good spirits, even when some wag called out for ‘Diane’ (bet he NEVER tires of hearing THAT ‘joke’!) I called out for ‘Too Far Down’ but he said something about how he was doing a HAPPY set. Afterwards, he was hanging out by the side of the stage (in the exact same place where Mark Eitzel was hanging out after HIS set last October!) and I took the opportunity to introduce myself, as Bob had sent me an email about getting some of my bootleg videos. So he told me to send him the link to my site again after he got back from tour. I got my photo taken with him too, which was nice, in a dumb ‘fan boy’ kind of way! Was out of there and sitting with a pint in the Griffin by 9.45pm. RICHMOND FONTAINE Regular readers will know I have somewhat of an obsession with the brilliant Portland, Oregon band Richmond Fontaine. Their songs (especially those on the astonishing ‘Winnemucca’ album) got me through the sheer hell of my six-month tele-sales job. They gave me an escape route. Listening to them was like visiting an old and trusted friend. Now I’m in a slightly happier position (spiritually, if not financially), I still listen to RF all the time. They’ve achieved what I used to think was the impossible – they’re my all-time favourite band, sharing equal position with Husker Du and American Music Club. There can be NO higher praise than that! The few times I’ve seen the band play live, I’ve come away with a smile on my face and a warm feeling in my heart. Since they’ve no new records out at the moment, I wondered how I could squeeze yet another mention of this extraordinary band into my zine… So I sent them an email and requested an interview. Being the nice guy that he is, singer/songwriter (and soon to be published novelist) Willy Vlautin responded, and here are the results just for you, dear, sweet reader… 1. Your songs are littered with geographical references specific to the US. Now that you've traveled extensively in Europe, do you find that your newer songs are name-checking European places? I guess I name places in the West to set the landscape for the story or the feeling I'm trying to get across. The West has always been a real source of inspiration for me. If you think I name checked on the last few records wait until you hear the next one. 2. If you could travel back in time and either see or play in any band in the world, what band would it be? I would have loved to have seen The Band back in the day. Gram Parsons or Nick Drake. The Pogues in their prime, Tom Waits when he was playing small clubs. 3. What are your favourite on-the-road snacks? That's a hard one. Eating on the road is always a challenge. Any thing that doesn't kill me is alright with me. I just quit chewing. That was my favorite thing to do on the road. Besides reading, chewing is the only great thing about driving around all day. 4. Any plans to release the song 'West is Falling'? It's somewhat of a  favourite of mine! I hope so. We changed the name of that one to The Water Wars. We're recording right now and are working on that one. I'm glad you liked it. 5. Your songs have sometimes been compared with the short stories of Raymond Carver, but have you read anything by Richard Yates, a contemporary of Carver, who dealt with a lot of the same themes? Which writers do you particularly admire? I've read some of Richard Yates. A book of his short stories. He's a great writer. I always like getting compared to Carver. It's an honor. He's a real inspiration for me. I also really admire William Kennedy, Walter Macken, John Steinbeck, John Fante,Jim Thompson. 6. What sounds are rocking the Richmond Fontaine tour van lately? We always listen to Grand Champeen our friends from Austin TX. Also I really like South San Gabriel. I can drive around and listen to them all day. 7. Do you have a ton of promotional commitments for when your novel comes out later this year? In-store signings, etc? I'm pretty lucky 'cause I get to go to Galway, Ireland to do a reading at this book festival. Galway is one of my favorite cities in the world. 8. What do you like to drink and does drinking inspire your writing? For instance, do you write songs or stories when you're drunk? I'm a whiskey and beer man. Also really like tequila. I can write songs on a hang over. Can't write stories unless I'm on the wagon and living clean. I've never written anything good drunk. Drinking's good for listening and seeing bands but not much else the next day except laying around. 9. Seen any good shows lately? Just saw Billy Joe Shaver and he was great. Saw the Pogues and they were great as well. 10. Lastly, what's happening for RF in 2006? We'll we're recording right now. We're going to Australia in Feb-March and Spain in the spring. Then I think we'll take a break and then hopefully put out the new record. FRIDAY NIGHT, JUST BEFORE CHRISTMAS Tom Flynn was hit by the car head on, his crumpled body tossed into the air and then falling to the ground gracefully, like in a ballet. His glasses smashed and blood began to pour from his head as the driver sped away.  In Flynn’s head, he was still in the pub, celebrating Christmas with a bunch of near strangers, dancing with drunken women he’d only just met. Not thinking, merely pouring the drinks down his throat like they were a prayer. That pub reminded him of a church anyway, the way the sunlight streamed through the stain-glass windows, the bar like an altar where people went to receive their communion, their absolution, their last rites. Where people had epiphanies. Suddenly, he was jolted back to reality. A woman was shaking him, asking “Are you alright?” “What happened?” “You were hit by a car. I’ve called an ambulance.” Flynn looked around for his walkman. He had been listening to ‘Hatful of Hollow’ by The Smiths as he walked home. It was stupid, really, choosing to walk, as the pub was three or four miles from where he lived. There was enough money in his pocket for a taxi but he liked to walk around late at night. The way the lights looked as they shone on the river, the far off casinos and tower blocks all lit up. It made him feel like he was part of something big, something wonderful. Especially if he’d had a few drinks. “If you’re looking for your glasses, I’ve got them here,” the woman said. “Oh, right. My glasses. Thanks.” He took the broken pair of spectacles and noticed that one of the lenses was missing, the other severely cracked. “Did you notice my walkman?” “Your walkman?” The woman sounded puzzled at the question but then Flynn spotted it lying in the gutter. Only he couldn’t quite reach it. “That’s it over there,” he said, gesturing towards the kerb. She went to fetch it and handed it to him. “Can you get up? I’ll help you.” Flynn and the woman then embarked upon an elaborate dance so that he could stand up and move out the way of further oncoming traffic. He noticed quite a build up but couldn’t tell how long they had been waiting or how annoyed they were, what with his glasses being broken and the fact that it was dark and they all had their headlights on. “Was I out for long?” he asked. “Only a few seconds. The guy just drove off. Oh, look, here’s the ambulance now. Would you like me to come with you to the hospital?” “No, that’s alright. You’ve been very kind. Thanks for your help.” “It’s okay. Take care.” Suddenly, Flynn found himself being ushered into the back of an ambulance by a man holding a clipboard, who immediately began firing questions at him. “Have you been drinking?” “Well, yes. I was at a Christmas party and making my way home, so I’ve had a few drinks.” “How much did you have to drink?” “I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping count.” “Do you know what date it is?” Flynn told the man what date it was. “Can you tell me your name and address?” “Look, mate, which hospital are you taking me to? The Western?” “No, the Royal.” “Do I have to come with you?” The ambulance man looked surprised. “Well, I would certainly recommend it, but you don’t have to, of course. It’s entirely up to you.” “I don’t think I want to come with you. Can you let me out, please?” The ambulance man opened the door and Flynn hobbled out onto the wet pavement. He began walking in the direction of home. Whereas he could barely remember leaving the pub, he now felt completely sober and aware of everything going on around him. Aware of all the late-night clubbers spilled out all over the streets, many of whom stopped to ask if he was alright. “You okay, mate?” “Need any help, pal?” He didn’t even pause to address these people. He merely proffered cheery greetings as he hurried past on his way home. He was so desperate to get into a hot shower and to survey the damage. His head was throbbing and his left leg felt painful. He was sure it had been fractured or perhaps even broken, but still he continued walking relentlessly, until he was finally out of the city centre and away from the prying eyes of the Friday night crowds. He didn’t feel like he was part of something anymore or notice how pretty the lights looked. All he could think of were the same three words, which kept repeating themselves over and over in his head, like a mantra. Eventually, when it felt like he would never make it home, he began to say the words out loud, hoping that the sound cutting through the cold night air would bring about some sort of exorcism or wake him up from his nightmare. But, of course, it didn’t. All he could hear were his own words echoing back at him in the dark, empty streets. “You stupid bastard. You stupid bastard.”