MAIL

MAIL.

Please send letters to:

MAIL Dept., CREEM Magazine

P.O.Box P-1064

Birmingham, Ml 48012

I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE ART DEPT.

I'm still shaking—you almost put Elvis Costello on your cover! Well, back in May you gave it ago...how can I possibly thank you for not splashing the "Big Boy's" mug from staple to staple? I know you knew that would only make more people think he sold out, if you had.

Going over the letters in your "Mail" section (not one confession, but a few cracked), I saw someone had signed the name "Robin Banks." Put my headphones on hold—that was my air name for close to a year! Then came the Talking Heads with "Take Me To The River"...obnoxious song, really, but I changed titles to "James Mayhem" anyway.

Then I quit.

Top Forty radio bean bery, bery gud to me.., When Americathon starts cleaning up, 1 wanna see Costello on your cover on all fours, "Crawling To The U.S. A.". But if you ruin it with half a dozen photo insets, I won't keep up the insurance on the joke. Deal?

Bob Allen Laredo, TX

(No, Elvis will be bussing to the U.S.A. as usual, in his maroon Scenic Cruiser, which, we have it on the best authority, was invaded by a CREEM writer. Elvis: fumigate that bus, for God's sake. Next time we suggest Nick and Dave go Greyhound.—Ed.)

YOU CANT ARGUE WITH A...

I'll bet you can't guess who I am.

I was last seen in your crummy mag the August 77 issue drinking Boy Howdy!

You wouldn't believe where I am now. I joined the Eyewitness News Team. Just thought I'd write you a note so you'd know I was okay. Bye. Love,

Joe Walsh Los Angles, CA

P.S. Could you mail me a loan of $500.00? My Les Paul broke down. I'll pay you back. (Anything for our future President, Joe.—Ed.)

HOWLING AT THE CAT BOX Why don't you just give up? It's quite obvious why you put morons like Ted Nugent or Rod Stewart in the centerfold poster. You have to sell your magazine. Only two of the eight posters have been acceptable (Brucie, Blondie). Frankly, I'm sick of Keef Richard and Mike Jagwire articles (but a poster too? Blah!). At least your heart Is in the right place. The Graham Parker interview was brilliant! It's about time somebody laid it on the world's ugliest band, Journey. "Wheel in the Sky" my ass. I would have gone to see Graham at Cobo in May, but the thought of the hordes of these Journey-Van Halen types could keep even the staunchest rock 'n' roller away. Anyway, I expect another jerk-off group like Styx will grace either the cover or poster of next month's edition, but someday maybe The Clash will be acceptable to the great midwest. Right?

Chris Pangborn

Bloomfield Hills, Mishitigan

(The most boring destination in the nation.)

P.S. I really don't dislike the Roland Stoves but they're acceptable to Van Halen or Ted Nugent fans and you know, it kinds spoils them for real fans.

(So that's what smells bad!—Ed.)

TRANSMIGRATORY MANIC DEPRESSION

It's only 5 a.m. and none of the bars have opened yet. I can't put this off any longer.

I may never have been a groupie, but I want you to know that I've been around. I know a lot about music. (I even have drums in my kitchen.) CREEM is proof that rock exists, and (can it be true?!) that it exists not only at CBGB's and the Mabuhay.

(I mean, who would ever have guessed that there were rock bands in Omaha, of all places; I didn't see any on the tequila-inspired bus ride from Frisco to the land that time forgot— southern Pennsylvania.) (YoU all.)

But, as Baba Rum Sumbody says; "Beer Here Now." so I quickly got a job at the only place in town that boasts "live music (as opposed to?). Soon weary of infants who could only panic or pout when someone in the crowd yelled, "Play something you know," I took my search to the outlying communities. (The search was not uninteresting, but I know that most of you have phenomenonally short attention spans so on to the soybean of the matter.)

I discovered a gem of a songwriter, struggling with a band that despite its long-hair-to-coverup-their-rednecks, private personality, can transcend and actually improvise—good-timers whose Bob Wills' influenced rock is never imitative.

I can't say that I love Winterhawk, I mean, not like love American Standard, Slow Buck, Preston and Wall and the Jamais Blues Band, or the incipient, when I last heard 'em in a one car garage in Oakland across from the Chapel of Memories, Unreal Band. (I might have grown fonder had I not been banned from the First Annual Winterhawk Picnic, merely because someone told someone that I was "some kind of writer", have a prediliction for passing out in graveyards, and decline to denude my armpits of their lovely soft tangle of curls.)

I can say that G.H. Myett deserves a more sophisticated audience that the Dolly Parton look-a-likes at the Pines and the comatose teenagers at Greg's Tavern.

So there you are, and there you go, and there you have it.

Casey Miranda Rann

Notorious Underground rock Critic

Chambersburg, PA

P.S. The sensitive reader may have detected in my tone a hint of my current.^ cultural deprivation. I am not happy; my bones are mending very slowly, else I would be reporting from Belize. I am out of touch. My command of the vernacular is slipping. I can detect only three verbs in current use.

1. "to get a buzz on" which means "let's go to my house and screw."

2. "to party" which means "let's go to your house and screws

3. "to swoop" which means, in Iggy's immortal words, "I'm gonna go out in the street and do it to people."

Is this common usage?

P.P.S. The publication of this letter would:

1. greatly enhance my prestige around town, which has been flagging since my recent arrest for walking under the influence and even more recent dismissal from behind the bar at the only place in town that still has a prophylactic dispenser—which is regularly stolen—in men's room, for reasons of a totalitarian nature.

2. alert the 2 faithful readers of my apocryphal work, In Prime Toto Quark, that I continue to participate in we-know-whp's experiments. (Hi guys, I've done it 14 times!!!)

(Aren't you afraid of going blind?—Ed.)

JOHNNY COLORADO, GO HOME!

Greetings from Bumfuck, Egypt!!

MEMO TO GRAHAM PARKER: Thanks for defining what is really wrong with all of these snot blooded middle American so-called "rock 'n' roll" fans. It's been bothering me for years, living (?) in this mile high dunghill called Denver; it ain't easy being a hard core, no compromises accepted rock 'n' roller in this town, there's only a few hundred of us in Cowtown U.S. A. (but our number is growing!).

I mean, you KNOW there's gotta be something WRONG when the New Barbarians can only fill half an arena while the Grateful Dead (I'd be grateful that they were!) can sell out THREE shows ("an unprecendented happening in Colorado" so what!). FUCK!!!

Ironically, the very same day this CREEM hit the stands, the new ish of C*rcus had a cover story on Woodstock. KILL THE HIPPIES!! (Kill the rednecks, too!)

Luckily, we still have Geep and the R. to show us what killer r 'n' r is all about. You blew the roof off with your heat treatments back in April and WE WANT YOU BACK!!

MEMO TO RICK JOHNSON: The next time Firefall plays anywhere near Macomb, IL, would you be so kind as to force several cases of STAG BEER down their throats? Then they can all smash each other and we won't have to suffer thru any more of their vinyl excrement that passes for music. Coloradoism is definitely a deadly disease and must be stopped by any means possible! Coors comes from sewers!!

MEMO TO THE CLASH: Get off yer bleedin' collective lazy arses and give us a tour, dammit! We want more rope!!

MEMO TO SUSAN WHITALL AND BOY HOWDY!!: Yer mag $fets better every month. Where's The Therese?!? CREEM is boss and C*rcus makes me toss!!

The Germ Free Adolescent Dee Bauchery The 9th Circle of Hell A.k.a. Denver, CO

P.S. MEMO TO NICK GILDER: You're ugly and need a nose job!! And yer sister dresses you funny! Don't come to Denver if you value yer life! (And this from a girl who has a personally autographed copy of "You Know Who You Are"!) But no one insults S. Whitall and lives very long!!

(The Therese finally cracked under the strain of life in the fast lane. She is currently undergoing career rehabilitation at Mitch's Coney Island. Address all correspondence to the french fryer.—Ed.)

FRIPPED OUT

Hello...I always hate reading letters complaining about reviews (i.e., "What do you mean ELP is lousy" etc.), but Gary Kenton really talked out of his posterior in his Robt. Fripp review. The learned Mr. Kenton relayed to us that "Disengage" had "Fripp doing his best banshee imitation of Robert Plant" and that on "North Star," "Fripp displays a restrained Rundren-like falsetto." Since Mr. Kenton is obviously unable to read liner notes and since he must of listened to the album for all of 5 or 10 minutes I will help him out. The "banshee" is one Peter Hammill who has thd most recognizable voice this side of Caruso. The "Rundgren-like falsetto" is blueeyed soul-mate Daryl Hall. Since to my knowledge Mr. Fripp has never vocalized on vinyl, Mr. Kenton's mistakes are inexcusable. DON'T YOU GUYS PROOFREAD!! Add to this the fact that the album is great, not shitty, and you come up with one hell of a lousy review.

1981 is the year of the Fripp J. Scott Faust Johnstown, PA

P.S. Robert Fripp is the best guitarist ever. P.S.S. But, then I like the Plasmatics.

WILL WONDERS NEVER CEASE?

Did you know there is a disco version of "Miss You'? No shit, I heard it on Starsky & Hutch. I buy CREEM, don't I?

I love Brent in Denver

(Thank God you didn't hear it on the radio!!! We loue Parjs in the springtime.—Ed.)

THE SAME OLD SONG Now that Gary Moore has quit Thin Lizzy, he will emerge as the next killer guitar player of the 80's.

Yes, he is that good.

Snow Moose Pittsburgh, PA

(Now we'd like to hear your thoughts on Amii Stewart.—Ed.)

INK BLOTS IN OUTER SPACE We're here! We-re alive! We're trying! Stranded in Steel City, U.S. A. but, making plans to break away. Getting edgy. Making pledges. Someday. Someday!

Piss factories aside, we have our pride. But, not of being average. Ave-RAGE! We're gonna break on through to the other side. A lizard ride. Anarchy set us free, now we know what real rock be!

Keef and Woodsy played here! We couldn't believe it! Couldn't conceive it! „ Christ, they made us bleed it! Who ain't been here since '71. Mick ain't been since '72. What to do? Then, along come these Barbarians. Destroying lumberjack librarians. Pre-show tape: sweet violins. Hit the stage: Violence! Big K rocked & swayed. Ronnie grinned. Nigger played!

(Rock 'n' roll nigger pulled a trigger. Blew us all away.)

T. Heads in pizza joint. Ramones in bars. Trick came back. But, so did Cars.

Q.: Are we not the Pitts?

A.: We ain't the mistake-by-the-lake!

Q.:Molly Hatchet runs like the shits?

A.: And the new Allmans are a fake!

Tuning in, tuning out, Ethiopias are fading. Easter parading. Riding a wave. Inside a cave. But, when the daylight comes...

Boy Howdy! And how!

Blondie is a comic strip,

Smokey,

Preventing Urban Renewal,

You know where

P.S. Boston, Foreigner, Styx and Kansas all suck Rod Stewart's sweaty disco gym shorts! (G/ue us a ring after you hear from George G ershwin. —Ed.)

1,000,000 YEARS IN SING-SING

I hate to say this but you guys are starting to sound ominously like Rolling Stone. Where are we going to find a real rock and roll mag once you've gone completely that way?

I use as an example Mitch Cohen's review of The Kids are Alright, which I saw last night during bargain hour at a local theater. Now this sentence I will use as an example:

No one is denying the impact of "Won't Get Fooled Again," or even "Who Are You," but in The KAA they don't come in any real context; there's not even a sense of just how important Tommy was in propelling them from virtual unknowndom in the U,S. to the status they eventually attained.

I used to really be entertained by your reviews; they were the cleverest I've ever seen, distinctive voices seeing that "rock's not meant to be analyzed," in the words of Townshend. The rock and roll way of life is to stop this goddammed way of carping and analyzing that the media seems to think is the modern way. Whatever happened to the magazine that wrote "Let It Rot'? Hey, Jimi, where you goin' with that vomit in your hands?

"To the status they eventually attained." Did this guy see the film? Does he really know anything about rock and roll? As a matter of fact, there Is a distinct reason for "Won't Get Fooled Again," and "Who Are You?" for precisely where they come in the film, towards the end, and in direct response to the film's bantering back and forth with itself.

Jesus, the whole stinking review pisses me off. Well, let it rot, anyway. But once upon a time, you guys were really good.

Rock On!

Stephanie Mood.

San Diego, CA

(A death worse than fate. Nick Tosches is being dispatched to Mitch's railroad flat with a mannequin leg to beat all Fong-Torreseque tendencies out of him. Thank you!—-Ed.)