Free The Kill Riff by David J. Schow Page B

raising hell about record labeling, the PMRC and all that crap? 'Gasm was one of the first to put a warning label on their record."
        Lucas saw the sticker on the shrink-wrap of Pain Threshold .
         WARNING! This record contains music that has been SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN to pollute your precious bodily fluids, grow hair on your hands, kill your goldfish, and cause mass starvation in the Third World. If you subject yourself to this music, your soul will fry in hell forever, world without end, PLAY IT LOUD!!!
        "I mean, mommies across the country have got to protect their young'uns from stuff like 'Doncha Want To,' which is getting a lot of airplay. Very complex."
        Garris contorted his face and twisted his hands into arthritic claws, growling, "Want-cha-HUH! Need'ja-HUH! Gonna GETCHA! Oomph! Ack!" Then he faded back to normal. "This is timeless music for our age. 'Gasm moved from power pop to a grunt phase. Kind of like crossbreeding Black Sabbath with Ted Nugent. Godzilla meets Con Edison."
        "Jackal Reichmann," read Lucas from the personnel notes on the rear cover. "Percussion, assault and battery, machine gun. Tim Fozzetto, bass guitar and vegetables."
        "Videos on 'Gasm we've got. They stole a riff from the Plasmatics-nuking stuff for the cameras. Backing up their latest song by dynamiting a high school or flying a plane into a cliff. A cliff by the ocean, let's not forget art, now. They did a film, interspersing concert footage with shots of good old American boys blowing away Vietcong and El Salvadorans. It was released theatrically. Throw Down Your Arms . It isn't out on video yet." He winked at Lucas. "Except on bootleg."
        "What are you waiting for, a straight line?"
        Garris grinned his economy-sized grin again. "Forty-nine ninety-five. Go for it? I thought so. Now, after all the dust clears, we're left with Mr. Whip Hand himself. Gabriel Stannard, the incredibly photogenic rock and roll vocalist. The poor man's Robert Plant. That would be Plant in his Zep phase, of course."
        "Of course."
         - the vest is hooked into a flat spin. Kristen's eyes do not follow it-
        "Gabriel Stannard." Lucas' mouth tasted the name, tested it.
        "When he went solo, most of Whip Hand's audience went with him. He's set up a Rod Stewart-like personality subcult. An album per year, each album with a different backup band, each band with enough superstar cameos to guarantee it works. He gets billing under his own name only; it's in his contract. He even hired Electroshock to open for him on his last tour. Pass a little butter back to his old buddies, right?"
        "Just the keyboardist. Hardin."
        Another name.
        "Yeah. But he's tossed scraps to all his old band members since his split-off. There are plenty of videos on him, plus two albums. Pleased to Meet You in the Alley and Caught Unawares . Say, if you don't mind my asking, what's all your research for?"
        "Article," said Lucas without pausing. "One version goes to Parents magazine. The other goes to Gallery . The research also goes into a longer piece, middle-of-the-road, MOR, that'll get into Time , if I luck out."
        "A good version and a bad version. Pro and con. Time , huh?"
        "My title for Parents is 'Rock Corrupting Our Children-Myth, Cliche, or Reality?' For Gallery , it's 'Group Sex in Large Arenas.' "
        "And for Time ?"
        "I don't know. Something Time -like and bland." Lucas knew his answers did not have to be complex. Just convincing.
        "How about 'Rock's Bastard Family Trees'?" said Garris. "Or 'Music to Kill Yuppies By'?"
        "Not bad." Lucas made a big deal out of whipping out an index card and scribbling down titles. "If I use it, you'll get the thrill of seeing your name in itty-bitty letters where your family'll never spot it."
        "That's great," Garris said, sounding like Tony the Tiger.
        "You got a first