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Just for you, a photo of the spiffy Burzum shirt worn by a gay German dude getting off the subway in Brooklyn after the gay pride parade in New York last weekend. No, he had no idea who Varg Vikernes is — and yes, he assumed I was hitting on him. When Varg is out on weekend furloughs from prison in Norway, does he see this shirt in swanky boutique windows while out shopping for CDs? He was denied parole again recently, by the way. 

Check it out: the two heads on the right of this row of people being astonished by Iron Maiden at Madison Square Garden belong to Kate Hudson and Lance Armstrong. No joke. They made out throughout “Iron Maiden,” but never nude. If they thought the gossip rags would pick up on it…well, here you go! 

I bought tickets yesterday on the cheap, and I’m so glad I did. Iron Maiden are unique among major rock bands in that they’ve never forgotten why they’re big. They work the same vein that paid off for them first in 1983, only now in more elaborate ways. And after seeing Van Halen and the Who multiple times in the past couple years for various reasons, Iron Maiden comes off looking and sounding much more impressive. I was proud to be part of a crowd of newly-minted 12-year-old Maiden fans and their equally proud doddering old dads. Best off-Broadway spectacular ever! And fastest costume changes on the old Bruce.

There was a weird incident — midway through “Powerslave,” the sound cut out altogether. The band shrugged their shoulders, looked at each other, and then began kicking a soccer ball around. This went on for at least ten minutes, and believe me the audience barely minded seeing this improvised spectacle. At one point, Bruce picked up a sarcophagus and used it to beat back the soccer ball. Funny stuff. When the power came on, he surprised me by blaming Sharon Osbourne by name in front of the massive crowd, saying she was getting her revenge and that the “wicked witch of west rides again.” Is that British humor, or does he have reason to think Sharon Osbourne still reaching out from afar fucking with Iron Maiden shows? 

Well? This one is either a cinch, or impossible, depending on whether or not you’ve heard the news. Who is this band? From where are they from? I have to say, the bass player looks very much the same after 40 years.

Close yer eyes and comment!

If you’re into the classic French heavy metal band Sortilège, chances are you might also enjoy a bottle of the Canadian maple syrup whiskey that shares the name.

Here’s an outtake photo of Eddie Van Halen from Everybody Wants Some. Contact Redferns for your own licensing needs. For the uninitiated, this looks like Detroit, MI, or Rochester, NY, or Niagara Falls — a Buick-ridden hellhole circa November 1979 where shut-in guitar prodigies from Pasadena, CA, have to put on a parka and nurse a deep hangover in a dirty, wet and freezing parking lot. David Lee Roth likes to compare the appeal and reach of Van Halen to McDonald’s hamburgers. It turns out you are what you eat. (Roth himself is chomping the wormburger held lower right.)

Click to enlarge, this photo reduces the quaint black metal concept of “grimness” to shreds. Sorry, Fenriz.

I’m putting together a D-beat episode of my Bloody Roots metal history show for Sirius, and simultaneously we’re approaching the anniversary of the booze and pills overdose death of Disclose frontman/guitarist Kawakami. Here’s what his heavily-branded gravestone looks like. I think the message of the Super Saddam Bros. doll is to enjoy life, enjoy Discharge, embrace some rules and throw others down the nearest green pipe.

I was lucky to meet Kevin Estrada while writing my Van Halen book, Everybody Wants Some. A lifelong devotee of the band, he had been photographing them since age 12. Weaned on Van Halen, Estrada came into his own as a professional rock photographer in Los Angeles during the glory days of 1980s metal. Now we are all lucky that he’s launched a blog to show off classic photos and tell charming stories about taking pictures at historical nights like Iron Maiden playing Long Beach Area in 1985, or the above shot of Rob Halford singing with Black Sabbath in 1992. Following is the unedited photographer’s note I wrote about his exploits, a shorter version of which appears in my book.

LINK TO THE KEVIN ESTRADA BLOG

PHOTOGRAPHER’S NOTE

[Unedited text from Everybody Wants Some: The Van Halen Saga]

Photographer Kevin Estrada, who took most of the rare photos included in Everybody Wants Some, deserves special thanks and attention. These shots capture his lifelong infatuation with Van Halen, which began when he and his brother pooled their pocket money to buy Van Halen from a department store record bin – based solely on the band’s looks. As a sixth grader, he was suspended for squirting a VH logo on the school walls with mustard packets – also as a 12-year old, he shot the photos of Van Halen’s 1978 tour that appear in this book.

Raised in Arcadia, CA, Estrada grew up in Van Halen country, and the band tweaked his life in unexpected ways. Estrada was constantly bumping into his favorite band, asking them to autograph his bag of Dorito’s or his ever-present Van Halen albums.A family dinner at the local Mexican restaurant Peppers once led to a chance encounter with Michael Anthony’s birthday party – and Estrada’s dad mistaking David Lee Roth for Peter Frampton. Later, Roth nearly ran over Estrada and his friends in his red Mercury lowrider while filming of the “Panama” video.

In high school, Estrada befriended Michael Anthony’s younger brother Dennis, who supplied him with first-generation live tapes. Their principal had a signed Van Halen poster hanging in his office, which Estrada was eventually encouraged to visit without cooking up a reason to get in trouble. Estrada later took guitar lessons at Dr. Music, where Eddie Van Halen bought and repaired his gear. Eddie gave him a guitar pick and a pat on the back, but Estrada had other ideas. “All my friends wanted to be Eddie Van Halen, and I wanted to be the guy down there shooting Van Halen.”

Estrada began sneaking his camera into concerts, capturing hard rock acts like Scorpions, and of course, Van Halen. “I would tape my camera to the back of my neck with duct tape, hoping the security guys wouldn’t go up that far. My friend had a huge afro like Dee Snider from Twisted Sister, and he would stick my telephoto lens under the neck of his leather jacket. I also had a friend who had a really large chest, and she’d stash the lens in her blouse.”

Incredibly, Estrada took most of the photos here from the audience, popping up and down quickly, keeping one eye on the band and one eye on security. When he was 15, a bouncer sent him flying across the room with a punch to the head. Other years, he got lucky – another school friend’s mom worked for David Lee Roth’s father in his medical office, and got tickets close to the stage. He only regrets that he could only afford one roll of film the final time he shot classic Van Halen, on the 1984 tour. “I had to be very careful that night.”

Estrada now lives in Burbank, CA, with his wife and two daughters. He has photographed professionally acts including Nirvana, The Cure, and Slayer and his work also appears in Johnny Cash: From the Editors of Rolling Stone and The Heroin Diaries by Nikki Sixx

[photo caption: Eddie Van Halen’s cigarette butts. “I was talking with Eddie and he was chain-smoking. When he left, I just picked them up and grabbed them. When you’re a kid, that’s like having the shirt off his back.”]

LINK

The pressure is building already, and it’s so early in the day. You feel the twitch in your temples. Why won’t the phone stop ringing? How are you going to finish everything in time? If you have another coffee, you’ll crack, but you can’t concentrate. You’re killing yourself!

No, wait — I think I hear skateboard wheels riding a pool. The keg is tapped, and all your friends are there. It’s the heat of summer. But there’s a shady spot just under the Slayer logo calling you. Somebody’s got a joint, and that girl you’ve seen around in a Beherit shirt is just hanging out. Everything’s going to be just fine.

Visualize it: You are in the Slayer bowl.

Does the place where you hang out and listen to metal have a massive garish wall mural covering its entire fucking face, and make you feel like you live in a Sepultura or Iron Angel album cover from 1985? Unless you answered “Si!” — I don’t think so. Tyrant is one of several total metal clubs ringing the open sublevels of a housing complex northwest of downtown Madrid, Spain. Exactly across the courtyard is Club Lemmy, a hard rock bar open since 1980, boasting its own eight-foot tall picture-perfect Motörheadbeast mural.

Unfortunately for me, Spanish bars and restaurants open and close seven times a day — just in case the Moors decide to invade again. I missed the action at Tyrant several times, but I went on a 14-mile walk instead and watched a bullfight, found the squatters at an enormous street fair, took a nap in a park, ate fried bacalao and drank tiny beers and cava, and stumbled onto a mythically cool building that turned out to be the General Society of Authors and Editors [SGAE]. Madrid is a great sprawling maze of a city, an easy place to get lost and find a prize.

[Click image to enlarge]

Hey look, it’s our founding fathers (and mother Kira Roessler), the ones that really matter. This excellent info-graphic charts the 11-year history and changing hairs of fundamental psychotic California hardcore band Black Flag, If I could get this printed onto disposable paper placemats, I’d take them with me everywhere I go and eat every meal blessed by these people I consider to be as holy as monks.

Artist unknown–but the Henry Rollins head is obviously copied from a sketch of Charles Manson, and that’s pretty goddamn funny!