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How did you think Jordan the Intern did on that interview with The Beta Band? Did you think he was keeping it real by not owning up to the questions and selling me down old man river? Me neither, but I’m biased. Anyway, if you think you could have done a better job and stuck to your guns, check out this interview with Eric Sermon and Parrish Smith of EPMD and see if you could walk the very same talk being slung by Chris Nieratko. This is another early contribution of his to the pages of Big Brother magazine (issue #31; November 1997). By they way, have I mentioned that Chris has a book out? He does. It’s called Skinema and its a collection of his various writings for Vice magazine. Find out more here:

http://www.amazon.com/Skinema-Chris-Nieratko/dp/1576873846

more big brother:

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	watch: big brother video archive

So I believe it is common knowledge by now that Jeff Tremaine was voted as having the “Best Eyes” in his graduating high school class many, many moons ago. However, it would appear that he met his ocular match down in Tasmania, Australia with this Tawny Frogmouth. That’s a pretty fucked up name for a bird, right? Tawny Frogmouth. Almost sounds like a famous porn star from the ’70s who specialized in extremely oral antics verging upon the freakish. Anyway, there is no Photoshop trickery at play here, only the demonic capacity that all animals have when popped by a common camera flash (I did briefly toy with the idea of adding a boogery treat to Jeff’s nasal cavities, but it looks like there might already be something webbed-up in there).

Yeah … I know. Everyone else and their blog is jumping on the Sesame Street train today, but if you would be so kind as to recall a certain puppeteering post from yesterday then you will realize I was in fact the engine in this choo-choo scenario. But let’s blow this puppet stand and jump a few tracks off the PBS block to head south of the equator to Australia, where men raised on the more innocent days of television draw upon Professor Henson’s educational teachings and take puppets to the next obscene level on Wildboyz. Because when the wonder of childhood is lost, and all the toys are broken, how else are we meant to entertain ourselves in a working world gone mad behind cubicles, counters, and desks? Mark Twain was onto something when he penned Huck Finn; I’m just not so sure America paid close enough attention other than to briefly crown it as a Great American Novel before grabbing the briefcase, catching the train, and making it to work before the whistle or boss man blew. Next stop … Willoughby!

more wildboyz:

wildboyz on jackassworld

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Let’s switch musical gears for a moment and go from sensitive metal senseis to angry young Scots. Aye, t’would appear there’s a bit more than piss and vinegar chips in the lochs of these lads (as suggested by this interview published in Big Brother issue #57; February 2000), but let’s face it: How else are you really going to learn about a band unless you test their sensibilities? Will they crack under the annoying strain and totally lose their shit, or will they rise to the unusual occasion with a kilt full of wit? Unfortunately for Jordan the Intern, I think he genuinely liked The Beta Band. Even more unfortunately for him, I think I knew that when he came to me and asked for a list of questions. So I just tried to make the interview as asinine and uncomfortable as possible for him. Frankly, I was rather surprised Jordan the Intern made it as far as he did before going bloody turncoat on me.

more big brother:

	read: big brother blog archive
	watch: big brother video archive

Since I’m in a very musical mood at present, let’s take it to the stage with Wee-Man. Where you go from there is up to you, but pommes frites* are you usually a jolly good place for me—or so they seem at the time, but most thoughts (or what passes as thoughts) are purely fueled on primal instinct and little else by that sodden point. I would like to say I’ve heard that the little sticks of starch make excellent alcohol sponges, but then I also think I’ve heard they make excellent artery plugs? Oh well, half dozen of one/half dozen of the other, I suppose, especially when you’re shedding brain cells like a retriever does hair in the dead of summer. But such are the consequences to be a rock and not to roll…

* Anyone remember that “Freedom Fries” nonsense from a few years back? Wow, that was a bright and shinning moment in American history…

Do you like music? I like music. I like music so much that at the opening show of The Pixies Doolittle tour in Los Angeles last night I forgot to order a “call” vodka and instead wound up with “well” vodka. And not just once, but three times. Not the rookie move you really want to make for a Thursday work morning, but I was just so excited I could have peed all over the floor of the Hollywood Palladium like a puppy. Make that a drunk puppy (who is now a slightly sick puppy). Anyway, if you can’t make it to one of The Pixies shows—it’s worth it, trust me—maybe you can check out our friends in The Deadly Syndrome. They’re on a slightly less grandiose tour at present but it’s a tour just the same and they need to be loved just like everybody else does. And on that handsome note: Rock over London, rock on, Chicago. Dickhouse—it takes a load off.

http://thedeadlysyndrome.com/

Now let me preface what I’m about to say with the fact that I would never ever in a million-billion years consider going back in time to toy with my twisted fate like some punk-ass Michael J. Fox. I’m quite fine with where I’m at now and wouldn’t even think about jeopardizing my present spot in life. But … I sometimes wish I could have witnessed this scene with entirely fresh eyes in the movie theater like so many million-billion others did in October 2006 [correction: September 2006]. What would that have been like to sit down and feel the warm thrill of confusion, that space cadet glow, as two grown-up hetero men suddenly get jiggy with a puppetry spun penis on the very same screen past graced by the celluloid images of Robert DeNiro, Brad Pitt, and Mark Hamill? I don’t know. So you tell me.

(photo by Sean Cliver; Orlando, FL; 2006)

I don’t know what it is about the metal gods, but they really make for fun interview subjects. This particular one with Dave Mustaine of Megadeth (Big Brother issue #33; 1998) was conducted and contributed by John LaCroix … who for the life of me I can’t remember now? Anyway, whoever he was, he sure did a swell job of toeing the line with Mustaine here. Almost makes me feel bad now after seeing that tear-jerker of a scene with him and Lars Ulrich in the Metallica documentary Some Kind of Monster (2004), but hey, that’s just how the heavy metal cookie crumbles.

I’ve mentioned in the past how we first met Rob Dyrdek many years ago—long before a Fantasy Factory, long before a Big, long before a Dickhouse—and this photo dates back to February 1995 when he joined us on the Big Brother Mardi Gras tour. After seeing Rob on MTV, I’m sure many of you will view this photo as rather mundane in comparison to some of the other get-ups and situations he’s put himself in, but what you have to understand about Rob is that this was very, very, very out of character for him at the time (tantamount to career suicide in the more terminally cool pockets of the skateboard industry). In fact, it may even have been a bit disturbing for him, e.g. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, because the Mardi Gras tour was more than just another article in the magazine: it was a trip into the deeper recesses of man’s soul on par with that apocalyptic journey Martin Sheen once took into Vietnam to confront Colonel Kurtz and his fat heart of darkness. Only our Colonel Kurtz was named Jeff Tremaine and it the first time anyone had really witnessed his absurd fury unleashed … but more about that in the Big Brother memoir. Anyway, on his eventual return to society, I think Rob regretted a few of the things that took place during his time under Tremaine’s hell-bent wing, one being this cowboy outfit—especially when Tremaine later used the image on a Big Brother business card.

(photo by Sean Cliver; 1995)

Part of this week’s half-ass theme is spotlighting a few of the more noteworthy band interviews from the musty, old pages of Big Brother skateboard magazine. Chris Nieratko was one of our foremost contributors in this category back then, so I’d like to take this moment to more formally introduce him and his relation to jackass.

When jackass was still very much in the conceptual stage, the subject of music was slated to play a much more prevalent role than just mere soundtrack fodder. Plus, it seemed like a natural selling point to MTV—them being a music television network and all—that we wanted to involve musicians on some odd level. Jeff Tremaine had always enjoyed the untoward band interviews conducted by Nieratko, a writer with an absurdly foul disposition (after two years of freelancing for Big Brother, Chris moved out to Los Angeles in 2000 to take a salaried position as Managing Editor following my resignation), and wondered if his particular brand of buffoonery could somehow be translated into a workable visual format. So around the time the original jackass pilot was being created in early 2000, a crew was sent along to document Chris and see what, if anything, could be made from these interrogative affairs.

On the first attempt, Chris pitted himself against legendary pipsqueak Ronnie James Dio to try his pompous mettle. Unsurprisingly, the two of them got off on the wrong foot altogether from the moment they were introduced, when Chris uttered, “Wow, you’re shorter than I thought.” Dio retorted by declaring the word “short” offensive and that “small” would have been a far more polite thing to say. (I fail to see the difference in nicety here, but he’s the rock star, not me, and thereby afforded certain liberties in the scope of reasoning.) To drive the point home with a wee bit of spite, he added that it would be the equivalent to his calling Nieratko “fat”—and all this before the cameras were even rolling.

When the formal interview taping finally started, Chris kicked it off by calling him “Rodney” and asked what it felt like being in the same band with Ozzy—all much to Dio’s displeasure. From there everything went downhill in a delightfully good way, but alas, one too many questions related to his height (or lack thereof) sent Dio’s ego over the edge and his henchmen began demanding the DV tapes be handed over. A veteran of these awkward situations, Nieratko had wisely managed to substitute one of the tapes already, but Rick Kosick was taken unawares and accosted by several metal thugs. Rick’s a trooper to be sure, but no match for a solid chokehold, and the crucial “two shot” angle on the interview was confiscated from his camera and lost to rock history.

Not long after the Dio escapade Chris sat down with yet another old salt dog of the metal scene, Bruce Dickenson of Iron Maiden, but the only seriously funny thing to occur was a moment in the waiting room when he accidentally broke a coffee table while rocking out to the promo CD. No one with any ounce of ingenuity on the crew could figure out how to repair the table, so they simply took all of the pieces and hid them behind a couch. Following a few feeble attempts at editing the Dickenson interview into something halfway entertaining, Tremaine threw in the towel on incorporating the music fantasy and decided to use Nieratko for the other thing he does best: puke.