I was just at a lovely outdoor May Day party in Holyoke. While at this party I learned that my good friend Pat’s brother-in-law’s 70s punk rock band is called Unnatural Axe! Yes, that’s axe as in chop chop! He started the band in the 70s as a wee teenager in Dorchester (hence the cheesy teenage name of the band has lasted through the ages). Everyone knows that there is almost nothing cooler than punk rock, but to think that it’s 70s punk rock… well, there is nothing cooler than 70s punk rock.

So I asked Pat whether or not Richie (her brother-in-law) had a website for Unnatural Axe. She said no, but she was wrong! There is a lot of stuff about Unnatural Axe and I have been reading all about them since. The thing is that Richie and his family treated us to a nice Chinese dinner in New York (they were down in the city for Patriots Day weekend, too) just two weeks ago, so it feels weird to read about him in this light:

Rich had a pretty good beer buzz on, and at one point he veered left as Frank veered right, and just as physics teaches us that no two objects can occupy the same space at the same time, Richie ended up with a pretty bad split lip. Maybe his nose was bleeding too, it was hard to tell as his face just kinda exploded when that bass headstock made contact. So he keeps on singing, and after a half a minute or so he takes a slug of beer and realizes that the bottle is covered in blood. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t miss a beat. He smears blood and beer all over himself, takes a big shot of suds, tips his head back and spews it back out fountain style, like a whale blowing out of its spout except it’s beer and blood. Then, as the song climaxed, he takes a running leap from the stage, across the tiny “dance floor”, and hurls himself through the air and down the length of about three tables, smashing everything in his wake and landing just shy of Carter Alan’s lap. To his credit, Carter barely flinched. I’d never seen Iggy, but this was a cathartic experience along those lines. Suddenly it all made sense.

Yeah, nothing like that happened at the Golden Unicorn in Chinatown, although I kinda wish it had. Bring it on, Richie. Next time you play a gig, I’m there!

Miles broke the remote control and now I can’t turn off 90210.