NIHILISTIC

The act of capturing audio onto a playable medium has fascinated me since my father – who had a penchant for salvaging cast-offs – lugged home a disc-based recorder. I can no longer visualize the machine (Wilcox-Gay Recordio? Dictaphone? Some other brand?) but recall the blue mylar flexidiscs slipped into a front-facing slot and the attached microphone passed around the dining room table. An evening’s entertainment consisted of the family singing songs, telling jokes, sharing stories and making random noises. The thrill came later with replay of what’d been memorialized and the smiling, laughing and groaning over what you’d committed to posterity.Soon, a hefty metal Wollensak reel-to-reel recorder stuffed with tubes and central to my burgeoning interest in both rock & roll and guitar (it had a 1/4” input, just right for plugging in and playing along) replaced the disc recorder. THAT eventually made way for a Panasonic “shoebox” cassette recorder (the one I snuck into my first concert, ELP at Nassau Coliseum, inspired by Rerun’s bootlegging of the Doobies). When I could afford one, I bought a Realistic brand portable cassette recorder from the Sunrise Mall Radio Shack. Toting it everywhere, I got in the habit of leveling up whenever recording gear got more compact and sophisticated. Prior to the advent of flash-based recorders (like my Marantz PMD661MKIII and SoundDevices MixPre3), the ne plus ultra for me was a Sony MiniDisc machine. Or series of them. The rise of the MiniDisc format roughly coincided with my time as an Audio Engineer at NPR’s New York Bureau. Whenever NPR’s Engineering Department in Washington, DC decided to replace an earlier generation of MiniDisc machines with the latest, I’d glom a cast-off (thanks, Dad!) for myself. I no longer own any of the portables (should’ve kept one!) but a decade ago I scored a Sony MiniDisc component deck (meant for use with your home stereo) on EBay, to digitize the flotilla of Aerial View MiniDiscs crowding our office shelves. “Digitize” is a misnomer here as it usually means converting an analog format to a digital one. But MiniDiscs are a native digital format, recording zeroes and ones onto an optical disc similar to a CD. What I was actually doing was dubbing digitally in real time into my Mac. As I slowly began to plow through my MiniDisc stash, I wondered if there was a faster way and stumbled on ElectronWMD, a software developed by the MiniDisc community to allow NetMD (an early digital transfer protocol pioneered by Sony) machines to communicate via USB with my Mac. So I went back on EBay and bought a cheap NetMD portable. What once took 74 minutes to dub a SP (Standard Play length recording) in real time now takes 15 minutes with ElectronWMD. Over the past month I’ve made real progress on what is, admittedly, still a fuck-ton of MiniDiscs.What does all this preamble have to do with the Nihilistics, Chris? is what you’re wondering, right? Well, Aerial View shows weren’t the only MiniDisc recordings I made (and, truthfully, those airchecks weren’t made with any of my machines but the rack-mount recorders at WFMU): I’ve been finding all sorts of field and other recordings, including what’s featured here. First, backstory…Back in 2002 word got to me via Ron about two NY Thrash cassette 20th Anniversary Reunion shows planned for a June weekend at CBGB. Nihilistics would be on the first night’s bill, along with Adrenalin OD, Even Worse and KRAUT (the 2nd night featured those last two again, plus False Prophets and The Mob. Beastie Boys – also on the NY Thrash cassette – were far too huge by then to show up and I’m not sure why Bad Brains, Heart Attack and The Undead weren’t part). It’d been 13 years since I’d played with the Nihilistics, now consisting of sole original member Ron (singer), Ajax (guitar), Carl (drums) and a bass player whose name is lost to me. Original member and main songwriter Mike Nicolosi was still around but his rocky relationship with Ron was in its off-again phase and who knows what Troy (original drummer) was up to? I hemmed and hawed about taking part in the reunion, eventually deciding What the hell? and getting together for rehearsals in Manhattan. On a MiniDisc recording of a June 19, 2002 rehearsal Ron talks about how difficult it’d become to deal with Mike due to his excessive drinking. The drummer Carl elaborates:This was my thing: Unpack my drums from my house, put ‘em in my car, bring ‘em to the show, set ‘em up, Mike would get drunk, get into a fight. Unpack my drums, put ‘em back in my car, drive home. I couldn’t take him. I couldn’t take Mike at all. And you know what? He wasn’t too bad when he was straight.On the rare occasions I’d get on the phone with Mike he’d blame their acrimonious split on Ron’s Svengali act, claiming he’d foolishly succumbed to Ron’s dangling of drugs and women and agreed to indulge their emerging Judas Priest infatuation by backing Ron’s attempt to add a lead guitarist (his brother) to the band, AKA the inciting incident that had me exiting stage left. The truth was somewhere in the middle. Mike was a mean, abusive drunk often in no shape to play come showtime: Ron wanted the band to make money, which meant a more commercial sound. By 1985 I’d had enough and left the band. After being rear-ended by a Checker cab in Long Island City, I took the proceeds ($6,000) from a successful lawsuit against the cab company and moved out of my mother’s house on Lawn Guyland to New Jersey, effectively ending any thought of a return to the Nihilistics.Soon after I settled in the Garden State I began my radio career at WFMU while also playing guitar, writing songs and releasing records with Missing Foundation. There was no contact with my former bandmates until our ill-fated 1989 reassembling. After that disaster, I gave up on the idea of ever working with Ron, Mike and Troy again. But Ron has always been a good salesman, being charming, shameless and mostly full of shit, and he made a good case for my taking part in the NY Thrash reunion. The current lineup would play four or five numbers, then I’d get up and join them for another four or five. Mostly, the pitch to take part boiled down to It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see some of your old friends. That latter part may have been true but the former? Not so much.First, I was in the odd position of having to relearn songs I’d help write from the guitarist who replaced me. Second, I’m not sure there was more than one janky rehearsal. Third, it was hot as balls June 21, 2001 and CBGB was not known for its airflow, having never been acquainted with an air conditioner, ventilation system or, hell, box fan in a window. The place was also packed, generating yet more body heat. Fourth, the between-song banter consisted of pimply puerile pubescent “humor” of a stripe Ron had long indulged, as if the only lesson he carried away from “Sex Pistols” was “sex.” Far from being shocking, the constant berating of the audience, requests for blowjobs, casual homophobia and scatological stunts reduced the Nihilistics to a bad joke. Which we never were. When I’ve interviewed contemporaries about the band in its heyday, asking which single word summed us up, they all said the same thing: “Menacing.” We were scary in our intensity and absolute serious in our intent. Other bands and the audience were afraid of us. Not on June 21, 2001, when you can clearly hear someone at CBGB shout Go back to Long Island!Fuck me.So how did I end up with this video, the only one to feature me playing with my old band (even if two of them are absent)? Because of MiniDiscs. The other audio I found from the NY Thrash reunion was AOD’s set, also recorded directly from the mixing board and into my Sony MiniDisc recorder. When I dubbed it, I reached out to Paul from AOD, asking if he wanted the audio. He put me in touch with their informal archivist and I asked if he’d swap for any Nihilistics material he had. He offered up the NY Thrash video footage (all the bands were filmed that night, most are on YouTube). I’ve been meaning to mate my MiniDisc audio with the fairly crappy video for nearly a year but finally got around to it a few days ago. I debated whether to present only my portion of the set but decided to bring you the full version (the audio version starts one song prior to the video – someone hit “Record” late on the camera, I guess). Please note: there’s plenty here to offend, including the title and content of the then “latest” Nihilistics single, more evidence of the band’s lurch to the right after my time (to me, few things make less sense than MAGA punk rockers, but we ARE living in the Upside Down, so maybe Nihilistics, if still around, will play Trump’s 3rd Inauguration Ball).This video is an admittedly poor substitute for what Nihilistics must’ve looked like between 1981 and 1985 and I remain hopeful such footage someday emerges (if you know of any, please don’t hesitate to contact me: [email protected]). For now, we have to make due with me in an ill-fitting Mermaid Parade STAFF T-shirt (it was 9 days later, June 30, and I once again emceed) and ill-advised goatee, trying to capture a bit of the old magic and landing far short. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

For 30 years I was involved with legendary New Jersey freeform radio station WFMU, mostly hosting my phone-in talkshow Aerial View (which is still around and can be heard Friday nights, 6 pm Eastern Time, on thehoundnyc.com). I’ve slowly been digitizing hundreds of Aerial View airchecks on cassette, DAT (Digital Audio Tape) and MiniDisc and recently stumbled on the one I’m highlighting here: a conversation with my father, Mario Tsakis (RIP). I’m posting it on NIHILISTIC because there’s a lengthy passage concerning the Nihilistics and what my dad thought of the band and my so-called music career. How I managed to talk my father (below, with me in his antiques store “Memories” circa 1987) into joining me on air is lost to time but he was, apparently, game and hung in there for almost the entire show. I’d love to tell you we had the type of cordial father/son relationship you hear on this aircheck but I’d be lying. I’ve written about “My Old Man” (that’s the title of this show because he hated that phrase, BTW) here previously but a refresher: he was more-or-less absent from my life even before my parents divorced when I was 11 or 12. After that, I rarely saw him. He also gave off a near-constant whiff of disapproval, unable or unwilling to accept me as I was (fat, flailing, lost until I discovered guitar). “Unconditional Love” was not a concept he endorsed. Though we reconciled in later years, due to my outreach, it wasn’t to last. When he died, suddenly, of a heart attack, we were not on speaking terms. We’d fallen out a year earlier when he called to yell and scream at me about supposedly tricking him into giving my wife and I wedding gift money to add to a down payment on our house. Ultimately, he’d sent half of what he promised, then–in a move that left us stunned–tried to claw back even that from the grave, claiming it was a “loan.” If my sister hadn’t been executrix of his will we might’ve been forced to pay back his estate. Of the many ingredients that led to my playing hardcore, my dad and our terrible relationship was paramount. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

Pictured above is my Dubbing Station, placed in our small home office within arm’s length of the massive tanker desk I picked up years ago cheap. While working on one project or another I’ll often multitask by digitizing a few of the cassettes, minidiscs and DATs stashed on shelves and in metal cabinets nearby. The audio is sent out of a Denon cassette deck, Sony MiniDisc machine or Marantz Portable DAT machine into a Sound Devices USBPre2. Then the zeroes and ones travel via USB to Audio Hijack on our iMac, with final editing and cleanup done on Adobe Audition. I’ve been trying to reduce the approximately metric ton of physical media I’ve accumulated over the decades but it’s a slog, leavened only by the occasional discovery of something I didn’t know I had. Like this 1989 Nihilistics rehearsal. I’ve written about my last gasp with the original lineup: we got back together in 1989 and recorded five songs for a new LP before Mike reverted to form and became a mean drunk. This is another rehearsal from that same time-frame. I’ll apologize in advance for the shitty PA causing the vocals to get lost under a layer of sludge. Songs include:* Working Class* Just For Me* My Creed* Misanthrope* Pal O’Mine* Fate* Antisocial* Poor Show* Mister 9 to 5* My Life* Black SheepThere’s a whole bunch more Nihilistics audio to be discovered in my stash, so stick with me as they’re unearthed. And if you haven’t yet, sign up for my OTHER newsletter, See You Next Tue! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

Hey Chris, Greatly enjoy your tales of the Nihilistic’s and the trials and tribulations of a working band and your ultimate escape from L.I. Anyway, like many dozens of disaffected L.I. suburbanites back in the day, I was a Nihilistics fan. Anyway, I would occasionally bring my Walkman to shows and record, which leads to the point of this email. I recorded your missing video show from My Fathers Place, quality of the recording is not half bad, not board feed of course, but very listenable. A digital copy is available to you if you have an interest. Further, I also have a very short but interesting tale of a random interaction with Mike in 1984. You want to hear?Let me know Mike Smollen This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

Back on March 12, 2021 on my show Aerial View I interviewed legendary music journalist (The Big Takeover), musician (Even Worse) and friend Jack Rabid. I’m repurposing the show here as a NIHILISTIC Pod because I can! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

On August 18 of this year I visited my long-time friend Jeff Maschi at his place in Milltown, NJ (that’s us, above) and recorded this conversation. Jeff spills on any number of Nihilistic-adjacent topics. Salute! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

The first NIHILISTIC Pod included audio of a call to a friend to tell him about Mike Nicolosi threatening my life over the phone. This was on the heels of Mike trying to choke me to death circa 1999 or 2000. I just found ANOTHER call to ANOTHER friend covering the same territory. Listen and shudder. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

This NIHILISTIC Pod features an interview first heard on my talk show Aerial View March 19, 2021. Tony Rettman, author of NYHC: New York Hardcore 1980 – 1990, was my guest and I turned the tables on him. Tony had interviewed me at length for the book (there’s an entire chapter on the Nihilistics) and now it was his turn in the hot seat. We cover a wide range of subjects, so enjoy. Note: I’m using Substack’s new automated transcript feature for the first time. Let me know what you think. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

This NIHILISTIC Pod features edited audio from an episode of my talk show Aerial View titled Reminiscing. Originally heard over WFMU-FM in 1991 (and not since because the air check runs forty-five minutes and Aerial View is sixty minutes long), it’s the first time I discussed the Nihilistics publicly since the disastrous 1989 “reunion”. Listen for a phone call from Terre T. of Cherry Blossom Clinic fame. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

The part that sticks in my mind more than any other is this: we're crawling over the Manhattan bridge, on the outer roadway, there's a light drizle and I'm looking at the buildings far below, wondering "Who the hell lives in there?" I remember feeling under the weather, a cold coming on, and wishing the damn gig was already behind me. It was November 11, 1984 and The Nihilistics were due at CBGB – pictured above, Mike Nicolosi (RIP) on Red Hagstrom Bass, me on “Debbie Gibson” and wearing a blonde wig (don’t ask) – for yet another of our Sunday matinee shows. We seemed to play one every month. Today we'd be headlining, with SS Decontrol, Gang Green and a few others supporting. I sat in the back, on the passenger side, glumly staring out the window, wondering if Mike was really prepared to go through with the newly-announced plan to add Ron's brother on lead guitar. I had nothing him but wondered why I was being asked to split guitar duties at this point in our history. Mike didn't really talk to me all the way into the city. I could tell he was still pissed at me for telling him I wasn't interested in playing second banana. I had always pictured the Nihilistics as a foursome and thought we were just fine the way things were. I forget who else was in Mike's Buick. Was it Al and Abby in the backseat with me? And who was that in front, alongside Mike? Sandy? Wendy? Christine?Soon enough we were maing the right turn on Bowery and after a few more minutes were double-parked in front of CB's. The Nihilistics had come far from our start in my mother's basement. We were surrounded by well-wishers and fans, eager to help us unload our gear. Mike loved the attention, and loved playng to the crowd. No matter how angry I got with him I always admired his sense of humor and his ability to write great songs. And CBs was always my favorite place to play for many reasons: its history, the dressing rooms with all the graffiti on the walls, the great sound system, the wild scene out front, the easy parking nearby and the fact that no one from the club interfered. You came in, you sound-checked, you waited your turn, you played and you got paid. That was that. No one pulled any shit on you, no one got in your face or said “You can’t do that.” We were generally treated as adults and it was expected we wouldn’t shit where we eat. And we didn’t. The Nihilistics may have encouraged some mindless violence in our day but we never fucked with Hilly or CB’s.Which brings me back to November 11 and our final CB’s show. The Nihilistics, as a band, didn’t believe in much and we certainly didn’t buy into the agenda the bands from Boston were pushing. To us, they were stupid “party bands” there to “rock the house” and have a good time. Our agenda was more complex: we were looking to spread some truth (or what we felt was truth) and provide a catharsis through our brutal, dark music. And on my agenda was this item: don’t break any strings (I rarely, if ever, had a back-up guitar). When it came time for us to go on, Mike could barely contain his rage at the bands from Boston. He put on a "stoner asshole" accent and mocked their skateboarding and desire to get laid. He also made reference to it being the end of the Nihilistics, addressing one of our biggest fans, Steve Manny, upfront in the crowd. That’s also future Sheer Terror frontman Paul Bearer’s voice just before Touch Me, doing the bit about Dustin Hoffman.I don't remember if we played any shows after that one but within two years I was living in New Jersey and the Nihilistics carried on without me, something I hadn't imagined and found hard to believe. But being in the band changed me fundamentally. If I look closely I can find a thread running back to that first time in my mother's basement, banging out songs with Mike, seeking a reaction, trying to be heard. I'm still trying.Here’s the track listing:* My Creed* Pal O Mine* Mr 9 to 5* Badge of Shame* Touch Me* Youre To Blame* Low Life* Working Class* Death And Taxes* The Truth* Combat Stance* Fate* Big Fun* Poor Show* Anti Social (Restarted after it falls apart)* Hang OutSee a contemporaneous review of the show in Wendy Eager’s fanzine Guillotine (page 13) at the Internet Archive. And remember: Tell your friends, enemies and frenemies to subscribe and spread the word. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

NOTE: This NIHILISTIC Pod is adapted from an August 19, 1994 aircheck of my WFMU talk show Aerial View entitled “Frankenstein”. I’ve never been able to re-run this show because only half the program was captured initially: there’s no Side B. Luckily, Side A has the entire story I’d written about Vickie, the much older (thirteen years!) woman I met at a Nihilistics show and the first person I ever kissed… which led to much more. Here’s what I read on the air in 1994, in case you can’t listen to the episode…The story is about the first person I ever kissed - discounting relatives and those kissed out of obligation.I was twenty-two and still living at home, working at an awful telemarketing job and playing in a punk rock band – The Nihilistics. We were fairly well known in our home area and played out often enough to attract admirers. Most of the admirers were male but there were some females. The singer and bass player wrangled most of the girls for themselves. They had much better lines than I and were completely mercenary about getting over on any women self-hating enough to go for them. The drummer had a steady girl, usually, so he didn't bother. Me? I was petrified of women. I was convinced there was nothing I had to interest any girl. Oh, I made friends with many girls, had crushes on quite a few. But I never levitated beyond the platonic. I was the sort of boy whom girls made a confidant. I would listen to their deep, dark stories; their tragic tales of love gone wrong, their confessions of unbridled lust for guys that weren't me. I somehow found myself in this constantly frustrating role of being the understanding pal. It was a part I didn't take to easily. There was this one girl – Lorraine - who came along when I was nineteen or so. She was beyond fantastic. She was a little slice of female heaven… as far as I was concerned. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, a wicked sense of humor and a crooked smile that captivated me. I somehow became her friend. We hung out whenever we could. I would drive to Brooklyn, where she lived, and we'd go places, to shows, to clubs, to the movies – usually with some of her girlfriends along. They were all great fun but Lorraine: she stood apart. There was something about her – a sweetness that the others didn't possess, a need to laugh every few minutes – that I found myself drawn to. Somehow I fell in love with her. But she wasn't in love with me She was in love with some neighborhood jackass named John. I knew of him and his reputation for putting notches on his belt. He was a conqueror but Lorraine didn't care. He didn't know she existed but that's how those things go. Lorraine was like me in that respect: always falling for the person who couldn't possibly return my affection, never seeing the one who would do so gladly. She'd talk to me about this guy and I'd actually listen. I was too young to know that what I should've been saying was, "Forget him. He’s a jerk. Choose me. I'm crazy about you. I'd drink your bath water. I'd crawl five miles to smell the sheets you sleep on". I was nothing but a coward in those days.Somehow it happened that I slept over Lorraine's house a couple of nights in a row. I’d spend most of the night awake in a sleeping bag, not five inches from her, imagining I was touching her wondrous ankle, imagining I was touching her leg. I remember slowly reaching out to feel her skin and getting very close, very close, almost there… and then pulling away. What if I woke her? What if she knew what I wanted to do? What if she got the idea that I wasn’t settling for her friendship any longer? I felt immobilized. I felt like it might as well have been a deep, deep ocean between my fingertips and her ankle. Those were some of the worst nights I've ever had. And Lorraine doesn’t know. She never knew because I never told her. I didn't want her to run away. I didn't want to reveal to her how horrible I felt about myself and how much I would have liked to be beautiful for her. Like the guy she was mooning over He was beautiful. I felt far from beautiful though. I always have. When it came to Lorraine I felt like Frankenstein's creature trying to befriend that little girl. If you remember the creature from Shelley's book – who is certainly not the grunting caveman of the movies – he is very articulate and he knows why people flee from him: they find him loathsome. They're repulsed by his appearance. The creature says, and I quote: "Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of bringing forth. I was nourished with high thoughts of honor and devotion. But now vice has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. When I call over the frightful catalogue of my deeds I cannot believe that I am he whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil." And as you probably know, the creature is never able to overcome the fright he generates. He resigns himself to his fate. He says, "I am malicious because I am miserable; am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness and instead of injury, I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union."So there I am with Lorraine, trying to get her to look past my appearance, wanting her to see how good I was, how good I'd be to her and failing miserably. She wanted John. She never once even hinted that we were anything more than two people occupying roughly the same physical space who just happen to be members of the opposite sex. Lorraine and I went along for a little while and one day I pulled up in front of her house to find all her punk rock records and Stephen King novels piled up at the curb, awaiting the garbage man. I couldn't locate her but I found some of her friends at home who filled me in. She had become a born-again Christian just about overnight. I was in shock. My jaw dropped open and refused to close for hours. When I finally spoke to her again she was spouting all that Jesus stuff and blathering. It was like seeing the post-lobotomy McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest The person I knew as Lorraine was gone. She had been replaced by a bible-thumping automaton. You know, I’ve done some reading about such things and it's not an uncommon phenomenon. People who are verging on schizophrenia often have religious conversions overnight. Things had gotten to Lorraine and she turned to the Lord with a vengeance. I never did get to kiss her and after her I didn't interact with girls for a long time. I couldn't bring myself to talk to one for fear of a replay. But the peer pressure to find a girl was at a fever pitch at that point in my life. Every one of my contemporaries had girlfriends or were getting laid or talking about. The guys in the band I was in flaunted their women like the trophies they were. I looked around and saw myself keeping lonely vigil over this Virgin Land. I was the one who'd come off the stage and be glad-handed by guys, nothing but guys. Great show! Excellent guitar! Those were the kinds of things I’d hear from the fan boys but just once I wanted to look up from my guitar case and see a girl, any girl, standing there. And then one night after playing a gig at a this local place, I stepped outside for a beer and was unexpectedly joined by this woman – Vickie – who had befriended the band. I was pretty sure the bass player had slept with her (It was a hunch) and I was surprised when she sat down next to me after I parked myself on the rear stoop of the small nightclub. We made small talk about the gig and the nice weather and the cemetery right across the highway – how it was the largest one in the country and stretched on for miles – that kind of thing. She sat very close and I was nervous. Her right thigh was pressed hard against my left thigh and heat seemed to be radiating from the area. I remember I tried to figure out why she was talking to me. I also tried to convince myself that I was attracted to her. I wasn't, though. She was very nice and extremely kind… but she was approaching thirty-five and had an eighteen year-old daughter at home. I also found myself distracted by her large nose. It wasn't Karl Malden-large but eagle beak large. It took up plenty of her face and it made me feel so terrible to be regarding someone the way that I'd always been regarded; outwardly. I didn't want to be so superficial as to reject someone on appearance. I mean, who the hell was I, anyway? No prize package, I can tell you.So I was trying to work up this attraction when Vickie leans over and kisses me and it was very nice. It was my first one.  And she kissed me again, longer this time, and I liked it. I mean, I could suddenly understand why it was so popular, why everyone was doing it. We kissed some more and the bass player came out and saw us and he seemed angry at us but I didn't care: I was making out! Soon enough I gathered Vickie up and drove her home to my house. It was very late and we tiptoed so as not to wake my grumpy mom. She was so grumpy that she had  removed the door from my room three months earlier as punishment for me having put my foot through it. See, i t was a hollow-core door and she came banging one night when I was enjoying The Stooges (Not the Three Stooges, the other Stooges) and so I banged back with my foot and it went WHOOSHING through the thin veneer of one side of the door and it came WHOOSHING out the other side and left splinters in its wake. This did not please my mother. I mean, the next day she had me remove the door and store it in the attic and had to hang a blanket in the doorway and get used to having no privacy. So Vickie and I had to be very quiet that night and it wasn't easy. I mean, it was my first time having sex and she was far from quiet. I kept shushing her in fear my mom would walk in but I don't remember much else about it. The next day we had this earnest discussion about "things" and I realized we weren't going to repeat the events of the night before. It just didn't seem likely. I drove her home to Brooklyn and never heard from her or saw her again.It's strange to think that my first kiss led to the loss of my virginity. It's stranger to think about this thing called beauty. I've thought about it quite a bit, probably more than I should. If I was beautiful I might not think about is so much. But I wanna know: what is the biological basis of beauty? Is it only skin-deep or does it impact on the way a person lives and behaves? I know women who are always so amazed at how nice men are toward them – and these are beautiful women. They don't know or can't acknowledge WHY men are being so nice to them. If they weren't beautiful would the same men be as nice? Is beauty necessary to the furtherance of the species? Does nature favor the beautiful? And who sets the standard for what is beautiful anyway? It certainly varies from place to place and from time to time. There’ s no constant that I'm aware of. Why do we all want it, why do we all seek it out for ourselves? Because it's better than ugliness? I know that I wanted Vickie to be beautiful. And maybe she wanted the same from me. And I've been guilty or equating inner qualities with outward appearance. We probably all have. I know others have made the same judgement of me. I don't like it but I also don't know how to overcome it. If you were given the choice and you were told you could be one or the  other – beautiful or smart – which would you choose?After I read the piece about Vickie, I open the phones and take a few calls. Then the show abruptly ends. Oh well, it’s happened a few times: screwed by the auto-reverse cassette deck. As always, thanks for being here for NIHILISTIC. This Friday, some new writing drops. See you then. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

An important key to early momentum for The Nihilistics is radio airplay. In 1981 “Noise the Show” host Tim Sommer gets our demo cassette (perhaps via Lyle Hysen of Damaged Goods fanzine and The Misguided) and plays it over WNYU-FM, leading to increased recognition and gigs. In the next two years we make more pilgrimages to New York University’s student radio station. This episode of NIHILISTIC Pod brings you vintage audio from five:* Mike and Ron visit Tim Sommer on the Noise The Show First Anniversary. Listen for an announcement of the yet-to-be-released EP.* Mike and I visit DJ Hal on Life After Death to preview our upcoming LP. Holy shit, this is pure gold. Lawn Guyland accents and me talking a blue streak while Mike keeps repeating the word “anger” (do not take a shot each time: brain death will follow). This might legitimately be the beginning of my radio career.* A scoped (the music’s been removed) Life After Death show with Hal doing local show announcements for The Nihilistics, AOD, False Prophets, etc. Listen for Bobby Steele of The Undead providing directions to one of their upcoming shows.* I appear as my alter ego Owen (because I owned an American Legion jacket with the name “Owen” embroidered on it), telling a bad joke.* I’m back as Sgt. O’Hara doing St. Patrick’s Day schtick in a terrible Irish accent.Please enjoy this nonsense from forty years ago… and thanks to Tim and Hal for putting us on the radio.Work on the book NIHILISTIC continues: progress is happening. If you have any Nihilistics stories, photos or video (I’d kill for video!) please comment here or send an email to [email protected]. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

Some of you may know I host a talk show – Aerial View – now heard Fridays, 6 PM on thehoundnyc.com. Back on April 9, 2021 I interviewed Ron Rancid of The Nihilistics and thought I’d do a little crossover episode here on NIHILISTIC. Presented here as you would’ve heard it live, here’s Ron Is On. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

That’s me, circa 1989, visiting in Hoboken, NJ, wearing a Betty Page bondage T-shirt, apparently. This is the only picture (many remain in storage )I found of me from that pivotal year. Why pivotal? It was my last gasp with The Nihilistics.I’d been living in New Jersey (Tenafly, not Hoboken yet) three years when someone from the band (not sure if it was Mike or Ron) cajoled me into coming back to rehearse material (new and old) for a possible record (in my memory there was also talk of playing out). It was a pain in the ass to drive back and forth to Long Island and Meat Market Melodies – the 8-track recording studio owned by Ajax Lepinski, who ended up taking over guitar in the band. Things were not good between me and the other three Nihilistics, who may have resented me moving away. Mike especially broke my balls, doing his usual getting hammered on beer and becoming abusive. The overwhelming feeling, when it was all done, was one of relief. Nothing came of the rehearsals or recordings. Years later I finally heard the record we were supposed to put out and immediately knew it was my guitar playing on many of the tracks. Problem is, the band never told me they were putting out a record, never credited me and certainly had no intention of sharing any proceeds. After I complained they made it right but NOT FUCKING COOL, MAN.Because I can’t bring myself to throw away or delete audio, I still have the (very noisy) rehearsal cassettes. Songs include Black Leather, My Life, Just For Me, Working Class and I’m The Only One (some of these were working titles later changed). Here in all its hiss-laden glory (The Nihilistics are not a band that’s ever needed noise reduction) is a snapshot of the band circa 1989. And speaking of snapshots, I stumbled on this and had to include it: Ron during those very sessions (note the cans of Bud):Don’t forget: NIHILISTIC Pod is also on Apple Podcasts and – as always – spread the word about nihilisticbook.com. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

When I was twelve, thirteen, and just learning to play guitar, I met this kid Billy Kammerer through my friend Glenn Katz. Billy’s family – including two cute, older sisters – lived in a split-level on Glenn’s street, the newest block in Lindenhurst (so new the phone lines were underground – no telephone poles!). With a canal out back and a Boston Whaler (Mercury outboard) at the dock, Billy’s family had real access to the Great South Bay. My family was on the South Shore, too, but four or five blocks from the water. One day, while visiting Glenn, Billy stopped by. He had a Gibson SG Deluxe (walnut finish, two mini-humbuckers with black plastic covers) with him… but no case for the guitar. He’d just come from Music Land seeking to buy one. I turned him onto a Sam Ash store that might have a case. I’d been there a few months earlier when my grandmother bought me an IbanezLes Paul copy – white, gold trim – for Christmas. ($200, with case). Billy thanked me and said he'd get his mother to drive him up there. Then he asked if I wanted to get together and jam sometime. I said "Sure!" having never jammed before and not knowing exactly what it meant.About a week later I was in Billy's bedroom with my Ibanez and trusty Univox combo amp (tubes, fifty watts, two twelve inch speakers). I preferred Billy’s house to mine. Maybe it was the proximity to the water. Or that Billy had his own room and I still shared one with my weight-lifting hateful brother. But it was probably that his house didn’t include my family. I wore Converse sneakers, Levis and a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt from Jolly Joint in the back of the Home Decor at the Sunrise Mall. The design on the T-shirt was one of those prismatic transfers, glittering, in a very simple (unlicensed) design. I wore it like armor, imagining it somehow made me less of a fat kid dope and was enough to make me cool. Billy wore essentially the same outfit but with Frye boots and a Who Maximum R & B T-shirt. He plugged his SG into an Ampeg Reverb Rocket and asked "So you like Zeppelin?""Yeah".I played a little bit of Ramble On, one of the world’s easiest riffs. Billy smiled, then played the opening riff of Pinball Wizard. There we were, riffing at each other. Then I joined him, copying as best as I could what he was doing. Within three or four passes I was right there with him. Then Billy began playing the chords and singing. He had a pretty good voice, upper register, like Pete’s but adolescent. He strained a bit at the really high notes. But he knew all the words. I stood there aping the chords, trying to play along. Billy’s mother knocked on the door, then walked in. She was about thirty, in good shape, attractive.“Billy – stop that for a minute. Dinner’s in fifteen minutes.”Billy asked “Can Chris stay?”He looked at me and added “Do you want to stay for dinner?” All I could think to say was “What are you having?”“What are we having?” Billy asked his mother.“Spaghetti and meatballs. And Chris is welcome to stay, if he likes.” She left, closing the door behind her.Jesus, I thought, not all moms are as loud and angry as mine.I kept fiddling around on the Ibanez, doing whatever licks I knew.“Do you want to stay?” Billy asked.“Ummm, maybe. I have to call my mom.” I said, lying. My mother wasn’t even home, she was still at work. I just didn’t know if I wanted to sit with Billy’s father, a man who scared me almost as much as mine. But the house smelled good. And it was probably TV dinners again at home. I was still trying to decide what to do when Billy asked “Have you ever heard Quadrophenia?” I’d seen one of my brother’s friends with the album but had only heard it through a closed door.“No…” I said.Billy slid the album out from a stack of records on the floor. He pulled one of the discs out and passed the jacket to me. I opened the gatefold, leafed through the booklet and thought What the hell is this? What’s with all the pictures? It looked exotic and mundane at the same time. Here’s this isolated figure, interacting with but not touching anyone. I especially liked the one of the kid asleep on his bed, with all the naked women on the wall.Within months Billy and I started our cover band Cobra, playing the hits of 1976 (badly). Bad Company, Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Rolling Stones, The Who. We played backyard parties and wherever we could, culminating in a big winter dance concert Dec. 16, 1978 at Our Lady Of Perpetual Help. Years ago I stumbled on a rehearsal tape of atrocious audio quality, probably recorded on a crappy Panasonic “lunchbox” cassette recorder through a tiny condenser microphone. I’ve done whatever I could to clean up the sound but it still makes my teeth rattle. I present it – and the pictures below – as proof there was a band before The Nihilistics.As always, thanks for joining this journey and tell friends and foes alike to sign up and follow the progress of NIHILISTIC. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

This episode of NIHILISTIC Pod documents a trip Keith Hartel and I (pictured above) took Saturday, July 15 to Bulletproof Music Studios in Hazlet, NJ to see The Nihilistics on a bill with Fear Gods. What a strange damn night. I’ll write all about it for Friday’s installment of NIHILISTIC (BTW, I’m hoping to put out a pod every Monday and some writing every Friday). As always, please spread the word about NIHILISTIC. It’s appreciated. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com

I’ve always intended for NIHILISTIC (the newsletter) to have an audio component (video, too, if necessary). This first NIHILISTIC Pod (I debated several names, almost went with NIHILISTIC NEWS but didn’t) was recorded spontaneously into my phone Tue., July 4, 2023. I did my usual Independence Day vigil (listen to the episode to find out why) on our stoop as people streamed up the block towards Boulevard East – with its commanding view of Manhattan’s west side – in an attempt to see Macy’s fireworks (FYI: They’re bound to be disappointed: Macy’s hasn’t launched fireworks from the Hudson River since Bloomberg was Mayor). Episode 001 includes my update on the progress of NIHILISTIC (the book) and – bonus – a recording of an old phone call circa 2002 with Mike (RIP) from the Nihilistics. I was living on Adams Street in Hoboken and had managed to evade Mike after he tried to choke the life out of me. But I didn’t have Caller ID (didn’t see the point to paying extra for it) and he caught me unawares one night. Why I didn’t immediately begin recording the call is lost to time but I captured a bit, right after Mike threatens to kill me. Also on the tape is the next call, to good friend Jim Brown. Most puzzling is the mention of “…that story about that girl” he may or not have murdered. Fuck. Neither Jim nor I know what that tantalizing fragment means. Did Mike joke around about having killed a girl? Next, I plan to dive into my 2002 Journal and see what I may have written about this. Meanwhile, here’s a complete transcript of this episode:CHRIS: It’s 8:41 p.m. on Tuesday, July 4th, 2023. The sun is almost completely down. People are streaming up my block and headed towards Boulevard East, even though they haven't done fireworks over the Hudson River since Mayor Bloomberg is no longer Mayor Bloomberg. But people still go to Boulevard East thinking they're going to see something and maybe they can… maybe they can see something happening behind the skyscrapers. I am out here mostly to try to keep anyone from parking in our driveway or attempting to pull a three point turn in our driveway, tearing off the side mirror on my wife's car, any other bullshit that might go on. I said to my wife over dinner “So which do you dislike more? Would that be Halloween or the 4th of July?” When she said Halloween without hesitation I said “I have to agree with this. We have to pay for Halloween.”So at this point, the Macy's fireworks are still 45 minutes away on the East River, not on the Hudson River. It was really something to be living here when they did those Hudson River fireworks. And they only did them for like two or maybe three years before there was such a clamor from all the people in Brooklyn and Queens who said, “What the fuck? We used to be able to see fireworks. We’re part of New York… we’re two of the five boroughs. So I don't know how long I'm going to sit out here and don’t want to get eaten alive by bugs. I feel in need of a shower. I also had one of those days where I don't know just what the fuck I accomplished. I mean, I wanted to enter this mid-Atlantic Arts Council grant program to see if I could win a grant for NIHILISTIC. It's a pretty complicated application process, and what I need to do to be able to enter something is a little bizarre. They want part of a completed work, and I just don't know how to do that. I haven't completed the work, but I would like to send them something. But it requires formatting and it requires removing your name from everything because they want everything to be anonymous. So I started out with good intentions today. But then of course, you know the road to hell is paved with good intentions and that's where I ended up. And by the time six-thirty had rolled around, it was almost dinner time. And then the day was pretty much over.Time is going so fucking fast. I mean, next thing you know, it'll be Christmas time. I thought I would have more progress on the book by now. I really did. Something is in the way, as Kurt Cobain sang. I don't know what that is. Maybe it's just fear of failure. There's any number of fears attached. That it won't be any good is the number one fear. That nobody will fucking read it. In between those two, no one will publish it. And I really don't want to do a vanity printing. I'm hoping if I can get everything in there that I think should be in there and if I could do it with even a modicum of skill, it should be a pretty good read. Something different from the books that I've been reading from folks who were there in the early 1980s. Because a number of them have come out. I don't really know if I want this to be like those. I want it to be something different. A coming of age story; a story about getting the hell out; a story about your chosen family as opposed to your actual family; a story about figuring out what the fuck you're good at, even if you're just good enough at it to get out; a story about friendship that sours in the most horrible of ways. And a story about a suspicion that I've harbored that my best friend in Junior High and in High School and on stages at venues all over – my chum, my buddy boy, bass player, main lyricist, songwriter – might be a really good suspect in the Gilgo Beach murders, the Long Island Serial Killer. And today I listened to a piece of tape that I stumbled on… this is why I keep everything from back when I was living in Hoboken and Mike would call me and leave long, rambling messages on my answering machine.“Buddy boy. Hey, buddy boy, give me a call back if you remember who the fuck this is.”One time I picked up the phone and we talked, and it was after he had tried to choke me to death. And I said to him, “I don't know why you did that.” And he laughed it off. He wanted me to laugh it off. “You were never that soft.” And he said, “You don't have to worry about me trying to choke you, because next time I see you I’ll just kill you.” And I went in the next room, I tried to turn on this tape recorder that I had hooked up to my phone and I picked up an extension and I tried to get him to repeat what he just said and he immediately knew what I was doing. He was too clever. I was being very clumsy and stupid with how I did it. I basically said, “Why would you say next time I see you, I'm going to kill you?”“Whadda ya whadda ya recording me now?”I tried to come up with an excuse, he says  “Why did you have to go in the other room? What you do in the other room?” And I told him I had to turn my new air conditioner off. And he's like, “All right, thanks, buddy boy. Have a nice life. Have a nice life.” And then he hung up on me. And then this same piece of tape, miraculously enough, documents a call I made to my friend Jim to tell him what had just happened.“Hey, Jim, you're not going to believe this.” And then Jim and I, we talk a little longer, and one of us makes mention of some girl that Mike may have claimed to have killed. Like, do you think he was lying about her? I'll put that call right after this, and you can hear the call for yourself.MIKE: How many phones you have?CHRIS: Hey, I’m sorry about that.MIKE: Yeah.CHRIS: So you making death threats now?MIKE: Nope.CHRIS: (Exhales)MIKE: What. Whadda ya… whadda ya trying to tape me?CHRIS: Why would you say that? Why would you say “Next time I see you I’m go…”MIKE: Why… why you trying to tape me?CHRIS: I’m not trying…MIKE: What are you trying to say? I’m making death threats?CHRIS: I’m not trying to tape ya, Mike. I just don’t understand why you said what you just said.MIKE: Is that what you're trying to do? Is that why you had to get off the phone? Set up your, uh, tape recorder?CHRIS: No, I got off the phone to turn my new air conditioner down.MIKE: Okay. Listen, pally, it was nice knowing ya. I tried to give you a call out of the niceness of my heart. Me and you are fuckin’ washed up.CHRIS: Listen, would you…MIKE: See you next life.CHRIS: …would you… could you for a minute…MIKE; See you next life.CHRIS: Could you…CHRIS: Where was I? In the story?JIM: Umm. Well, you know, you said, like, he couldn't believe you didn’t realize he was joking.CHRIS: Oh, and then he threatened to kill me. Did I tell you that part?JIM: Uh, no.CHRIS: Okay.JIM: I mean, I heard about it, but I didn’t get the…CHRIS: Yeah, towards the end of the phone call, he basically said, So what's the story? Are we not friends anymore? What’s… what’s… what’s going… what’s… what the fuck… what’s the fucking story? And I said, I don’t know what to tell you, Mike. I’m not very… really fond of being choked, you know?JIM: Right.CHRIS: Ah, what's wrong with you? You know, when did ya… when did you go soft? I mean, you never were like this. Whadda ya… whadda ya think I was serious? You know? And I said, I don't know. It felt kind of serious to me. I don’t know what to tell you, you know? So then he said, Well, you don't have to worry about me choking you because next time I see I'm going to kill you.JIM: And then what?CHRIS: And then I said, Can you hold on a minute? And I ran in the other room to, uh, hook up my tape recorder.JIM: And then what?CHRIS: Then I picked up the other extension and he said, Whadda ya, go hook up your tape recorder? Whadda ya tape recording me now? So what, you think I’m that stupid? And I said, No, I didn't hook up my tape recorder. I went to shut up my air conditioner. And he said, Yeah, okay. All right. Bye. And he hung up the phone, I think at the end of the conversation. But unfortunately, I tipped my hand I think. I should have had the tape recorder.. he took me totally by surprise when I picked up the phone. I really thought it was somebody else calling, you know? And I didn't even recognize his voice at first. And then I was just like, pulled into this world of psychosis.JIM: Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you, man. I think he's obviously sick, you know?CHRIS: Uh-huh.JIM: You know? And I think he's wrong, you know? And I mean, from what… from the way you've described it, no, there's no way you could have thought he’s joking. I mean…CHRIS: Uh-huh.JIM: He’s pushing forty years old.CHRIS: Yeah, well, not only did I not think he was joking…JIM: You know when someone’s joking or not.CHRIS: Not only did I not know he was joking, I am still not convinced that he didn’t… actually… he hasn’t actually killed somebody.JIM: Right? I know.CHRIS: I mean, I think that's quite a pos… that’s very possible.JIM: Right.CHRIS: Because he's got so much rage… and so much anger that, you know, I wouldn't doubt it if he had… actually has.JIM: Oh, yeah. Well, there was that story about that girl…CHRIS: Oh, yeah… the story about the girl.JIM: And he was acting very cagey about that.CHRIS: Yeah. Like maybe he did it, maybe didn't do it. But anyway, it's. I just thought I needed to share this with somebody who knows Mike. And I called Maschi and there was no answer over there and I thought…I thought I would share that with you.JIM: Well, I appreciate it.CHRIS: Yeah? You like hearing about death threats?JIM: I do. As a matter of fact.CHRIS: Have you ever been the victim of a death threat?JIM: It’s my one vice. Uh, I once played…  I once had my jaw broken by a guy who had a headband that said “Hit Man” on it.CHRIS: Why?JIM: He just liked to wear the head band. I don’t know why.CHRIS: I will be shocked, but not surprised. It turns out that my friend, was the Gilgo Beach murderer. Stranger things have happened. Some of these serial killers, man, they hide in plain sight. You would never think it. I mean, how many years did John Wayne Gacy get away with it? By the way, Mike was a huge John Wayne Gacy fan. Mike was into serial killers. Mike had a very dark side. He had a lot of resentment, especially towards women, because he had lost a hundred pounds. And these women who found him horrified, lying and disgusting, repugnant, loathsome, smelly and just not good looking, these same women later, when he was in a band and he was tall and slim and playing bass and puking off the edge of the stage because he was a male bulimic… he used to puke his meals in the parking lot of the McDonald’s. We'd go and eat McDonald's, and then he'd come out and throw up in front of the nice family that was walking in. That was his idea of a good time and.. and a really good laugh. And I laughed, too, You know? I laughed, too. Yeah. I signed off on a a lot of it.WOMAN: Thank you.MAN: It's all on the other side.CHRIS: It’s all on the other side. Meaning the East River. It's all on the East River. We still have another 28 minutes for fireworks to begin. Dennis is doing a very good job of keeping people from turning on to the block. I don't know how that Porsche got through, and at some point I will go back in the house… and the rest of the evening will commence. And then all these same people will go home and there will be more crazy traffic on our block. I mean, listen, part of me wants to walk down the Boulevard East, too, but I don't think I would enjoy it. I'll be honest with you. I don't I mean, I would just be comparing it to the years when they were exploding directly above your head. And it was the most remarkable feeling, the sound, the way the sound would hit you. And this is why fireworks on television just blow. The only thing worse would be fireworks on the radio. This is Chris T. And even though I may not be doing Aerial View – live Aerial Views – as often as I was, it would be nice to get some audio out there somehow. And I think I'm going to just publish this on my Substack and it'll be something like a little lagniappe, a treat, an extra little treat. For those of you who have stuck with me. I would like to grow this audience, by the way. So if you think you know anybody who would enjoy NIHILISTIC on Substack, please share an edition with them, a post with them, share a link with them so that they can subscribe as well. It would be nice to get some more people. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.nihilisticbook.com