Demo Joe #2: Cringe vs. Kramer

Today, Demo Joe turns his attention to John Salvo and his band of noise-mongers Cringe. For those unfamiliar with the name John Salvo, he was the owner-operator of Jello Tree Studios in Spokane in the 1990s, where he recorded many dozens of great local bands, from Cause and Clabberhag to Motherload and the Makers. He also led the volatile and punishing noise trio Cringe (think ’80s Butthole Surfers meets ’90s Amphetamine Reptile). Sometime in 1995, Cringe hit the road for a U.S. tour, culminating in a recording session with Mark Kramer at Noise New Jersey. Kramer was the impresario behind the great indie label Shimmy Disc, which released albums by Ween, Daniel Johnston, Damon and Naomi, Gwar, King Missile, and many others (including my favorites Dogbowl and Uncle Wiggly). He was also a founder of Bongwater with Ann Magnuson and a prolific solo artist and producer (he produced all of Galaxie 500’s albums). So it was kind of a big deal for Cringe to work with Kramer. Only, based on what I recall of John’s recounting of his experience, Salvo was disappointed with both the experience and the results. Kramer was largely absent during the session, and the recordings he “produced” were cacophonous but flat, lacking that sinewy punch that Salvo had so well captured on his own recordings of his band. Nevertheless, the three songs on this tape – “Nerve Test,” “Rock Star Bathtub Suicide,” and “Witches Brew” – are an interesting document of a good band that never got its due.

Demo Joe: Robert Roth and Jim Carroll

I recently started contributing to a Facebook community page called the Northwest Demo Tape Society in which contributors unearth and spotlight old demo cassette tapes from Pacific Northwest bands and musicians both known and unknown from the 1980s and ’90s. I once sat on a pile of such demos, also from bands both famous and obscure, but lost track of most of them years ago. As luck would have it, though, I still have a few in my possession, and I’ve been pulling them out one at a time from an old shoebox and writing a brief posts on Facebook. It’s been a worthwhile exercise so far, fun to revisit the music made by young, upstart bands and musicians (most of whom have long since gone quiet) as they were just making their first recordings—or even established ones introducing rough drafts of songs that would blossom into something remarkable. Rather than limit my posts to Facebook, I thought I would share some of them here as a new series called Demo Joe—named for the demo tape review column I wrote for The Rocket. Please note that the posts you read here have been edited, updated, or even expanded since originally appearing on the Northwest Demo Tape Society page.

For today’s post, we feature a tape of demo recordings made by author and punk icon Jim Carroll with Seattle psych-rock explorer Robert Roth (and his band Truly), who met up in a Seattle studio in 1994 to record two tracks, “Falling Down Laughing” and “Dirge Song.” “Falling Down Laughing” would be re-recorded for Carroll’s final album, 1998’s Pools of Mercury. While Roth is credited with writing the music, neither he nor his Truly mates—Hiro Yamamoto, ex-Soundgarden, and Mark Pickerel, ex-Screaming Trees—appear on the album. Carroll’s and Truly’s original recording of “Falling Down Laughing,” however, remains unreleased. “Dirge Song,” meanwhile, later became “Hairshirt Fracture,” which was remixed and issued by Kill Rock Stars in 2000 on the five-song EP Runaway, Carroll’s swan song.

As I recall, the Carroll–Roth connection originated with Rosemary Carroll, Jim’s ex-wife and Truly’s attorney. Carroll mentored Roth as he was writing the lyrics of Truly’s 1995 masterpiece Fast Stories … From Kid Coma, and he co-wrote “Repulsion” on Truly’s sophomore LP, Feeling You Up. In 1998, while touring in support of Pools of Mercury, Carroll reconnected with Roth for a show at Seattle’s Crocodile Café, with Roth joining Carroll and company on guitar. Three songs recorded from that night were included on the Runaway EP, including a live rendition of “Falling Down Laughing.” In the weeks leading up to that show, I convinced Roth to do a Q&A with Carroll to be printed in The Rocket, the magazine I was editing at the time. And that’s how I came into possession of the very tape I’m highlighting today—a generous gift from Robert Roth himself.

For more about Truly, and to purchase a 25^th anniversary digital edition of Fast Stories … From Kid Coma (a vinyl reissue said to be coming soon), visit their Bandcamp page. To venture down the vast and expanding rabbit hole of the Northwest Demo Tape Society, go here.

Golden Smog: Summer with the Radar Bros.

Summer is once again upon us, and I can’t think of a better soundtrack for these lazy, hazy, sun-burned days than the music of Southern California’s Radar Bros. The long-running (though currently dormant) psychedelic band led by singer-guitarist Jim Putnam conjures images of sunny, smog-veiled skies; weedy, parched earth; wide, open spaces, and cool, breezy evenings across a remarkable if not prolific output of albums, which include And the Surrounding Mountains (2002), Fallen Leaf Pages (2005), The Illustrated Garden (2010), and Eight (2013). Radar Bros. are not sunshine pop, however. Theirs is not a happy, sunshiny kind of rock and roll (more pastoral, post-Syd Barrett Pink Floyd than neo-Nuggets psych). Many of their songs—particularly “Papillon,” “Rock of the Lake,” “Warm Rising Sun,” and “Lake Life”—are dreamy, surreal, and laidback—but they also have a weighed-down quality to them: a profound melancholy, a current of sadness and unease that moves beneath the glassy, rippling, tranquil surface. And it’s this aspect that makes the Radar Bros. summer sounds so evocative and affecting right now. These are days of high anxiety: coronavirus, isolation, recession, George Floyd, national unrest, White House fascism and racism, and so on. So even as we bask in the radiance of the summer sun, we can’t fully escape the reality of our difficult surroundings. None of this is to say that the Radar Bros. are a summer bummer. They’re just striking a heavy chord with me—and the juxtaposition of beauty and decay that I hear in their music just sounds so right, right now. I feel an affinity for the Radar Bros., and I carry their songs in my head and heart as I begin to settle into this summer of weirdness and uncertainty.

From the Archives: What Deaner Was Talkin' About — A Conversation with Ween's Dean Ween

Photo credit: Danny Clinch

This one goes back a few years, 21 in fact. In 1999, I interviewed guitarist Mickey Melchiondo, better known to the world as Dean Ween (aka Deaner), he of the wonderfully strange and remarkable band Ween, which he co-founded with Aaron Freeman, aka Gene Ween, aka Gener, in the 1980s. Two years prior to this interview, Ween had followed their landmark Chocolate and Cheese album with a psychedelic masterpiece: the nautically themed The Mollusk, a record that today remains a wonder to behold. In the ensuing 21 years, Ween released several more records (including White Pepper, Quebec, and La Cucaracha), toured a bunch, disbanded, reunited, and went back on road. For his part, Dean Ween went fishing, reconvened Moistboyz for three albums, built a studio, and forged two full-length recordings with his Dean Ween Group. All this was still unknown and undefined when Deaner and I chatted by phone in 1999. At the time, Deaner was vacationing in Florida, getting in some golf and fishing before he and Gener and the rest of the band would embark on a summer run of headline dates across the U.S. to promote Ween’s rowdy, hodgepodge live album Paintin’ the Town Brown. A version of this Q&A appeared in TheRocket, in advance of Ween’s sold-out show on Seattle’s waterfront.

Deaner: How’s it goin’?

Pretty good. You’re down in Florida?

Deaner: I’m down in Florida, yeah. Gettin’ rested up before we go on the road. It’s so damn hot back at home [in New Jersey].

And it’s cooler in Florida?

Deaner: [laughs] No. But at least there’s like a pool and the ocean. I get to be a bum for a week and then we rehearse for a week.

So is this tour in support of Paintin’ the Town Brown?

Deaner: Kind of. That record is more of an excuse to go on tour. Summertime touring is great. It’s the best time to tour. Originally, we were supposed to go out with Medeski Martin and Wood this summer and that fell through. And then this came about. The live record wasn’t even … I mean I don’t know if you know the tale of the live record. What it was supposed to be and what it turned out to be was kind of two different ideas altogether.

What was it supposed to be? What I read was that you guys were just gonna put it out through your website.

Deaner: Yeah, that’s exactly it. That was the deal. There’s been a whole lot of trading of Ween MP3s and all that stuff online. A lot of it was started by us. There’s a lot of audio on our website. A lot of the tapes were like kids having like audience tapes, 90^th generation of copies of our demos. Over the years … I don’t particularly enjoy listening to live Ween tapes very much. I’d get like maybe one or two tapes per tour. I’d ask our soundman because he tapes every single night.

Oh, he does?

Deaner: Yeah. We’ve had the same soundman, Kirk Miller, for a really long time, pretty much since the first album came out. So it was really hard to find [good material]. I knew where a lot of the stuff was. Compiling the rest of it was sort of a bitch. We asked Elektra if we could sell it through our website and they were like, “Sure, cool.” We sent it to them, and it was all pretty much set. We had compiled it. We hadn’t mastered it, but edited it, and put the whole thing together. And they just sort of stepped in and said, “We changed our mind; we’re putting it out.” It started off as something that we figured a few thousand people would buy through us, like the people who really, really wanted it. But it’s still cool. It doesn’t really change the content of the record. We didn’t redo anything because Elektra was putting it out.

That’s the thing, it might have sounded different had you intended on doing a live record through Elektra.

Deaner: I don’t know that we would have gotten the idea at all. It’s kinda cooler for that reason. It’s a pretty shameless record.

It sounds like a compilation of bootlegs with varying degrees of recording quality. I think it’s hilarious that on the cover you’ve got a sticker that trumpets: “Featuring a 26-minute version of ‘Poopship Destroyer.’”

Deaner: They asked us what we wanted on the sticker, and we thought that was pretty funny.

I wonder if it’s tempted any buyers. Do you think anyone bought the record for that song alone?

Deanr: It’s kind of excruciating actually. It’s funny that that’s the centerpiece of the record.

What does a Poopship Destroyer look like?

Deaner: The Poopship is more of a concept, a state of mind. I think it’s the crux of Ween in general. “Poopship Destroyer” is just an expression of that.

So it’s not destined to be ride a Disneyland?

Deaner: No, no, no. It’s like when we attain that “Thing.” It is a vessel, but it’s not a big poop schooner.

So when’s the next record coming out?

Deaner: Our next studio album?

Yeah, I read that you’re almost done with a new studio album?

Deaner: Sort of. We’ve really been procrastinating badly. We started writing for it when The Mollusk tour ended. We already had a couple things laying around, but then we started working on it last spring. And then last summer we rented a house in Maine, just me and Aaron. We were up there for two weeks. We brought all our studio equipment up there, and we recorded up in this house on this little private island. It was like this little island in the middle of the harbor with a long causeway. Ours was the only house out there. That was cool; we got a lot done up there. Then we came home and rented the same house we did the Mollusk in, on the Jersey Shore, the one that we flooded out. It’s all renovated and fixed now. We went back there and we were there this winter. Then we took a break. Aaron’s a father now. So when his daughter was born, we knew when the due date was, so we stopped a few weeks before that. Then we kind of laid out for Christmas. After Christmas, we started working again, back in New Jersey. So we have a lot of stuff, but we haven’t pulled it all together. In the past what we’ve done is taken those recordings, mixed them and called it a record. But that’s not really our intention with this next album. I think we’ll probably go into the studio immediately following this tour, and we’ll do what we always do: we’ll pick 20 songs and work on those and put it out. I really don’t know when. We’ve had a lot of different things happen, you know with the record. We were going to have … at one point we talked to Todd Rundgren about having him produce it.

What happened with that?

Deaner: We just decided against it. He wants to work in Hawaii, where he lives. So we basically have to go to him and work out there. Which sounds all cool and all, but it just didn’t seem really practical. But we kept talking to him to hear his ideas about it.

Is Todd a fan?

Deaner: I really don’t know. Not from talking to him. He’s not like that. He’s not about like, “You guys great.” He wanted to talk about the ethics of music or what lies at the heart of good music. He was pretty out there. He was on tour with Ringo Starr while all this was happening. He was on the Ringo tour in San Diego playing guitar. But to answer your question, I don’t know [when we’ll make the album]. We certainly have the material at this point, but we’re just lazy. We’ll get around to making it sometime pretty soon.

Can you tell us about the new music, what it’s like? And are you playing any of it on this tour?

Deaner: We’ve been playing it out. We haven’t done a lot of gigs since we stopped touring for The Mollusk. We’ve done a handful of random gigs here and there. We’ll definitely be playing some of it on the tour. I don’t know how much. Right when I get home [from Florida], we’re gonna begin—we’re really gonna be getting down and rehearsing.

Can you describe the personality of the new songs?

Deaner: I don’t know. It’s a lot of different ideas so far, kind of like before. It’s really a lot of stuff. Until we choose, I don’t know. It’s kinda early to say. A lot of people think that we do like concept records. Obviously with the country record [12 Golden Country Greats, 1996], we were writing for that record—we were trying to write country music. But in general, like even with The Mollusk, you just start doing it and you get on to a thing—may something you’re listening to during that period. You never really know until a long time after the fact. There’s a lot of shit going on [with our new music], typical Ween.

I noticed that you made The Catholic Digest. Are you aware of that?

Deaner: Wow. What’s it say?

I don’t have it in front of me.

Deaner: What is it anyway?

The Catholic Digest, it’s like Reader’s Digest for Catholics, but with a watchdog component that warns readers about “sinful” things like music, movies, Ween.

Deaner: What’s it say? Is it a magazine or a book?

Hang on; I’m pulling it up. I was going to ask you if you consider that a remarkable accomplishment or high compliment. Oh, it’s actually Catholic Parent, and it’s a bimonthly magazine out of Huntington, Indiana. Here’s what it says regarding the Chef Aid album. [Editor’s note: Ween had contributed “The Rainbow” to the South Park TV show compilation album, Chef Aid, in 1998. Quote from Catholic Parent missing from interview transcript.]  

Deaner: Oh, yeah, I have seen it. I did see that. [laughs]

I think it’s hilarious that it’s in your press kit.

Deaner: I don’t even know what they put in there.

So I’ll ask you: is it an accomplishment to make Catholic Parent?

Deaner: I don’t know. I don’t want to jinx myself. I guess it could be. It’s cool and all.

I just think it’s funny. You should pitch them to do a Ween cover story.

Deaner: We’ve said shit that’s far crasser than [“The Rainbow”]. We could send them to our entire back catalogue.

The first time I saw Ween live, you opened for the Foo Fighters at Washington State University in Pullman, Washington. It was just you and Gener and a tape deck. [Editor’s note: Jawbreaker opened the show.]

Deaner: I remember that. That was the night their guy [presumably a Foo Fighters representative] got arrested in the parking lot for smoking weed. [laughs]

The crowd didn’t seem to like you at all and started heckling. What was awesome was that you dedicated “The HIV Song” to them. You didn’t seem to mind the adversity.

Deaner: First of all, there’s nothing bad that hasn’t been said about Ween. We have pretty thick skins. Back in the day, there was just the two of us and a tape deck. We hadn’t really done that in a really long time until the Foo Fighters tour. But back in the day, we obviously weren’t headlining anywhere. We were always opening for bands. And we did some really hellish [shows]. We opened for the Ramones and we opened for Fugazi [at City Grardens in Trenton, New Jersey]—that’s probably the most famous one. We opened for Fugazi … and we got booed by the entire 1,200 people. They threw like everything at us that wasn’t nailed down: like gum and spit, sodas and beer, and fucking cups and change. And we were just kicking so much ass. It’s like we were in some like highly, heavy drug phase at the time. It was like 1990, and I think we were all sorts of fucked up. But we were totally kicking ass. So I kinda got used to it. By the time we got to headline our own gigs and play for people that actually liked us—I don’t think [the rejection] ever wears off. In general, we try not to open for people because we like to play too long. We can’t do our thing in 40 minutes. Opening for the Foo Fighters was kind of like riding a bike: you fall right back into getting heckled. [laughs]

What was funny was your reaction to the audience’s heckling. You were like, “Is that all you got?”

Deaner: Ah, you know. Whatever. We’d always rather that people enjoy it. We’ve never really enjoyed people fucking screaming at us. I guess only you can determine whether you’re suckin’ or not. I know exactly how bad we can suck. We can be horrendous.

How’s Jimmy, by the way?

Deaner: My dog? He’s fine. He’s here, actually. We drove him down in the car.

What’s his breed?

Deaner: He’s like a border collie and a lab.

How long have you had Jimmy?

Deaner: I’ve had Jimmy all the way, actually, since he was a puppy. He’s probably 9-and-a-half or 10 now.

Was he the inspiration for “Fluffy.”

Deaner: Jimmy? [laughs] I don’t know. Aaron wrote “Fluffy.” I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.

What’s the strangest record you’ve heard all year, new or old?

Deaner: I don’t know what the hell it’s called, but I saw it on VH1 or MTV a couple times. It’s on Capitol. It’s with that dude talking the whole time … with the positive affirmations. You know that song?

Not at all.

Deaner: It’s like, “Try and do one nice thing every day. Work on improving ….” I’m sure whoever reads this will know what I’m talking about. “Fear nothing. Every day, do one thing that scares you. You can’t get anywhere in life without risk-taking.” It’s all like positive affirmations. It’s a four-minute song, really over-the-top instrumental in the background. It’s a new song. I’m sure I’ve heard something weirder than that. I mean, it’s not weird. It’s just interesting, something different finally, you know?

[Editor’s note: Deaner’s talking about Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen)” (1999), which was based on a 1997 column written by Mary Schmich of the Chicago Tribune.]

Do you have a pretty huge record collection?

Dean Ween: Yeah, it’s pretty big.

What kind of things do you look for?

Deaner: I buy all sorts of things. I listen to too many things to kind of answer that.

Do you spend a lot of time in record stores?

Deaner: I’m kind of over that phase in my life—that record collector idiocy. I actually buy CDs through the Internet now, through Amazon and CD Now, you know on a whim. I’ll be sittin’ there and I’ll think, “Oh, shit, I want to hear this,” and I’ll go to the site and just order something. I love getting stuff in the mail.

Where do you keep the “title belt” from Chocolate and Cheese album cover?

Deaner: Nobody really knows where it is. It’s kind of a sore point in our band. The album’s artwork happened in different phases. The people who coordinated the artwork for us hired the photographer and someone did casting for the model. We just saw proofs of whatever. We never even actually had our hands on the belt, ever. It was never in our possession. We had never even seen it except in the photos that we looked at. And no one really wants to say [what happened to it]. We really tried to find it after it was all done, in like the six months following the release of that record. No one really wants to say where it is. I know somebody knows where it is…. The people that were involved with it just fed us a bunch of bullshit basically.

The guy who made that belt was the guy who made the heavyweight title belts. It’s a guy in North Jersey. It was cast in bronze or brass or however the hell they do it. And this guy made it; it was like an actual belt with rhinestones on it.

Keep checking eBay.

Deaner: It’s gonna a pop up on Sotheby’s auction block someday for $50.

I hear you’re a Bruce Springsteen fan.

Deaner: Oh, sure.

We have evidence. Next door is Backstreets. Are you familiar with Backstreets? [Editor’s note: Backstreets is the “official unofficial” Bruce Springsteen fan club, which was started by The Rocket’s Charles R. Cross and which shared offices with The Rocket until 2000.]

Deaner: Uh-huh.

We’ve got a photo of you holding an issue of Backstreets magazine.

Deaner: Oh, really? I don’t remember doing that. That’s awesome. I mean we’re Jersey, you know? I’m from Trenton.

So are you hitting any of the Boss’s upcoming shows? [Editor’s note: This is noteworthy because Bruce Springsteen had just reconvened the E Street Band for the first time in a decade (although they did record together briefly in 1995) for a full U.S. tour.]

Deaner: I don’t have tickets yet, but I’d like to.

Of course, you’ll be on the road by then.

Deaner: We can catch him somewhere, I’m sure. He’s doing like 12 nights at Giants Stadium or the Meadowlands.

Let’s get back to bootlegging and live recordings and downloads. How much stuff is in your vaults? How do your demos and stuff leak out? Do you guys leak it?

Deaner: Well, I don’t really want to say. It happens different ways. A lot of the stuff that’s online … the stuff I put up on our site is generally Real Audio files. You can listen to them, but you can’t download them; you just stream them. But then “the kids” found a way—or some kids made an application that just steals them. So, everybody got those. We put up some MP3s from time to time. The record company doesn’t really like that—streaming audio is one thing. But a lot of the stuff out there, I really can’t say. There’s a lot of stuff out there on the web that I have really seriously wondered where people got it from. We honestly had nothing to do with it. Typically, we’re pretty guarded with our tapes and stuff. We’ll make a recording and will maybe give it to a friend of ours so he can listen to it—like one of our close friends from home, from New Hope. And then maybe he dubs it for somebody we don’t know and then it’s just out there. It’s amazing. There’s a lot of stuff online, like the Moistboyz stuff that I did with my Moistboyz partner [Dickie Moist], that I don’t even have. I wouldn’t know where to begin finding them; I’d have to go into my closet and find old tapes. And with Ween, it’s even more so. It’ll happen all the time. Aaron will call me and he’ll go like, “Dude, I’m gonna send you a file I downloaded.” And it’ll be a Ween track that neither of us have, that we just forgot about. It’s really interesting how the size of the world shrinks because of the Internet. All it takes is one guy to get his hands on it, and if it’s the right guy, everybody will have it. It’s good for us, too, you know? It’s a way for us to put music out there if we want people to hear something and we don’t want to go through all the channels.

What’s going on with the Moistboyz?

Deaner (aka Mickey Moist): Not much. We didn’t really break up or anything like that. It’s just that my partner in the Moistboyz, Dickie Moist, he moved to New Mexico. That kind of stopped it. He just got married a couple weeks ago, back in Jersey, and I was in his wedding party. He’s living out there now; it makes it really hard [to have a band].

Can you think of the strangest show you’ve ever played or the most surreal experience you had this year?

Deaner: People ask me that a lot. There’s been many. The one I was talking about before is a memorable one. It most definitely gets an asterisk next to it. But it wasn’t strange; it was just hate, the power of hate raining down on Ween. I can remember so many horrible things, you know—little snippets. On the Mollusk tour, we came on stage in Jacksonville Beach and we were about to start the first song and a girl in the front row was lactating. She lifts up her shirt and sprays milk all over us. We hadn’t even played a note yet and [she sprayed] milk all over my Adidas and the legs of my jeans. Dave [Dreiwitz], the bass player, was just standing there looking; we were looking at each other just totally horrified. [laughs] She was just cackling at us. That’s probably the weirdest thing that ever happened without us even playing a note. … I don’t know what the hell that was. Mostly I’ve seen a lot of bad things happen at our gigs. In Columbus last year, two guys got into a fight in front of me and one guy grabbed the other guy and bit off his ear, Tyson style. The cops came, arrested him and took him to jail and everything—right in the middle of while we were playing.

Speaking of fighters, does Muhammed Ali get royalties for the use of his famous rant at the end of “Powder Blue”?

Deaner: It’s no longer on that record. Only the initial 10,000 copies had it, and then they made us take it off the record. So if you have one—I don’t—hold on to it. It was never supposed to be on there. We did it and then we asked permission, and they said, “Absolutely not; take it off.” Someone, accidentally or on purpose, sent in the wrong master [to the pressing plant], and the initial run had it on there. If you have one, hold on to it; that record has sold at least 700 copies. It’ll probably be very easy to find.

Let’s talk about your sense of humor. I know you guys address this all the time. Do you think your sense of humor gets you guys into trouble, to the point where people think that you’re a gimmick or because you have a sense of humor you guys are a joke band?

Deaner: Uh, yeah. Rather than give you some long-winded answer. I think that’s exactly it. I think it’s really funny—it’s not funny; it’s kind of fucking pitiful. That is just the way it is. It’s nothing new that Ween gets dissed. It’s basically how it’s always been. Ween gets nothing. People would rather listen to fuckin’ Tonic. [Editor’s note: Does anyone remember Tonic?]

David Berman, Silver Jews and Purple Mountains, 1967-2019

"Like a message broadcast on an overpass, all my favorite singers couldn't sing. All my favorite singers couldn't sing." Goodbye, David Berman. You were my favorite singer who "couldn't sing."

Super-misogynistic-expialidocious!

Herb Jeffries (name misspelled on the cover), Devil Is a Woman (Golden Tone, 1957)

No, I'm pretty certain the so-called devil woman who inspired the conception and delivery of this red-hot piece of trash was not actually a woman, but a group of men, who, were there any justice, never enjoyed the company of women (or licked their boots) again.

The Devil and Robert Johnson

Sic him, hellhound! Robert Johnson reincarnated.

I wonder if this asshole made a deal with the devil, too. Judging from his astonishing travesty of recorded music, this Robert Johnson probably blew the stop sign at the fabled crossroads and kept right on trucking to Squaresville or whatever shithole flea-market stage would have him. Or maybe this is thee Robert Johnson—reincarnated and forever doomed to haunt the junk store record bin with his goofy-ass smile, regrettable haircut, and dumbshit Chuck Berry-style pose. Maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t fuck around with the devil.