Like a lot of people, I grew up completely uninterested with the majority of the crap I was forced to read in school. English class was a drag. Melville and Hawthorne were boring. My teachers were pompous worms that robotically crawled thru each text like it was a biblical experience. I just wasn't into it. I loved books, but was totally averse to "required reading." Any time I am "forced" to read something, I develop an immediate dislike for it. I don't know why, but that's the way it is with me, and that's the way it was in school. Not all of it sucked, but most of it did.

In order to balance the scales, I've compiled a list of badass books for people who don't like to read, or more accurately, people who don't like most of the books to which they've been exposed. Obviously, for the sake of brevity, I can't list all the shit I'd like to-the list would be too long-so I'll limit it to eleven badass books and spread it out across the board: fiction, nonfiction, poetry, etc. Most of the people I know who like to read delve into the horror genre...and they've read almost all that stuff. So in order to avoid listing something that most of you have already read, I'm going to leave horror out of the equation...just to give ya'll a taste of something truly different. So allow me, for this short period of time, to be your guide through the world of underground literature-books you will definitely not see on display at Barnes & Noble.

In no particular order, here they are:

1) Polio Flesh by: Henry Rollins (Poetry/Fiction). One of his first chapbooks, originally published by the now defunct Illiterati Press. Written in the mid-80's when Rollins was still in Black Flag, touring like a madman, and full of crazy shit running thru his head. Truly, this is one of the most powerful, raw, and untamed books I've ever read. Worth buying just for the fictional story he tells of chopping up his old man, selling the body parts out of the trunk of his car, and with the money, buying "some pussy, drugs, and a new gun." Amazing and brutal.

2) In the Belly of the Beast by: Jack Henry Abbott (Nonfiction. Correspondence with Norman Mailer). Similar in tone and intensity to the Rollins book mentioned above, but even more so, because it was written while Abbott was serving a prison term in Marion , Illinois Maximum Security Penitentiary. In it, he mercilessly riffs on prison life, survival, drugs, and the philosophical implications of being a hardcore criminal. This book is so fucking hardcore. Every tough guy, metal head, and jock on the planet should be forced to read it and reassess his "toughness."

3) The Journals of Anis Nin by: Anais Nin (Nonfiction). Nin was the former lover of Henry Miller (Tropic of Cancer). He was a broke, bohemian ex-patriot, living and writing in Paris . She a well off, artistically inclined wife of a yuppie-like businessman. In addition to having a wicked affair with Miller, she kept a journal of all her daily activities and thoughts. Everything from her style of writing to her observations to her intense imagination is uniquely impressive. Any chick that writes poetry should pick this book up immediately and compare notes.

4) Book of Dreams by: Jack Kerouac (Nonfiction). This is a journal of Kerouac's dreams over the course of a year or so. Very funny and uniquely descriptive (Kerouac was an adjective fiend). Because of its loose flow and effortless rhythm, it ranks, in my opinion, higher in some respects, than some of his novels. This book is blast. Read this, and then pick up Tristessa , his novella about living in Mexico with William Burroughs and falling in love with a Mexican whore. It kicks ass as well.

5) Tropic of Cancer by: Henry Miller (Fiction). Henry Miller was a monster-the great, unsung, American novelist of the 20th century. Sex, violence, freaked out headtrips, crazy women, banging whores, sleeping in French brothels, etc. This should be a How-To Manual for living life and creating art. Any creative person worth their weight in sand, who isn't a trust-fund featherweight, should read this if they are seriously committed to creating art and living a creative life regardless of whether or not you are financially successful. Miller riffs on so many subjects, and in such barrelhouse fashion, it's hard to keep track of them all. Every page is on fire.

6) Factotum by: Charles Bukowski (Fiction/Nonfiction). This one of my favorite books of all time. Buk was an uncompromising, hilarious, boozing, fighting madman of the highest order. He came from a lean, working class background and decided he wanted to be a writer, but along the way he had to work an insane number of dead-end jobs before he could support himself by his writing. This book is a journey thru many of those shit jobs...complete with hundreds of hilarious details, including asshole bosses, minimum wage poverty, the drudgery of manual labor, Dead-End/No-Future Scenarios...all of it told with humility and humor. His ability to take the quotidian and reveal its inherent absurdity is in full effect. You can't beat Bukowski, but you can join him. He is the Uncrowned King of Underground Letters, bar none. Anything with his name on it is worth reading. This book is a good starter (as well as Notes of Dirty Old Man, Ham on Rye, and Poems Written Before Jumping Out of an 8 Story Window).

7) Last Exit to Brooklyn by: Hubert Selby Jr. (Fiction). This book is mind-blowing for its style, flow, and content alone. Cross-dressing male prostitutes, labor union thugs, speed freak housewives, rockabilly whores, pimps, delusional junkies, street thugs, etc. If you're the type that gets bored quickly, this one should keep you entertained. Selby's mastery of dialogue and his ability to coherently render it minus quotations-although reminiscent of John Steinbeck (Grapes of Wrath)-is so kickass you will want to high-five all your bookworm buddies.

8) Please Kill Me by: Legs McNeil (Nonfiction). An oral history of punk rock, ranging from The Stooges/MC5 Detroit proto-era to the sawed-off circus of The Ramones, Television, and The Sex Pistols. Totally on the money. Fucking funny as hell...especially the Detroit chapters detailing everything from White Panther revolutionaries bombing the CIA recruiting office to drug debauchery at the Ann Arbor Funhouse. You'll burn thru it in two days.

9) No Beast So Fierce by: Ed Bunker (Fiction). A straight-up hardcore, bank robbing, jailhouse punk-fucking, dope shooting, misanthropic crime novel where it's all about the bad guys and anti-heroes. This shit easily blows Jim Thompson away by a mile. Low-down Fuck the Pigs & Hide the Rigs-style shit. Reading this will make you want to rob banks and sleep in a jail for the following week. Warning: Not for Upstanding Citizens.

10) The Family by: Ed Sanders (Nonfiction). A relatively, unbiased profile of the Manson Family at their creepy-crawliest-late 60's-totally weird, totally wired, and totally tripping hard on some freaky shit. Guns. Free Love. White hate. LSD. DMZ. Dune buggies. And Death Valley. Among other things, Charlie brings a snake back to life, conducts hippie death cult orgies, reenacts the Crucifixion while high on acid, and disseminates the Gospel According to No Name Maddox. All in all, an enjoyably freaky ride...and a way better read than Helter Skelter. (Note: Ed Sanders, the author, is a founding member of The Fugs-Allen Ginsberg's New York proto-punk, folk band).

11) The Redneck Manifesto by: Jim Goad (Nonfiction). Jim Goad is kind of like the undeclared Prophet of White Trash...and he's got some truly interesting and intelligent things to say. The delivery is unexpectedly articulate. It's brash. It's powerful. If you're an open-minded boy or girl from the wrong side of the tracks who likes whiskey, weirdness, and existential moments, then I suppose, this'll do you right.

ReadOn/WriteOn
Dege Legg

1) Find friends who can or can't play. Suggest forming a group.

2) If you don't have friends, place an ad in a weekly. But watch out. You'll get the range of humanoids calling. You'll get the dudes who are really cool, but can't play worth a shit and have no chops. You'll get the dudes who can play, but whom you don't really vibe with...at all. And you'll probably get a visit from an incarnation of the infamous, "Noodley Schadoodaley." He's the dude who shows up with nice equipment and noodles all over everything you and the bad boys are playing. And he won't give anybody else in the room any space to schadoodalize beside himself.

Fucking bitch. He hogs it all to himself. You can't even get in a fraction of a schadoodle without him yanging all over your chicken scratch. You're punching in and he ain't even thinking about punching out. He's not even looking at you Losers. He doesn't even know ya'll are there...other than to keep the beat and make him a sandwich. He doesn't care about you, man...just the art of schadoodle...and his $2000 amp and his $1000 guitar. Number#1 Rule: Do Not Invite him back.

3) Buy instruments or steal them from a Cover Band's practice rooms (just kidding...I think) If you don't have a dinky PA to sing thru, do what most of us do...just sing thru a bass amp. It'll sound like shit, but at least the others will have an idea where you're heading with those complex introspections. If you don't have a bass amp, find a Peavey Studio Pro amp, prop it on a stool, kill the highs, and let it squeal. Number #1 Rule: Make due with what you got...even if it sounds like shit...somehow create the illusion that's what you intended.

*A Short Note the Number#1 Rule: there are a lot of Number#1 Rules. In fact, every rule upon creation should be known as the "Number#1 Rule"...you forget them all a week later, anyway, so don't worry about it. There'll be thousands of them. Way too many to remember or follow. When you've forgotten the last one that is the opportune time to spring a new one on your boys to follow and then forget. It becomes like a game...one that should be abused to the fullest extent...along with everything else in your personal life. You're a musician, not a bank teller, motherfucker. Now get in there and start fucking up your life...it'll give you something interesting to write about after you've worn out bitching about "society."

4) Think of a name. Try to avoid mechanical sound names like Wrench Kit or Sprocket Pipe. I hate those, so does most everybody else who had to hear them in the 90's. And if you're going to shoot for one of those "The" Names, you'd better get cracking, because in a year or so, they'll be so played out, you'll have to change it just to avoid being lumped in with the wash-outs.

5) Drugs are optional...but it's best to wait until you get rich (if). Motivational problems may occur if drug indulgence crops up too early.

6) Schedule practice. Kill all cell phones at practice. Number#1 Rule: No phones! Nobody wants to hear you squirming like a Squeak Freak to your girlfriend about why you have to practice "with the band." (Remember, she's fucking nuts, anyway...why else would she be going out with you?) (You ain't got time right now to pretend like you care about all that mean shit her boss said to her. You ain't even got a job. So don't worry about it, tell her your business is rocking and she's about to send the stock into the toilet) Ok, back to the matter at hand...Write Some Songs. Quality is debatable--it all sucks in the beginning...anyway, so just roll with it. Of course it'll sound "awesome" to you and your inner circle of friends. They're just hoping you get a couple gigs so they get in some place for free. Talent is relative. When you're just getting out the gate, it helps to have disproportionate self-confidence...often inversely proportional to the amount of talent in the band. Beware; you're going to be opening up for well-rehearsed bands that are, more often than not, a little better than you and giving you some attitude. They've done been smelling their own shit for so long, they think its Irish Spring. Don't sweat it. Just nod when they start talking shit after the show and commence the transmission of absurd "quips." For example, refer to all drummers as "Ringo" and say you dig their "thing." Bands lie to each other all the time. "Good Show, man." Your Response: "Whatever, bite me."

7) Record some shit...a demo, concept disc, anything, something you can give to the poor bastards who have taken it upon themselves to book shows (it's a thankless job, but thank God somebody does it). Give it to them. Call them back in a week. If no answer, leave message. Call back again if no return call. Keep trying. Leave messages. Try to bug them without getting too obnoxious and annoying.

8) Save cash and buy a van to stick all your shit in and truck to gigs. Rentals will eventually run you dry. Used vans are everywhere, but be careful, lot of shysters out there. They want to rip you off and send you running. The best buys are used church vans. They usually buy a new one every 10 years or so. Hit them up. Tell them you're a "Christian brother," looking for a good deal...saving souls with RocknRoll or whatever bullshit you can cook up.

9) Book gigs. *(See Above). It's a drag, but it's got to be done. Call clubs between 5-9pm. Before that, they're usually closed. After 9pm, they're stocking the bar and/or already listening to a bunch of jokers like you, making a gang of racket in their club. They can't hear shit what you're saying, so don't ever bother. It's annoying on both ends. Number#1 Rule: Always be real polite with the dude/chick who does the booking, even if they're pricks. They got the power, so you deal with it. It's like asking someone out on a blind date...and you want him or her to Pay You. In the beginning, you'll have to play for free a lot, till someone decides you're worth $50-100. Don't get bummed about the Small Cash; nobody makes shit in this business, unless you're on a decent label...and even then...it's questionable *(see: "shysters").

10) Vibe. Try to get along with one another. Respect and friendship is the key. It's best to rock with dudes who you have a pre-existing friendship with, that way a commonality is already established. Doesn't matter if you have opposing music tastes (everybody does, in some way or another, you'll soon find out). If you vibe personality-wise and you've been friends awhile, it's a lot easier to forgive each other for all the fucked up things you'll do and say, in anger, at one another later on. If you're strangers, it gets a little touchy and weird when you chuck a mike stand at him/her, narrowly missing their head. Plus, you have an idea of what they are "made of." As in, will this Joker want to tour? Is he gonna crack like an egg when the van breaks down in Nowheresville? Am I going to be able to handle being in a van with him/her for a month straight? Momma's boy/girl? A good example is my buddy, Jay, the old bass player from Santeria. He wasn't the best bassist on the planet, but he was my good friend and we shared a really fucked up, tweaked sense of humor, so it made everything way more tolerable. Sure we got in fights...and used to throw stuff at each other, but 15mins later, we'd decompress from the Cro-Magnon Shenanigans and laugh about it. Some dude or dudette--you're not tight with--is not as likely to forgive/forget. He will likely walk--quit the band--and go home crying to his girlfriend about what a dick you are. You don't need that shit; you've got enough enemies...even in your own family, that is, if you're a true, card-carrying Anti-Hero of the Highest Order. So ditch them...and go on about your business of making new enemies...and rocknroll.

11) Send Out Shit (SOS). And lastly, mail some of them fucked up demos you recorded to a whole slew of labels that fit your profile. Don't send spazz-jazz to Relapse. Don't mail Math Metal to New Age Records. You've got common sense? Use the shit, man. Don't go jumping into the Indy 500 if you're sleeping at the wheel, you know? Obviously, check to see if the bastards are even accepting demos. If they aren't, it goes in the trash or comes back looking just like you sent it. And don't mail them a small phone book full of press clippings and shit. Nobody cares about all that shit...a few quotes (made up or not) will do. Just send the One Sheet. If you don't know what that is, look it up or ask some Joker like myself who's been around the block so many fucking times you can barely see his head from the rut. He'll tell you and he'll even teach you how to sleep on the floor of a shitty room with four other dudes who snore a lot (i.e. wear ear plugs, sleep in the bottom of a closet, and crash with a ski cap pulled down over your eyes to block the morning sunlight). Works every time. You'll be the first one snorting like a pig, the last one up, and the best one rested...leaving you more energy for hardcore-clowning sessions in the van...which are important for keeping up moral.

12) Write more songs. But good ones this time, way better than that shit you put on the first demo...the one that you don't even play for people anymore...because you wince when you hear yourself squealing like a stuck-pig over all the metaphysical introspections. You and the Jokers are going to have to tighten up a little. Chop the fat off that bridge. Suck in the gut on that dirge song. Punch the fucking crescendo on the Long Song into the void. And crack the whip on that lazy keyboard/sound-effects fucker--He ain't doing shit but laying dead weight on a Black Train and smoking everybody's cigarettes at practice (fucker can't even afford a pack a smokes!) (In fact, even when he's got smokes, he's still bumming them off of you) (That fucking weasel). Work those songs. Don't let them just hang there...like your dick--or a flag--at half-mast, man. Shove them things thru the roof. You're putting all the hipsters, at your show, to sleep--they've got jobs to quit and tests to flunk--they only came to the club to check out the chicks anyway. So get on it, Joker. This ain't Summer Camp. This ain't the Army, either, but at least there, you get paid and fed a square meal now and then. If you want to be an Anti-Hero, you can't slack. No room for slacking. You've got break your balls and work like a madman--to the point where it's almost not worth it anymore--to get anywhere. But most importantly, (Number#1 Rule) have a good time while you're doing it...or it definitely won't be worth it.

13) Then get in on the ground floor of the Dead Revolution and start picking and grinning...or rather frowning...at the Patron Saint of Frown Clowns, because in every city, there's a 1000 dudes that look just like you and they're shooting for the same hole in the sky.

There are only so many ways to get from Point A to B. If you got the money, you can fly. If you don't, there are other options: bus ("The Shame Train"), train ("The Boogie Bus"), car, or hitchhiking. You can also jump a train, but that's another article. Hitchhiking, by far, is the least predictable of all the above, but if you're in a tight spot and need to roll, it'll suffice.

I was 15 years old the first time I hitched a ride... Baton Rouge to Crowley, LA.

Three old black men pulled to the side and let me ride in the back of their covered truck. I sat among shovels, rakes, dirt, and a lawnmower...just digging the fact that somebody had picked me up. 1.5 hours later, as we approached my drop-off point, the old men kept driving. I had to beat on the plexi-glass divider for 5 minutes until the old farts realized that the white boy in the back of the truck was trying to get their attention. With sign language I invented on the spot, I signaled to them that this was my stopping point. They seemed to understand, pulled over, and dropped me off. Mission accomplished. It's a strangely satisfying feeling...to live by your wits, with no money, and somehow get shit done.

So...if you're traveling on a budget or don't have any money, fuck it, hitchhike. Think of it as an adventure, but be careful...lot of weirdoes out there, roaming the highways, looking for easy prey. The problem is: people think you are the weirdo. You're the one standing on the side of the road with your thumb out, looking for a ride. There lies one of the tricky things about hitchhiking. You don't want to look too threatening. If you do, no one will pick you up. And if you look too easy, too passive, you run the risk of getting robbed, raped, or killed. It's a gamble...one of the inherent risks of this sort of travel. But if you're up for it, it's a blast.

Here is my tip list for hitchhiking:

1) Day's the Way... Try to hitch during the daylight hours. Your chances of getting a ride go way down after sundown. People are usually too scared to pick anyone up at night, so get up early and try to cover as much distance as possible. During the first hour or two of the evening, you still have an OK chance of getting a ride, but the later it gets, the worse your odds.

2) Choose Your Spot... The best spots are near or in the middle of the on-ramps. Cars are traveling at slower speeds, which makes it less of a hassle for them to slow down if indeed they decide to give you a lift. Also, it gives them a better opportunity to size you up and make a visual assessment of whether or not you're in the Manson Family Branch of Hitchhikers. Hitching between exits, where everyone is doing 70mph is a tough sell. Study the physics. They're hauling ass and you're not. If you're not getting any rides, and have to walk and hit the main interstate drag, go ahead and bust it, but remember to stick your thumb out now and then when you're feeling lucky.

3) Assume the Position... Nobody likes a lazy bastard. If you're going hitchhiking, you've got to stand up straight and look halfway presentable. If you're sitting there - rolling around in the dirt on the side of the road - trust me, these people ain't gonna stop just so that you can sit your dirty ass down on their "clean seats." Rock that thumb. Suck in that gut. Rub the crust from your eyes. And try to make eye contact with the drivers; it softens up their conscience when you shoot them some positive radar.

4) Watch Your Back... When you do get a ride, keep your bag close to you until you can ascertain whether or not the people who picked you up are cool or not. If they're out to screw you, you might have to bust a move and you won't want to leave your stuff behind if you do. Ask a few questions. Make polite conversation. But don't be obnoxious or too nosey. Remember, they're trying to determine if you're "cool" or not, too.

5) Don't Be A Jerk... Some people can't help it...they were born that way. But you're different. You're gonna be cool. Polite. You're not gonna change the guy's radio station or insult the condition of his/her automobile. You're not going to throw trash on their floorboards. You're not going to smoke up the interior of their car if they aren't smokers. Offer to chip in on gas if they're riding you a pretty good distance. You get the picture. It's common sense.

6) Middle of Nowhere... Sometimes you get stuck in Nowheresville , USA . It's all part of the deal. Don't sweat it too much. Happens to everybody. If you've got spare cash, spring for a Cheapo Motel and crash. If not, find a secluded area, preferably near a small patch of woods or bushes (away from cops) and clear a spot to sleep. Be sure you're not sleeping in another transient's spot. Some hobos and bums are very territorial. They get pissy at times. If they start tripping just tell them you're an apprenticing hobo, tired, and need a spot to crash. If the hostilities continue, ditch them and find another spot - they may be bad news. Skip the trouble and go on about your way.

7) A Note on Truckers... Although they make their living on the road, they're not always going to pick you up. In fact, many of them can get fired for doing just that. But even so, some will help you out. Getting a ride with a trucker is usually a good proposition because they travel such long distances. If one picks you up, be cool to him/her. Offer to lay low, out of sight, at the weigh stations, where they could get in trouble or reported by other truckers for picking you up. Also, remember: truckers are a notoriously horny bunch. If you're a woman that is hitching, and a trucker picks you up, you may want to lay down the ground rules before you jump in. If you're a dude, you may want to do the same. I once had a trucker pick me up and then proceed to hit on me for the entire ride. After an hour, I'd had enough and asked him if he'd let me out at the next exit, which he did. Nothing against gay folks, I'm just don't like truckers.

8) Don't Be a Sucker... Always trust your gut. Watch your back. And keep vigil for card-carrying, authentic psychos. They're out there. Believe it. Everyday, dozens of people go missing - snatched off the street and taken to places you don't want to know about. America is a strange place. Supposedly, we're free, right? The more free it gets, the more individual responsibility. That includes watching your own back. Always trust your gut. If something tells you that something isn't right, it probably isn't...so just walk on. If they trip and begin to hassle you, just tell them you're part of a "Sting Operation"...and that they'd better split, fast. And they will.

9) Enjoy the Ride... Try to dig the scenery and be in a good mood for your host. Nobody likes riding with a sourpuss, misanthropic hitchhiker.

10) Use It or Lose It... Be creative with your approach. Bring a fat marker; tear off a piece of cardboard, and write something on it. The most common attack is to write your destination; for example, "FLORIDA." But feel free to mix it up. In the past, I've gotten rides by writing stupid shit like:

1. a) NOWHERE FAST
2. b) ANYWHERE
3. c) ENDS OF THE EARTH

In addition to this technique, I've utilized various types of body language and "moves." Once, after being stranded on an off-ramp in San Diego for hours, I got down on my knees and pretended I was praying to the Hitchhiking Gods. Not 5 minutes later, a farmer dude stopped and gave me a lift to Los Angeles - laughing all the way - because he'd never seen anyone bust that move. It works...maybe not every time, but once in a while it hits...and sticks. Another interesting maneuver is to simply point at the driver and simultaneously point in the direction you need to go.

Sometimes they respond...and then again, sometimes they just flip you off, but at least you're getting a reaction, which sure as hell beats the crap out of getting no reaction at all. The majority of the people will do their best to ignore you. They see you. They know you're there...but they pretend they're lost in thought, fixated on a point in space far out of the range of your puny, dirty Hitchhiker ass. So the goal is to get in their minds. Get their attention. If a muscle car drives by, shoot him the Heavy Metal Hitchhike Sign.

If nothing else works, feign a posture of authority and begin directing traffic, signaling a car or two to the shoulder of the road. Politely, inform them that, "you are a volunteer fireman/traffic conductor, it's an emergency--you need to get to Las Vegas." Bottom line is: just be creative in your approach if the tried and true isn't working for you. That's it. Be careful.

Watch your back. Watch theirs. And have fun experiencing life and adventures in the Great Unknown.

Keep it Surreal, Dege Legg

SANTERIA – "Year Of The Knife" CD '08 (Golar Wash Records & Labs, US) – I'm no great chef. Just ask my wife and kids. If I put out a cook book, the mutha would be a short one: spaghetti & meat sauce, hot dogs, hamburgers, sloppy joes & chicken in the crock pot. It's a joke that when my wife calls each night on her way home from work, she asks what I'm making and then runs to the nearest fast food place to find something actually edible. Hell, the only one who likes my stuff is the 17 year old and...well, he's also the only human being I know who has made a sandwich out of potbellied pig feed. Ok, so I'm exaggerating a bit...he added some mayonnaise. The thing is, the fact that I am about as kitchen-challenged as Angelina & Brad have kids has never stopped me from enjoying the works of those who are not. See, I like to watch cooking shows and my favourite of all-time was the one by Cajun master, Justin Wilson. He was a delightful old guy from Louisiana who used to open his show with a robust "How y'all are?!" and would then proceed to whip up some fiery concoction that could singe as well as fill the belly. He'd finish up by taking a taste himself, then issuing a totally-satisfied "Hooo-weeee!!" Anyway, I just used to love watching him, listening to him talk in his deep accent, sharing his passion and "guar-on-tee-ing" that you were just gonna love his latest dish. It got me to really wanting to find a band from Louisiana who truly exuded a feel of the place. Sure, there were groups like Eyehategod, Crowbar & Down, all somehow connected to the New Orleans sludge thang, but where was a hard rock/metal unit that was really imbued with the spirit of the region? Enter SANTERIA, from Lafayette, Louisiana.

To begin with, I've gotta say that I've been a Johnny-come-lately with these guys, being that their first record came out in 1998. ("Santeria"). They put out a disc of live/demo etc. stuff in 2000 (Apocalypse, Louisiana) in 2000 and then I finally stumbled upon 'em in 2003 with their "House Of The Dying Sun" CD released that year. It was good stuff and caught my ear, surely as sonically-heavy as the crop of so-called stoner stuff inhabiting my listening at the time, and yet there was a significant depth to the songwriting that said "Something more is going on here." The musical and lyrical dynamics stood out, as did a certain feeling I got from songs like "Laredo" and "Morningfall." They spoke of their heritage, Louisiana and the South in a way that was far from the typical southern, pick-up-driving, Skynyrd-worshipping stuff I was used to. I looked forward to what this SANTERIA bunch would do next with great interest. And I looked forward...and looked forward...and, eventually, I kinda put 'em on the back-burner as there was just no activity. Well, unbeknownst to me, there was some pretty serious activity. You see, drummer Krishna Kasturi had been involved in a very bad car accident and was unable to do any kind of playing for a long time. And, as I've come to learn, singer Dege Legg and guitarist Primo are not your run-of-the-mill, let's-move-on-at-any-cost kinda guys. Instead, being super-righteous friends and band members, they decided they'd rather put things on hold and wait for Krishna to be able to return to the fold. And, so he has...along with new bassist Chad Willis. Together, the four of them have now produced a new CD and their first in 5 years, "Year Of The Knife." To say that it's a blinder would be the understatement of the year.

"Year Of The Knife" is an album of the rarest breed. By that, I don't mean it's hard to get. Just go to the SANTERIA site and you can have this puppy for $10 & change. You should. Soon. Yesterday. But more on that later, folks. Bear with me for the moment and I'll try to explain why. You see, "Y.O.T.K." is the kind of album Led Zeppelin used to make in their hey-day. Remember "Physical Graffiti?" Who doesn't, right? Could you explain to someone what that whole record was like by playing "The Rover?" No. How 'bout spinning "In My Time Of Dying," would that sum it up? 'Course not. Would you cover all it's nuances by hitting "play" on "In The Light?" Not even close. That's what kind of gorgeous art SANTERIA have created here. Man, the first 3 songs in and this baby's got me reeled in already. This is massive, catchy-as-fuck hard rock from the word go, from the minute Primo audibly switches on his amps at the beginning of "Come On, Baby" through the grooving "Leave Something Witchy" and on to the Thin Lizzy-funk of "Nowhere To Go," there simply isn't an opening triad as sweet anywhere. Dege's rich Lynott-like pipes fit like a glove and the band simmers like Cajun heat. And, then, just as soon as you think you've got SANTERIA down, they open up a can of "Haunted Heart" and swallow you into an emotional gulf that will leave you wrung out to dry. Surely, this mid-paced seether features a vocal performance by Dege Legg that is for the ages. When he belts out the chorus, I'm telling you, you're going to feel chills that won't stop for a long time. And then...the album starts to get REAL interesting! SANTERIA sweep you down a long and winding road into the heart of their country, into a place that is truly the deep south of their own, a land filled not by stereotypical southern trappings but a deep, visceral Cajun world that understands life at it's most pure. It is a world that also understands that rock came from far older places to get to where it is. Listen to songs like "Mexico," "HWY To The Morning Star," and "My Right Thing Can't Go Wrong." Echoes of everything from Zydeco to Black 47 blend and flit like fireflies on a humid summer eve, as this band percolates with a heat very few will ever achieve. But, like any great band, SANTERIA don't let you mark them for long. More heavy rawking comes your way shortly, courtesy of "You Got What I Need." Is there a better chorus hook than this one out there in 2008? Play it for me. I know, you can't. This is like a cross between something on "Jailbreak" and "Powerage," just freaking awesome. And so, this wonderful band continues on, pulling one rabbit after another out of their hats. The truly haunting re-look at "Haunted Heart" in "Haunted Dub," the closing twin pillars of "Year Of The Knife" and "House Of The Dying Sun," yeah man, it's all here. Much in the same way as those classic Zep albums like "...Graffiti," "IV" and "Houses...," "Year Of The Knife" is a simply fantastic union of styles, shades and colours that fuse together to create a whole much, much greater and far more beautiful than the sum of all their parts. If you only buy one rock album in 2008 thusfar, this should be the one...I GUAR-ON-TEE!

RAY - I'm just going right for the jugular here to start out. I know that SANTERIA is the name of a religion, am I correct? Are any/all of you members of this faith? I don't know a whole lot about it, but from what I understand, it's gotten a bit of a bad rap from the general public due to people not taking the time to understand it. For instance, I seem to remember an episode of the TV show "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" that didn't paint it in a very good light. Can you shed any light on any of this? Or, perhaps you simply picked the name because it sounded cool and I'm a raving idiot?

DEGE - 1) It sounded cool. 2) It kind of summed up who we were as a band--a rag-tag collection of dudes from different ethnic backgrounds and upbringings and such...kind of like the origin of the Santeria religion, which is like this colorful combination of things. Part Africa, part Catholic-honky, part Cuban/Latin-American.

PRIMO - In New Orleans the mixture of West African slave religion and Catholicism is referred to as Voodoo, in the Caribbean it's called Santeria. Anyone who has been down here has felt it...there is always a strange "Halloween in the air" of New Orleans. The name is a mystique to me more than anything, yet south Louisiana has its share of haunted haunts, creature infested swamps, and Hoodoos. Over the years, the band has consisted of many different faiths...Catholic, Hindu, Rasta, and Agnostics.

RAY - Are you guys all from Louisiana originally?

DEGE - I was born & raised in small town Louisiana--Cajun-Irish with some Cherokee. Krishna is from India. Primo and Chad were raised here, too. It's a strange place to grow up--it's like this strange tropical-ghetto-European paradise with people speaking bastardized French/Creole, eating bugs out ditches, cooking pigs in the ground, flying around on fan boats, trapping reptiles, and have a really good time doing it. My grandparents had 5th grade educations, worked in the fields, and saved enough money to send my mom to college. Hard working folks with an indomitable spirit and great sense of humor--a righteous combination. I have much admiration for them. They were tough. Soulful and not mean spirited. People equate toughness with this me-first-you-later mentality, but true strength is measured in how much you give without being asked.

PRIMO - I was born in El Paso, TX. My dad was stationed there after Vietnam. When I was a year old, I made the journey back to Louisiana in the backseat of a yellow Volkswagen beetle with no air conditioner. When we approached the Louisiana border I began to sweat profusely, so my parents stripped me down naked to keep me from having heat stroke...Welcome to Louisiana kid!

RAY - How does the music of the geographical area you're from come into play with your music? Did music from the area such as Zydeco influence you at all? What else played a role in inspiring the musicians that became SANTERIA, early in your lives and now?

DEGE - If anything, we rebelled against the Cajun/Zydeco influence because it was all around us and we wanted to do something other than squeeze accordions. What you realize later is that you can never completely purge those roots--it'll always find its way back into your art. Everything around you is an inspiration--you just have to see the meaning in it. That's the challenge and the "art." Everything--even the bad shit--is a celebration of life.

PRIMO - Well, it all seeps into you from an early age. People love their good food, drink, and merriment around here. Since both my parents worked quite a bit, I spent a hell of a lot of afterschool time with my grandparents. They were from a time long gone. A generation that survived war, poverty and recession. From them, I absorbed the Cajun culture. Be it music, food, or the oral tradition of storytelling. It made me who I am today. Back at home, it was vinyl, 8 Track players in plush 1977 custom vans, and the steady infusion of classic rock n' roll, vintage R&B, and old country.

RAY - I'm a bit geographically-challenged...among other things...but, how close is Lafayette to New Orleans? How were you guys affected by hurricane Katrina a few years back? Is it still affecting your daily lives?

DEGE - Lafayette is two hours west of New Orleans. When people think of Louisiana they think of New Orleans, but they visualize swamps, alligators, Cajun hillbillies, and water everywhere. We are the swamps. New Orleans is more jazz, funk, and urban sprawl. Lafayette is like the Cajun Capital. We were just grazed by Katrina. I had a job driving a cab at that time, so I saw lot of shit first hand. Ferrying carloads of people to and from Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Lake Charles. It was like the Wild West in blackout mode. No speed limits. Buses and boats everywhere. Dead cars lining I-10. People getting drunk on FEMA cards. Families sleeping in cars in Wal-Mart parking lots. Hotels booked solid for 4 months. Very strange and apocalyptic, but also freaky-cool in a pre-end of the world kind of way.

PRIMO - A lot of death and insane constitutional breakage went down that no one has ever questioned. Someday there will be books written about the conspiracies behind New Orleans and Katrina...Enough said. Being two hours away, Lafayette became a spillway for the poor displaced people of New Orleans. Overnight, military Blackhawk helicopters began to buzz about town like it was a DMZ...a real warzone...the president was here. National guard troops everywhere. So, I go down to the corner store to get a six pack and notice a mini-van stalled at the pumps...there is an elderly man in the driver's seat...he is white...he is dressed like he is on his way to church....his head is in his hands....crying there is a wife...and a daughter?...also a child...all dressed for what seems like a funeral...there are cardboard boxes crammed within to the roof.....I look at them and say, "Can I help you?"...and his wife answers, "You can pray for us...we have lost everything...our retirement home...everything." I said, "Sure, I can do that. God bless you." The media often portrayed New Orleans "refugees" in an unfavorable light, but in reality, there were many many good folks displaced. Some great people fell in love with Lafayette and made it their home.

RAY - Sticking with this Louisiana subject...I promise, I'll get off it in a minute...are you guys friends with people in the so-called NOLA scene like Down, Eyehategod, Crowbar, etc.? What is it about the area that you think produces such sludge-infected, heavy stuff? How do you feel your stuff differs?

DEGE - We're not really tight with those bands. Not sure why. I respect them, but we're more like freaky geeks from the country...and they're the masters of sludge. I don't know why we sound different other than we live in our own bubble and follow our own vision of things. I mean, we probably could've gained a lot of fans by jumping that train, but it absolutely would not have done us right on the long run, because it belongs to them...and what we have, I can say with modesty, belongs to us.

PRIMO - The sludge comes from the surrounding swamps...or better...the humidity. It makes your underwear stick to your ass...you need a shoehorn to get them off.

RAY - RED LIGHT CHALLENGE: What's up with the Saints? How come they're not 7-0? Have you sent Drew Brees a copy of "Year Of The Knife?"

DEGE - It is what it is. Getting emotionally involved in Saints football is like riding in a hot air balloon full of weird gas. After a while, you just let it be.

PRIMO - My philosophy is that there are too many distractions in NOLA...too many drugs...too many women...and enough drink to drown your soul. Drew bought one.

RAY - Your last record came out in 2003 and, from what I understand you guys had some real personal problems during the period after that. Wasn't Krishna in an accident or something like that and you decided to wait for his return, is that right? If so, that's some seriously righteous stuff on your part, man.

DEGE - House of the Dying Sun came out in 03. We gigged and toured for another year, and then Krishna's car got hit head on by an 18-wheeler guy who'd lost control of his rig. Two broken legs, an ankle, and an arm. Bad times. We were ten years in as a band at that point and Kris was in a wheelchair for the next year. Followed by another of physical rehab. We put the band on hold, till whenever, not really knowing what would happen. Finding another drummer was never an option--he and I are the founding members of the band. Plus, no one can play like him--a weird polyrhythmic Hindustani style that we all adapted to, because we didn't know any better. "Don't all drummers play like this?" Everyone went back to the straight world and I played music and toured while Kris rehabbed. A few years later...and he's ready to play again and wants to record. I already had 90% the songs written for the next record, so it was just a matter of working them out with the band and recording. It's kind of like Def Leppard without the money, label, fan base, limousines, or houses.

PRIMO - It's a mystery and miracle Krishna is still alive. Kris broke quite a few bones, but thank God his spine and cranium were untouched. After many surgeries, rods and pins later, the album title "Year of the knife" has new meaning. Ha. So, when Kris called and said he was ready to make a new CD, Dege and I had our doubts...but after 3 years of inactivity...we converged in the studio and laid down the entire album of basic tracks in three days. Krishna is back and badder than ever. There was never any thought of replacing him. He is irreplaceable.

RAY - Finally (!!!) getting to "Year Of The Knife," it's hard to know where to begin as the album has such depth. Your music does not sound like "southern rock" per se and yet, it has an unmistakable feel of being from the south. Does this make any sense or do I sound just like some poor journalist who is floundering for questions?

DEGE - No, you're on the money. The thing is with this record I wrote about things outside of the sphere of the South. But however spacey we try to get, it still ends up sounding like dudes from the Deep South. We try to write about our version of the south, rather than the beaten-to-death-one that has come before. I see the south more like an alternate American reality. Like a haunted, national subconscious. Dying Sun was a like a soundtrack to us growing up. Whereas Year of the Knife is like us stretching our legs and taking on things outside the borders of the south. More like a national or world perspective as in "Where the fuck is humanity going? What does it all mean? When will it end?" And why?

PRIMO - Yes, it does make sense. Culture influences life, while art imitates life. So, even if a small fraction of the sights and sounds of Louisiana mysteriously permeates into our song, it's something special and unique to this world.

RAY - The album has a real interesting flow. Ok, that was a weak. It goes from song to song. I thought that was an interesting attempt at humor! No seriously, the album starts out really heavy and rocking, then goes into an interesting stage in the middle where a lot of other things creep in, more acoustic work, more haunting kind of stuff, before moving back to more hard stuff again. It's a flow that works really well and I'm wondering if you'd like to comment or, instead say something smart-assed like "Then what the fuck order do YOU want the songs in, Ray??!"

PRIMO - You hit the nail on the head Ray. We have always considered our albums as a whole work, and have pulled songs if they didn't work into the grand scheme. A well thought out running order can make a good album a great one. Since "Year of the Knife" is such a dense album, it was grouped into sections of emotion/mood shifts like classic bands used to utilize on sides of vinyl. Slowly, as this album builds, it gets a bit more southern and then a bit more strange....after the hard rocking coda of "You Got What I Need", the listener is really taken into unchartered territory. Hopefully, the listener will discover something new on each subsequent listening.

DEGE - It's a seduction process. Here's what you know we can do...and now here's something you may have not heard before...but it's still us. And to be honest, it's always been us, but we weren't necessarily good enough to pull it off on past albums. But it gives us something to strive toward. Even if it's was just a simple song that requires playing less and instead of showboating and ham boning. The key to a great song is not wanking--it's in trying to make the next guy's part sound better. It goes round in a circle.

RAY - There are a couple songs in particular I was wondering if you could comment on, both musically and lyrically...if you don't mind (I'm making a couple comments myself, so there!)

RAY - a. "Nowhere To Go" – Kind of a Thin Lizzy vibe to this one, especially.

DEGE - It's like a small town mantra: I got nowhere to go; you got nowhere to be. And there's nothing really to do here--not even the prospect of going out in a some kind of dramatic fashion. Lyrically, it's a pretty simple song, which I like. Not every song has to take on the world, because that just gets ponderous and annoying. It can just lay there and be about something simple as nothing.

PRIMO - Sonically, it kinda evokes those 70s classic rock songs that didn't necessarily make the radio, but ended up in the cassette deck of your old man's Pontiac...at the drive in...with your high-school-pink-pantyed-girlfriend's ass in your face.

RAY - b. "Haunted Heart" / "Haunted Dub" – The first one is just really super-intense, the chorus, man when you sing "haunted heart," the vocals just go right to my core. "Haunted Dub" I was a little afraid of before I heard it, I was thinking, "Fuck, are SANTERIA doing a dance mix or something?!" But it's not at all. Can you explain the connection between the 2 songs?

DEGE - Those guys were deathly afraid that people were going to think "Haunted Dub" was some kind of dance/disco rock song, because the groove is deep and jamming. It makes you want to move. We got in NUMEROUS arguments over it. I had to pretty much threaten to quit the band to get them to agree to put it on the record. There's a conservative streak in rock music that says "If it hasn't been done before; DON'T DO IT." It's limiting and honestly not that inspiring to me. Not that we're reinventing the wheel. The original "Haunted Heart" was a song I demo'd on 4-track--same arrangement, riffs, lyrics--and "Haunted Dub" is a trance-like mutation of that. I like the idea of shaman and music serving as some kind of spiritual conduit to something bigger and unknown.

PRIMO - Well, Dege really fought to get "Haunted Dub" on the album...Kris, Chad, and I all feared people would hear it and be turned off...Still, Dege wanted it explicitly called "Haunted Dub." I tried to bargain. So, the placement in the running order was crucial. It's basically the same song stripped down with a different grove and some vocal hijinks.

RAY - c. "My Right Thing Can't Go Wrong" – Just a really different song!

DEGE - Basically, it's I-IV-V blues song...but with a Major VI – Flat VII change. That's probably the most boring thing I've ever said in my life. I hate I-IV-V songs--they kind of bore me, but you can't get away from them--they're everywhere. So I'm like, "Fuck it, I hate I-IV-V's--let's write one!" It's a fun song and it lightens the dark moodiness of the record. I like music that doesn't always brood. A whole record of broodiness is, like, "Fuck, I'm brooded out." I love Slayer, but I also know those guys have kids and probably go to Disneyland and shit with them once in a while--why don't they ever write about that?

PRIMO - It's the equivalent to "Hellbent Woman" from our last cd...in vain of the Rolling Stones, "Dead Flowers" or "Sweet Virginia." We wanted to give things a South Louisiana Cajun/Zydeco feel. Though the song may be slightly different from our musical norm, it's not too far a stretch considering our cultural surroundings. We called in a few friends. The song includes prominent Cajun musicians Steve Riley (accordion), Roddy Romero(slide solo), and Sonny Landreth's bass player, David Ranson. Dave saved the day after our bass player Chad Willis was sick in hospital fighting malaria. Tony Daigle rounded it all up by playing rub board.

RAY - d. "Year Of The Knife" – Gotta talk about the title cut, right?

DEGE - It's a Middle-Eastern Spaghetti Western song. "Mexico" is written with the same kind of cinematic aesthetic--but more like a requiem for a Neal Cassidy-type character. I dig those old Clint Eastwood – Ennio Morricone soundtracks. I like it when songs seem like movies and have a big world inside of them....parallel to ours. I wrote the lyrics to "Year of the Knife" as a dystopian future revolution-escape from the burning of Sodom & Gomorrah post-New World Order type thing--if that makes any sense. Anunnaki Kings. Ancient Sumerians. Zecharia Sitchin. Off the grid humanoids turning to pillars of salt as they avoid FEMA concentration camps and the reptilian royalty/cowboy agenda of warmongers, greed, chem-trails, and population control.

PRIMO - The song came from one of my experiments with a made up tuning several years ago. I gave Dege a demo, and he came back with a chord change and an awesome soul wrenching vocal and spoken word section. From there it was slowly built in our home studio to what it is today. Really, it was never truly finished. Like they say, good art is often never completed, it's just abandoned. A song steeped in the vintage sounds of psychedelia. The lyrics evoke the ancient astronuts.

RAY - What would you think if, at a SANTERIA gig, the girl who played Calypso in "Pirates Of The Carribean" came up to you and said, "You guys are bigger rock stars than Johnny Depp, what are you doing after the gig?"

DEGE - I would assume it was case of mistaken identity.

PRIMO - I would probably think she was just a promo company represenitave in disguise. Always waiting for the sales pitch. For so long, we have done what we do without any real industry support. Other than a few friends that have helped us from the kindness of their hearts, we are alone and that's ok.

RAY - What's the next thing in store for SANTERIA? Do you plan on putting the next one out on an independent basis or are you looking for a deal? Do you think in today's Internet environment, getting a record deal is as important as it used to be?

DEGE - Success is a weird concept. Do you measure it by wealth? Fame? How many people buy your record? Or know your name? Or do you measure it by how happy you are or by creative achievement? I think chasing the dollar or fame is a deadend empty promise. It's like a drug that turns you into a fiend. And you need more. It'll never completely satisfy you. So you end up chasing that carrot, rather than pursing the creative heights you should be going for. Friends, family, and creative/productive pursuits are the keys to a fulfilling life. I'm just grateful to be able to make music with people I get along with and to do it in a way that sends a secret, telepathic message to other people around the world. The record labels, the music magazines, and the promo companies--they all exist to feed each other. After a certain level, it's not a matter of talent--it's a matter of how much money they are willing to spend on your crap--even on the independent level to some extent. It takes money to push things into people's faces, which is kind of insulting and disingenuous, I think. In some ways I think we've been blessed by the lack of interest from record labels, because it's kept us hungry and pure. If you make good music, it WILL find it's way to people out there. It may take years, but people will respond if it's a true expression of who you are...even if that expression isn't very flattering.

PRIMO - Record deals definitely help fund projects, but we are really not relying on one. It's amazing how we get overlooked. I'm not saying we are the world's best band, but I know we have something unique to offer the world. Basically, if people get as much joy listening to our music as we do making it, our purpose is served. So, we have another album of material ready to rip, but it takes cash to buy studio time. We'll keep releasing albums independently until someone wakes up.

RAY - Do you think the day is coming that there will be no more physical formats for music and it'll be all download?

DEGE - Go one step further. What is there's an apocalypse or a nuclear war and we have no electricity or computers or record players? Where will music exist? Will there be ANY formats? It'll go right back to where it was hundreds of years ago--folk songs, Appalachian Ballads, oral tradition, bluegrass, Cajun music, and Delta blues. Electronic forms of music won't exist--unless you are one of the elites living in an underground bunker, sipping tea while the world burns--because they are too dependent on technology. Death metal won't exist because you won't have distortion--maybe you'll have Death Folk, but you can't palm-mute a banjo. The only thing that will survive that kind of event is music you can play on acoustic instruments. That's it! Good, simple songs that anyone can play. I love technology--I'm fascinated by it just like everyone. But in the back of my mind, I think, "What if it all disappears...just like during hurricanes when we have no electricity for weeks at a time. What will be left?" And the answer is: oral tradition and folk music. Everything else will slowly disappear into the collective unconscious until civilization rebuilds itself.

PRIMO - Oh, those days are upon us...sad indeed. As a young kid, I remember the magic of a gatefold LP, be it the Mexican food paradise of "Tres Hombres" or the twilight netherworld of "Houses of the Holy." They were all larger than life to me. Album art is king. Thankfully, from what I hear, there was been a resurgence of vinyl. Time will tell if it's just a retro fad. Someday, we would love to issue our last two albums on vinyl. A good album always deserves a good cover. I think we did it this time.

RAY - What is gigging like for you guys? Do you get many chances to play out in your area? Is halftime at a Saints game a possibility? What about touring, how far have you gone?

DEGE - Over the past few years, during Santeria down time, I've toured both the U.S. and Europe in various roots bands and I don't plan on stopping. Whether or not these guys want to do that, who knows? If we had the backing of a bigger label, it probably wouldn't be an issue.

PRIMO - Well, we are like the Beatles post 1965. Almost no touring happens other than the occasional rooftop gig. Instead, we chose to take a break and finish the album. So, we do a handful of gigs a year and they are always great events. Santeria have been all over the US, but never to Europe. The band has such an awesome following there that we would love to make that a priority. Saints fans would probably be upset to see our ugly mugs. I'm sure they would rather see halftime cheerleader T&A. We are talking about New Orleans!

RAY - Here's one everybody seems to like! Tell us a story about something that has happened with the band, either on the road, in the bayou, wherever...that is crazy, nuts, insane or just plain sick!

PRIMO - Well, on the ‘House of the Dying Sun" tour through the west coast, I ate an ungodly amount of Mexican food. Spicy food is in my DNA! After a gig one night, in the early morning hours, Dege happen to be driving the van and Jay Guins (bass) was keeping him entertained. The rest of the band was thought to be asleep. Suddenly, my stomach began to grind. Unsuspecting to Dege and Jay, I hit them with a SBD (silent but deadly) gas attack! Dege and Jay were disgusted, perplexed, and somehow convinced that they must have ran over some road kill carnage. Anyway, my late night indesgressions and gaseous explosions warranted a sudden stop at a car wash. I played like I was sleeping and kept ripping the gas. I laughed my ass off while still acting asleep as Dege hosed off the undercarriage of the van thinking we'd run over a carcass or something.

DEGE - Last year, while I was driving a cab on the nightshift, I picked up a redneck in a trailerpark. He was drunk, nuts, and wanted to smoke crack. So we drove to this country ghetto drug spot. He bought crack there and insisted on taste testing it with his tongue. While he was doing that we almost got shot, so I floored it and we split. Upon arriving back at his trailer, he argued with me over the price of the fare. He went into his house to get more money. While inside, I figured I had enough time to piss in a cup I had under the seat. It was cold outside. Less than a minute later, he comes out. I'm still pissing in the cup, so I stop and set it on the dashboard of the cab. He hops in and gives me half of what he owes me. We argue. Voices and tempers rise. He pulls out an ink pen and tries to stab me. I push him away, and having nothing to stab him back with, instinctively grab the thing nearest--the full cup of piss--and throw it in his face. I don't think he knew it was piss. I tossed him out of the cab and pealed out in his front yard like I was at a drag race. He was an idiot.

RAY - Any final comments?

DEGE - Keep fighting the Good Fight...there is no other. Seriously. Don't settle for the lesser of two evils in any situation. Push toward the light. And purge the Fear from your body. Love is the way--it sounds silly, I know, like I'm some goony hippy, but it's the truth. To quote Dylan Thomas, "Do not go gentle into that good night."...but rage against the dying of the light. I'm totally fucking serious.

PRIMO - Buy the CD so I can eat more Mexican food. No really, the proceeds from this one will fund the next. If you dig the band, please kindly give us a hand. You wont be disappointed.

RAY - What a great conversation and what a great band. There are very few times that Ray is reduced to being un-wordy but all I can say is this. Buy SANTERIA's CD's. Now.

Full text coming soon. In the meantime, you can read this on Dege's site HERE.

Full text coming soon. In the meantime, you can read this on Dege's site HERE.

Full text coming soon. In the meantime, you can read this on Dege's site HERE.

Full text coming soon. In the meantime, you can read this on Dege's site HERE.

Full text coming soon. In the meantime, you can read this on Dege's site HERE.

Full text coming soon. In the meantime, you can read this on Dege's site HERE.

Full text coming soon. In the meantime, you can read this on Dege's site HERE.