Review
“The deepest voice this side of the Grinch.”
–Tucson Weekly
(Translated from Japanese) “Lothario bad bad bad noise feels good good good to young ears!!!!”
–Nagano Weekly Gazette
“Who wasted money on this thing getting printed?”
– Squeege Blog.com
“I don’t get it.” –Broken Mirror
“A tape? Seriously? Who makes tapes anymore? I had to go to my grandma’s house just to listen to this stupid thing.”
–Imperfect Scrawl
“In a world where so many bands try very hard to seem insane, you get the vibe Lothario Speedwagon just rolled out of bed that way.” –Clap Amp Quarterly
“My first thought was, ‘Eewww, are these fingernails and band aids?’” –Static Magic Monthly
“I didn’t hear a guitarist in the mix. However, that doesn’t mean Lothario Speedwagon isn’t torturing one in a dark shed somewhere.” –Weekly Observer
“Until now, no band has properly captured the sound of tossing bags of urine at you. Enter Lothario Speedwagon.”
–Impact Weekly
“I want to think these guys are just that cool for making a tape, but my best guess is that they’re just that dumb.”
–[YELLOW] Journalism
(Translated from Japanese) “Ear holes make yummy buzz, melt bubble gum to trashcans. Babies dance! Babies dance!” –Tokyo City Blues.com
(Translated from Japanese) “Burn Lothario like nuclear missile of love. Hail, hail, hail, The Anti-Beatles.”
–Osaka Daily News
The blankets are tight over Henry’s face when the phone rings. Christopher Winters’ liver spotted skull disappears from behind dream-soaked eyelids. Henry was reliving that sudden head jerk of recognition as poison mixed with the old man’s blood. He relives it five times a day.
“Hello,” he croaks.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“I feel like crap, Tony,” Hamler tells his mentor.
“Henry, last time I’m saying this. You did the right thing. Plus, Winters was ancient, he might have died of old age a split second before you got him. BANG! His heart turns to cement. You probably didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Nice try.” Hamler coughs. “You know, the only thing that makes a person feel guiltier is having someone say they shouldn’t feel guilty at all.”
“Wow. I’ll write that down.”
Maybe, Henry thinks, I wouldn’t feel so guilty if there was someone to tell these problems to. Not a shrink or anything. Just someone to hold in bed. Someone who doesn’t make him feel like shit for crying so much. Loneliness and guilt, Hamler’s observed many times, fit together like some awful sandwich.
Hamler untucks the sheet from around his ears and checks the clock. Lunch was an hour ago.
“I’m just saying it’s possible. Hearts are weird like that. Anyway, put on that nice blue suit of yours, there’s more work today.”
“I called in sick, Tony. There’s…I can’t…I’m not doing shit today. Maybe ever.”
“Oh, good. Drama Club.”
“Don’t, Tony.”
“Look, I told you I understand. That’s why you won’t have to get your hands dirty. You might even enjoy yourself.” A few crackles of dead air fill their talk. “You might even get laid .”
Henry sighs against the phone. It swirls into distortion as defenses collapse. “What’re you thinking, exactly?”
“You’ll dig this. It’ll take your mind off things.”
Henry is nearly out of butane and it takes a fair amount of voodoo for a spark. His first cigarette of the day melts both arms to gelatin. This , he assumes, is probably what junkies feel when they shoot up after years on the wagon. He breathes smoke slow into the receiver. That feeling of peace. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Just some simple recon work. Get to know a person and pump them for info on their next project,” Tony says. “Nothing sticky or dangerous.”
“I don’t know how to pump people for information.” Deep
“The deepest voice this side of the Grinch.”
–Tucson Weekly
(Translated from Japanese) “Lothario bad bad bad noise feels good good good to young ears!!!!”
–Nagano Weekly Gazette
“Who wasted money on this thing getting printed?”
– Squeege Blog.com
“I don’t get it.” –Broken Mirror
“A tape? Seriously? Who makes tapes anymore? I had to go to my grandma’s house just to listen to this stupid thing.”
–Imperfect Scrawl
“In a world where so many bands try very hard to seem insane, you get the vibe Lothario Speedwagon just rolled out of bed that way.” –Clap Amp Quarterly
“My first thought was, ‘Eewww, are these fingernails and band aids?’” –Static Magic Monthly
“I didn’t hear a guitarist in the mix. However, that doesn’t mean Lothario Speedwagon isn’t torturing one in a dark shed somewhere.” –Weekly Observer
“Until now, no band has properly captured the sound of tossing bags of urine at you. Enter Lothario Speedwagon.”
–Impact Weekly
“I want to think these guys are just that cool for making a tape, but my best guess is that they’re just that dumb.”
–[YELLOW] Journalism
(Translated from Japanese) “Ear holes make yummy buzz, melt bubble gum to trashcans. Babies dance! Babies dance!” –Tokyo City Blues.com
(Translated from Japanese) “Burn Lothario like nuclear missile of love. Hail, hail, hail, The Anti-Beatles.”
–Osaka Daily News
The blankets are tight over Henry’s face when the phone rings. Christopher Winters’ liver spotted skull disappears from behind dream-soaked eyelids. Henry was reliving that sudden head jerk of recognition as poison mixed with the old man’s blood. He relives it five times a day.
“Hello,” he croaks.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“I feel like crap, Tony,” Hamler tells his mentor.
“Henry, last time I’m saying this. You did the right thing. Plus, Winters was ancient, he might have died of old age a split second before you got him. BANG! His heart turns to cement. You probably didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Nice try.” Hamler coughs. “You know, the only thing that makes a person feel guiltier is having someone say they shouldn’t feel guilty at all.”
“Wow. I’ll write that down.”
Maybe, Henry thinks, I wouldn’t feel so guilty if there was someone to tell these problems to. Not a shrink or anything. Just someone to hold in bed. Someone who doesn’t make him feel like shit for crying so much. Loneliness and guilt, Hamler’s observed many times, fit together like some awful sandwich.
Hamler untucks the sheet from around his ears and checks the clock. Lunch was an hour ago.
“I’m just saying it’s possible. Hearts are weird like that. Anyway, put on that nice blue suit of yours, there’s more work today.”
“I called in sick, Tony. There’s…I can’t…I’m not doing shit today. Maybe ever.”
“Oh, good. Drama Club.”
“Don’t, Tony.”
“Look, I told you I understand. That’s why you won’t have to get your hands dirty. You might even enjoy yourself.” A few crackles of dead air fill their talk. “You might even get laid .”
Henry sighs against the phone. It swirls into distortion as defenses collapse. “What’re you thinking, exactly?”
“You’ll dig this. It’ll take your mind off things.”
Henry is nearly out of butane and it takes a fair amount of voodoo for a spark. His first cigarette of the day melts both arms to gelatin. This , he assumes, is probably what junkies feel when they shoot up after years on the wagon. He breathes smoke slow into the receiver. That feeling of peace. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Just some simple recon work. Get to know a person and pump them for info on their next project,” Tony says. “Nothing sticky or dangerous.”
“I don’t know how to pump people for information.” Deep
Similar Books
