the back to school issue

we don’t love to hate. we hate what we love.
Even our socks are screenprinted.
the
back to
school
issue
2006 AUSTIN
SHITTY LIMITS
SHI
volume 02
issue 03
SEPTEMBER 2006
VOL 02 ISSUE 03 SEPTEMBER 2006
we don’t love to hate. we hate what we love.
VITALS
CONTACT
Kip Hollingsworth
www.misprintmagazine.com
hollaback@misprintmagazine.com
www.myspace.com/misprintmag
Director of Small Capitals & Expert Numerals
Harvey Merrybottom
Director of Co-Conspiritories
Chadwick Pennyrich III
STYLING FOR BANDS, MUSIC VIDEOS, MAGAZINES, BOUTIQUES AND MORE... MYSPACE.COM/SOFTACTIONSTYLE
contact leyla: softactionstyle@gmail.com | photograph by courtney chavanell
Director of Visual Arts & Languages
The views expressed here are strictly those of the authors,
and do not represent the views of Misprint Magazine, which
is kind of weird because the ideas of author and entity are
actually entirely codependent of one another, but fuck it.
Send us your free shit!
Misprint Magazine
PO Box 303157
Austin, Texas 78703
For inquiries, kudos, hate mail and the rest,
e-mail Misprint at the above address.
LETTER TO THE DIRECTORS
EMAIL TO THE DIRECTORS
Hi, I just moved back to my hometown of
Austin after being in Maine for a year and
was wondering if you are hiring freelance
photographers...Attached is my resume, list
of references, and a couple of photographs.
Thanks, Wynn
Re: bewid
I am The Commander, our captor said,
leaning back in his chair and will be happily
blessed with the originals themselves!
Doors were slammed and Ljotur shouted
a command to the drivers.The brick palace
jogged into view ahead. Apparently not
all of the This was followed instantly by
the clanking of metal and the thud of
the wrists, crossed my arms with a single
spasmodic burst of effort most compact and
microminiaturized ones going. Bring them
back and There may be hope, Captain. If he
is not bonkers he might have seen as safe.
One of the guards dropped but the other
one, with a stronger neck, culture.
Director’s Response:
Hello, Wynn, thanks for your interest.
Unfortunately we spent our entire 3rd and
4th quarter budgets
ddgets on skinny imported
jeans. We also usually just steal photographs
from the Internet–you can find crazy stuff
on that thing. But if you can get a photo of a
debutante taking two shots of Jager off Mick
Jagger’s nipples at the Aquarium we’ll give
you a grillion dollars.
Director’s Response: Will Sheff, is that you?
A few words from the Director...
Austin, Texas
2821 San Jacinto Blvd,
(512) 477-4221
WELL, FALL HAS TECHNICALLY ARRIVED and there’s
a reason to celebrate: no more shitty summer issues
of Misprint. Is it just me or is Austin a fucking ghost
town June through August? Because what I learned
this summer is that every decent band disappears
and all that’s left is night after night of various DJ
crews and their dueling iPods.
Chadwick Pennyrich III
But now that it’s September we’ve got content
coming out of our ears and have no idea what to do
with it. If we had planned this out right we could
have milked it for
for, like, the rest of 2006. But nope,
instead you get it all blown in one spectacular issue.
This one’s got topics that Misprint knows all too
well, namely overwrought spectacles of live music
douchebaggotry, the state’s failing educational system
douchebaggotry
and getting completely bombed out of our skulls.
Also of note, Kip Hollingsworth is still hanging
around. The thing is, the last we heard from him in
the big city he was engaged in a cocaine decathlon
with K-Fed, Janice Dickinson, that dude from
Entourage and Charlie Rose. And the closed-circuit
camera installed at the NYC office doesn’t seem to be
working lately.
Cheers,
Chadwick Pennyrich III
How To Throw
Your Own Retrospective
The Misprint Guide
To Kindergarten
People in Austin work hard. And what better way to reward yourself after a few months – okay, a
few weeks – hard work then by throwing your own self-congratulatory party. But this is beyond the
typical ham-handed sixty-nining you’ll see at a CD release show or an outsider art opening. This is
a retrospective, a completely different animal altogether. Here’s how to throw the perfect one.
Misprint is always trying to do its part for the scene, and that includes ensuring a future
generation of hip douchebags to populate the Beauty Bars of tomorrow. So to all the hot moms out
there, we offer this handy little guide*. Think of it as some quality bonding time between you and
your spawn.
Lose the “C”
Decide What To Retrospekt
First of all, spell it as “retrospektive.” This is
much more northern European. You know, the
good part of Europe. Think sans-serif typefaces,
absinthe-soaked hermaphrodites and Nutella.
Also, words spelled with a “k” instead of a “c”
look much more rebellious and demonstrates
your bold disregard for the status quo, like
proper grammar and spelling.
That’s really your call, pal. What’s great is that
it can be anything. In fact, it would nice to break
out of Austin’s stale double fisting of art and
music. I promise, you show off your collection of
plastic convenience store bags you keep under
your kitchen sink and people will lose their shit.
I’m talking a Chronicle pick of the week.
Crayons taste good. Paste tastes better. But
beer is awesome.
Pornography is awesome and available for free
on the Internet.
Be nice to the shy, homely girls because they
always turn out hot and crazy in the sack.
Recess is an opportune time to start recruiting
for your future street-art collective.
Be Confident
At a regular art opening, you can always spot
the artist. He/she is usually wearing a formal
outfit paired with one “working class” item (like
dunks, a hoodie under a blazer or a slap bracelet)
to show that, while they may be making it in the
business world, they still represent “the street”
or whatever it is they say they are from. That is
why artists are complete wankers. When you
have your retrospektive, you wear a fucking suit.
Not an ironic thrift store suit, not a v-neck t-shirt
with a suit screenprint on it and not a track suit.
A suit.
Don’t think for a moment that throwing
your retrospektive makes you even slightly
vain or self-serving. The very definition of
“retrospective” means something along the lines
of “an event where you look back at what you
have done and honor yourself.” It appears to be
a pretty loaded word to begin with and the last
thing needed is for you to become apologetic or
second-guessing.
Act Important
Being confident comes from the inside, but
acting important comes from the outside. The
most crucial aspect of a retrospektive is that
it highlights a significant body of work or a
particularly epic length of time working, things
like the pressing of your 7” or your latest round
of drip drawings do not qualify as. So really,
you’re already two steps ahead of everyone else.
Dress Accordingly
Have Ephemera
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that
the biggest trend this fall will not be skinny
imported jeans or designer-colored blow...but
bookbinding. And it could not have happened
at a better time because you need some kind
of nice-looking ephemera to hand out to the
attendees. And really nothing holds a candle to
a personally-bound set of leaflets stitched into a
hard-back, calfskin cover. Leave the folded-over,
stapled booklets to the fucking amateurs.
Save your crayon drawings because if in 20
Ignore everything your teacher
eacher tells you. TThey
are always full of shit. Instead, listen to Iron
years you are moody, good-looking and in the
right circles you can hang that shit in an outsider Maiden and get a mohawk.
art gallery.
Everyone you meet on MySpace is either a
Don’t even worry about Red River because by
sexual predator or The Gin Blossoms.
the time you’re 14 it will have been leveled for a
Adults don’t understand why people listen to
mixed-use development.
Voxtrot either.
Master the classic typefaces early: Helvetica,
Gill Sans, Bodoni and Jenson.
Don’t ever start dating, ever. Casual sex is so
much better.
Start learning a foreign language now. You’ll be
first in line down the road to bang the exchange
student.
Don’t bother learning to play a musical
instrument because in the future all bands are
just going to be replaced by robots.
Making fun of girls is a sure-fire way to get
them to like you.
Start looking forward to your useless, cog-inthe-wheel service industry position now.
Commit your crimes early. For the next 10 years,
you can basically get away with anything.
*Director’s note: As a typographer, the use of the ironic
Kidsprint font in this article offends me to no end. If I wasn’t
so high on laudanum right now skulls would be busted. –CP3
The dudes take time away from
iChatting hot moms to give us the
download on their first tour as a
Barsuk-signed band.
we don’t love to hate. we hate what we love.
ADVERTISE!
Your hot ad.
Your hot
submission.
Misprint: So, how many moms have you
bagged on this tour so far?
What Made Milwaukee Famous: We’ve stayed
with some of our friend’s moms but the only
bagging going on was fighting over who got the
sleeping bags.
Have you sued Schlitz, since they stole
your band name for their slogan?
We have an army of attorneys who are lined
up with loaded pens. You work your ass off to
make good music and then lo and behold a beer
company comes along and tries to steal some of
your thunder by saying THEY made Milwaukee
famous! Does anyone in Texas even drink that
stuff? But we decided to make amends and put
down a case of their best to celebrate our new
relationship. The next morning we found out
where the band name “Hot Snakes” came from.
SUBMIT!
www.myspace.com/misprintmag
Milwaukee? Man, fuck that place.
If you do, wear a condom. I hear Laverne and
Shirley are spreading the clap like wildfire.
How does Charles Attal like his laundry done?
Medium well, with just a little touch of pink in the
middle.
I remember when your band sucked. What
happened?
Our drummer donned a mohawk and that made
everything better. What’s up with your magazine?
Does being the new guys on Barsuk mean
you have to open for Nada Surf?
While they are very “popular,” in truth we’ve all
voted to tour with our other label mates, Smoosh.
We think traveling around the country with 12
and 14 year old girls could really help bolster our
image. But we might end up touring with The Long
Winters instead because the thought of touring
with Smoosh scared our attorney.
continued next page
True or False: Every day I’m hustlin’, every
day I’m hustlin’?
What the hell are you crackers asking? With
a new record out, absolutely! Just go buy the
damn thing so the hustlin’ can stop.
Now that you guys have an image to
maintain, does this mean your bassist
doesn’t get to sing his crappy song
anymore?
Absolutely not, I mean, we still let our
keyboardist sing his, too.
How come the
bonus section of
your website only
has placeholder
text? Do you not
give a shit about
your fanbase?
We’re pretty sure
Misprint is the very
first to actually look at the bonus section...do
you guys just surf the web all day or something?
Don’t you guys have real jobs?
If you guys, ...And You Will Know Us By
The Trail of Dead, I Love You But I’ve
Chosen Darkness and For Those Who Know
all played on a bill together, that would be
a whole bunch of fucking words on one
poster. This is merely an observation.
Who cares? Kids need to read more books.
Who does more designer blow? You, John
Mayer or Macy Gray?
Not sure about the other two, but we’ve found 1
part Ajax to 58 parts cornstarch isn’t too caustic
and is a hell of a lot cheaper.
Do you all have matching cars?
We tried matching leopard print seat covers, but
then decided that cars are so passe. Matching
scooters is the way to go. But only Jeremy is
cool enough to own one.
At ACL Fest, you are playing against String
Cheese Incident and The Raconteurs. How
do feel about losing both your hippy and your
hipster audience? Who’s left?
It’s okay. We get paid regardless. It looks like we’ll
have to play to kids with good taste.
Only your frontman has a beard. Explain.
He lost his razor at a Motel 6 on our fall 2005 tour.
And finally, which celebrity mom are you
most looking forward to introducing to your
lil’ Milwaukee: Gweneth Paltrow, Nicole
Kidman or Goldie Hawn?
We already introduced and reintroduced ourselves
to Gweneth Paltrow last year at the ACL Arcade
Fire show at Stubb’s. We’d settle for one of the
other two – flip a coin, perhaps?
SXSW vs. ACL
Why both are equally lame.
In the past
past, we’ve called the Austin City Limits Festival an utter waste of time and the bastard child
of SXSW. So one may infer that Misprint has a giant boner for SXSW and a cooler-than-thou attitude
towards ACL. But this couldn’t be further from the truth because, upon further inspection, both still suck.
Both have megalomaniacal figureheads that
pound more ass in a week than most do in a
year. (Louis Black ; Charles Attal)
Both are fraught with powdery substances
that severely damage your senses. (low-grade
cocaine ; dirt)
Both have obnoxious parties that I never
seem to get invited to. (Fader ; Official ACL
Afterparty)
Both feature elderly, doddering headliners
that forget where they are and chase after
tinfoil. (Neil Young ; Tom Petty)
Both feature unbelievably-hyped bands
that sucked more balls than a lotto machine.
(Arctic Monkeys ; Gnarls Barkley)
Both temporarily prevent me from doing
activities I regularly enjoy. (drinking a $1
Long Island at The Co-Op Bar ; small-game
hunting in Zilker Park)
Both have their own brand of femme fatales
that must be avoided at all cost. (Suicide
Girls ; hot moms)
The price of my usual foodstuffs suddenly
triples. (A slice of Hoek’s pizza ; bottled water
water)
Both bring in very undesirable groups of
people. (British dudes with blazers ; yuppie
jocks from Round Rock)
Both feature crappy special editions of local
’zines. (Misprint ; Misprint)
The Handy ACL Band Rating Scale
Does anyone even know a hundred bands? As part of our coverage, Misprint sifted through the
line-up so you don’t have to. Here’s a handy legend to accompany our highlights (next page).
GNARLS BARKLEY
PHOENIX
These dudes’ first show, ever, was in a dirty little club called
Coachella. How the hell did this happen? The only difference
between Gnarls and the Arctic Monkeys is that the former
wear ridiculous costumes and the latter wear ridiculous
outfits. Bonus Misprint Guess: Gnarls Barkley’s costumes will
either be the 1972 New York Jets, The Lone Ranger and Tonto
or the Gallagher Brothers.
Rumor has it that the Democratic Party of
Texas had to lobby to get this band on the
lineup because, you know, they’re from
France. Weaving yourself through a protest
barricade of war-mongering Jesus freaks
to hear this confectionery pop music never
tasted so sweet.
TOM PETTY
One time while stuck at a light on
the I-35 feeder road a homeless man
walked up to my car window and said
I looked just like Tom “Freeballin” Petty
and that I should try to make money
impersonating him. He might as well
have said I should try impersonating
Andy Williams.
THE RANCONTEURS
Jack White’s zany decadence was getting to be too much for a duo,
so he managed to recruit a few dudes even uglier than him from some
Rock City cover band. Sane people everywhere should rejoice that
the cute boy/cute girl band concept running rampant in this country is
finally dead. So, against my better instinct, I’d take a jell-o shot with
him at the Coyote Ugly to celebrate.
WILLIE NELSON
BEN HARPER
A dude with full sleeve tattoos should really be less
of a pussy.
Willie is a 756-year old robot fueled by whiskey, biodiesel and marijuana. In spite or perhaps, because of
this, he’s constantly surrounded by the hottest college
girls on the planet who are willing to get naked in
exchange for one of his sweaty bandanas.
EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY
The fact that this band left town to write high school football fight songs and fabric softener jingles is a huge
bummer. Hey guys, if you’re reading this, LA is a silicone-tinged blight on the fabric of this nation. It sucks! Trade
in your headshots, move back to Austin and start killing it at Emo’s again! You can totally crash on my couch.
BLACK ANGELS
These hometown heroes bring the bearded
dronecore like Pearl brings the cheap buzz and
penchant for hitting on high school girls. Some
caveats: their sound translates much better when
it’s contained within the shitstained walls of a
Beerland or Emo’s. And they definitely look better
inside the dank club than they do at 2pm in the
afternoon on a hot sunny day.
LOS LONELY BOYS
You’d think the Los Lonely Boys would have learned a little
from being on tour with the Rolling Stones. Mick could land
his helicopter on the Congress Street bridge, dump six hooker
corpses into Town Lake and not even get a ticket. But JoJo
will probably miss the set when he gets busted for ganga
again by the APD, 90% of whom smoke weed themselves. I’m
sorry dude, but you blew it.
MURDER BY DEATH
Bloomington Indiana’s flavor of high-concept emo is about as pretentious as a homemade porno tape of Sufjan
Stevens being gangbanged by the Mars Volta. But they sing about zombies and know how to rock out, so I’m
going to have to back them.
IRON & WINE
NADA SURF
Nada Surf get so much hate all the time, and only because they wrote
an incredibly catchy and well-known song for the slacker generation.
Man, what were they thinking? But as each of their subsequent
albums were released they turned into the ultimate whipping boys
for the soul-patched cockgobblers at Pitchforkmedia. That is, until
SOUND Team came along.
STARS
The fact that this band is enjoying any success at all proves that hip kids are sheep.
MATISYAHU
Last time, he converted the hipsters. This
time he’s coming for the yuppies. He’s
even spanked the Beastie Boys like the little
bitches that they are. Even though he stole
his entire game from a throwaway gag in
an old Simpsons episode, Matisyahu is still
more genuine than, say, Princess Superstar.
This is the shit to see! A former porn star, known for taking it any which way but with a condom, found religion
and a backing gospel band to boot. Nothing brings the straight-hot gospel fiya like a woman scorned.
JOHN MAYER
John “Mom Slayer” Mayer may be the only man to give those What
Made Milwaukee Famous waifs a run for their money. Because
when he flashes his mom-friendly tats, it’s all over. Seriously, this
dudebro has a bigger stack of mom jeans than the denim section
at Talbots. Which is not hard to believe, because his eyes are like
hot fudge sundaes and his lips are like those floor cushion things
with the armrests. What an asshole.
CAT POWER
WOLF PARADE
This band is all about contrasts, and it starts with the name.
First, you’ve got the image of the lonely, melancholy wolf
juxtaposed with the jubilant crowd in a parade. Second, there
are two alternating, dynamic lead singers who... well, to be
honest they actually sound pretty much the same. And they
sing about the same bland crap. And come to think of it, I’ve
seen wolves at parades before, too. These dudes are wack.
THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS
SYLVIA ST. JAMES & THE GOSPEL STARS
Recent Austin transplant Sam Beam, who
chose our city because he wanted “to
gentrify the fuck out of east Austin” will
be playing his first major festival in his
adopted hometown. This dude’s beard is
so powerful he can draw in the Birkenstock
and the Vans crowds.
Get ready, because there are about fifteen
Canadians in this band and every one of them
is cute as a button, except that Destroyer
fellow. They bring the pop like our neighbors to
the north only can: calorie-free and completely
non-threatening.
Apparently she has been around as long as Fiona
Apple and is still just as boring. She was also too
stage- frightened to play the Lillith Fair.
THE SHINS
It’s too bad that their songs have now become the
soundtrack to my heartbreaking, yet fictional, soulsearching trip to New Jersey.
SOUTH AUSTIN JUG BAND
These boys are on fire! First they were Klosterman’s number one
pick from SXSW06, and with good reason: after too many years of
trite indie bullshitting, post-fey guitar mugging and laptop crotch
grabbing, people just want to see some beardos blowing on some
fucking jugs. Now they’re bringing it to a bazillion people on the
main stage. Get there early because all the scene girls will.
How Shit Works Beer
W
WALK
DOWN 6TH STREET on any Friday night
and you’ll see cultural diversity unrivaled
anywhere in Texas. Between the punks, the
rockers, the longhorns and the longhairs,
there’s one little thing tying them all together.
It sure as fuck is not the love of live music. It’s
the beer.
A thinly veiled attempt, disguised as journalism, to score more free promotional hogwash.
creepy dude who works at the coffeeshop every
time you want some Boone’s.
Brewing is simple, but there are a few caveats.
First and foremost, be sure that you are
drinking. Making beer sober is like watching live
music sober and should be avoided at all costs.
Second, although you are accustomed to abject
Kids have been getting fucked up on beers
squalor, it is imperative to keep the equipment
since the dawn of man. Early Christian
sterile. This ain’t Room 710, kids. Keep your
monks get a lot of credit for reviving the art of shit clean or your liquid art will turn into liquid
brewing around the time they instated the vow botulism.
of chastity. But the actual origins are far older. The brewing process is designed to create the
Archeologists discovered 3900-year-old emo
optimal liquid concoction for the yeast to shit
poetry written to honor Ninkasi <FIGURE 1>, out as much alcohol as possible without killing
the Sumerian goddess of brewing. And while
itself. In practice, it’s a lot like making tea. Boil
some may still have mixed feelings about the
the grains and malt to provide a sugary base for
Code of Hammurabi (that “Eye for an Eye”
the yeast. Add your hops and cook for another
thing is a touch agro), nearly everyone agrees
hour. Hops have antiseptic and preservative
with the Code’s call for the execution of any
properties which prevent the beer from tasting
bartender caught overcharging for beer or
like dirty gym socks or decomposing grain.
pouring weak. This would basically wipe out
There’s plenty of room to get creative. You can
all the barstaff on 6th Street.
put whatever you want in the kettle– cinnamon,
vanilla, live bees, amphetamines, motor oil and
so on. Let your beer reflect your personality. If
you’re an artsy fuck, add some Wormwood root.
If you don’t hallucinate, just keep drinking until
you see Van Gough. If you love your trees try
adding some old bong water. You probably won’t
get high, but it’s worth a shot.
But why even bother with downtown,
especially if you’re underage? You can easily
set up shop in your disused apartment kitchen
and make beer yourself. The equipment can
all be stolen from church: a few food-grade
5 gallon buckets and a boiling kettle. The
ingredients, yeast, grains, malt and hops, can
be bought legally and on the cheap from any
homebrew supply house. No more calling that
Free Shit We Got Heavy Metal Edition
The rest of the beer making process is the
fermentation. Let the whole mess cool and add
the live yeast culture. Then just leave the shit
alone for a couple of weeks and let it do its
thing. This is a good time to revisit the works
of Kierkegaard or say a few dozen Hail Marys,
because once your brew is ready you will be
getting brainfucked off beer three times as
strong as the Natty shit they have at the frats.
Mastodon
Blood Mountain
Isis
In the Absence of Truth
Atlanta’s Mastodon has long been on the bleeding
edge of redneck beardcore. Their new release,
Blood Mountain, has all the greasy southern
chops, surgical percussion and lyrics about
whaling you’ve come to expect. The fundamentals
remain the same, but they’ve just gotten way
gnarlier. It’s like the dudes in the band have let
their beards grow out and dread together into one
giant beard, forming a mythical four-headed beast
of merciless technical metal.
In 1999 or so the youth crew hardcore scene
imploded. Everyone finally realized that hockey
puck ear piercings, basketball jerseys and
punching people in the head are all pretty stupid.
Acoustic guitars, folky licks, and even a little
bit of pop gets mixed in with all the bellowing
and shredding. Mastodon is bringing back the
honest-to-God guitar solo, with some foot-on-theamp-stack rippers reminiscent of a heavy metal
Allman Brothers. The song “Capillarian Crest” has
some of the tightest speed metal guitar ever put
to tape, but it still manages to sound a little like
“Jessica.”
Taking a cue from ATL hip hop, Blood Mountain
features enough guest appearances to put Lil’ Jon
to shame. Cedric Bixter-Zavala, Josh Homme and
Neurosis’ Scott Kelly all stopped by the studio to
take barbiturates, do some fierce bong rips and
lay down some cuts.
The hip kids are going to love this one, but this is
not ironic metal. Blood Mountain is like Sherman’s
march to the sea: it burns farms, razes villages
and takes no prisoners. This is metal the way it’s
supposed to be: pungent, drunk and dirty.
Mercifully, most of the bands from that era
faded to obscurity. But Isis, who got their start
screaming metal to Boston hardcore kids,
managed to reinvent themselves. Isis is largely
responsible for the explosion of the pants-fouling
slow-metal sound. The blending of orchestral
post-rock and sludgy metal was a natural
progression, but Isis was the first band to make
metal records pretty enough for your Morrisseyloving girlfriend.
In the Absence of Truth is a dense, sprawling,
majestic trainwreck in the best possible way. This
album is all dynamics: 9 minute tracks evolving
through subtle changes. The overall effect is a
swirling and challenging record that deserves a
serious listen over a bottle of red.
Isis finally nailed the production. The doomy
parts sound like Satan’s wrath while all the girly
flourishes still reproduce perfectly. It’s also fun to
hear their growling Cookie Monster vocalist trying
to sing during the power ballads.
Send your free shit to:
Misprint Magazine
PO Box 303157
Austin, Texas 78703
Major: Fine Art
Major: Women’s Studies
Major: Radio, Television and Film
Major: GED
As hip as: Calling your romantic failures “PoMo.”
As hip as: Saying Ted Hughes is not so bad.
As hip as: Producing bunion medical study commercials.
As hip as: Drinking vodka and Ecto Cooler.
Comments: All artists suffer because of their creative
visions. Van Gogh dealt with constant failure and
rejection. Alcohol demonized Pollock his entire adult life.
For Basquiat it was drugs and homelessness. For you
it will be working as a hostess at IHOP because your
degree in art isn’t worth the ink it’s screenprinted with.
Comments: There’s really nothing deceiving about the
name of this major. You are studying women in history.
That is, women who have a history of hating men and,
sometimes, being total foxes. This same description
applies to your future classmates.
Comments: RTF is the study of media currently being
killed by the internet. This is a step up from music or
journalism which are already dead. If you’re considering
becoming an RTF wanker, I’d recommend dropping out
of college, spending your tuition on a BMX bike and
some anarchist books and hooking up with KAOS radio.
Throwing beer bottles at the FCC beats pouring coffee for
Linklater any day of the week.
Comments: So dropping out of high school as a
sophomore to join the road crew for Ratt seemed like a
good idea at the time. But twenty years and two neck
tattoos later, you’ve finally come around to realize that
in order to work at American Apparel you need that
high school diploma.
Rating:
Rating:
Rating:
Rating:
DON’T BE UNDECIDED.
GET YOUR ASS TO CLASS.
Major: Barber
Major: Software Engineer
Major: Hard Knocks
Major: Greek
As hip as: Mrs. Sweeny Todd’s meatpies at Casino El
Camino.
As hip as: Trying to meet women as a level 9 dark mage.
As hip as: Letting your chain hang only 23 inches.
As hip as: Tongue-swapping gooballs.
Comments: Do you love being surrounded by unshaven
and malodorous dudes? Then choose a career in computer
engineering! It’s like spending your 14-hour workday at
a florescent-lit metal show, except everyone wears flip
flops and sits in front of a computer rather than pounding
tallcans and throwing goatheads. They still talk about
Vikings and battle axes, but it’s only a reference to some
sweet online role-playing game.
Comments: Some old person once told me that half of
what you learn in college is outside the classroom. She
must have been talking about learning how to shoot
people with AK-47s, hand out beat downs, curb stomp
suckas and get bitchin’ tattoos of spider webs.
Comments: As the immortal Townes van Zandt once said,
“If you want good friends, it’s gonna cost you.” Welcome
to Greek life, an investment in Rophynal, homogenous,
gun-loving blondes and profound volumes of Icehouse
shortcans. Once you’re in, you’re in for life, so sit back and
enjoy that meaningless high-paying career. Just watch out,
because I heard that Sigma Chi makes you do all sorts of
gay stuff when you’re a pledge.
Comments: All my thesis work was on flattops, but I’m
still haunted by that C I got in my Mohawk class. I’ve
always suspected that a straight male stylist could reel
in tons of tail. But since they don’t exist any more than
a two-horned unicorn, this theory remains unproven.
Rating:
Rating:
Rating:
Rating:
Major: Gun Repair
LAME <---------------------------------------------------------> AWESOME
WE REALLY
SHOOK THE
PILLARS OF THIS
RATING SCALE
As hip as: Upon graduation, shooting Sally Struthers with your .22.
Comments: How the fuck do you break your gun? Austin is still the wild
west, after all. I suppose your aim might be a little off after a rough night
of pistowhipping scenesters trying to fight your way into the Britt Daniel
cocaine afterparty.
Snake Plissken
Dexter Reilly
Jack Burton
Rating Scale
Wyatt Earp
MacRready
Rating:
1. BD Riley’s
4. Kenny Luna’s Ivory Cat
7. Troubadour
Band: Pubcrawler
Lonestar: Real pubs don’t carry Lonestar. Get your
Highlife for $3.25, bitch.
Bathroom: Posh and graffiti-free.
Even though this place kind of looked like a
Bennigan’s, we were feeling it in a big way. The
house band wasn’t half bad; their fierce beards and
wicked drummer lent a little swagger to their pubdrunk fiddlecore. And the wholesome décor and the
lack of asymmetrical haircuts made the place feel
downright civilized.
Bonus Fact: Hey, WMMF: This is where the hot
moms are at!
Band: Kenny Luna
Lonestar: 80 shiny nickels.
Bathroom: Shared with The Lair.
Holy shit, dude. Every mom and dad in Round
Rock must have hired a sitter so they could
check out Kenny Luna and his asspro longhair
drummer belting out the Neil Diamond standards.
Of course, 20 years from now, I’m totally going
to get jazzed on piano covers of Franz Ferdinand
songs, so who am I to fucking judge?
Bonus Fact: Ivory Cat is really a secret over-40
euphemism for blow.
Band: Last Call Casualty
Lone Stars: $2.50 gets you a tall.
Bathroom: Only in the case of extreme gastrointestinal
distress.
Sweet Jebus. I swore I’d never come back to this bar
after the $7 Challenge. But here I was, in the prime
years of my life, listening to Lit covers played by a band
dressed like the non-union stunt doubles for Blink 182.
Bonus Fact: This place was going to charge us $5
cover each. This time we made out with the bouncer.
2. Darwin’s
Band: Bad Soul Brother
Lonestar: $2.75
Bathroom: Standard doorless stall. Shit at own risk.
Some wanker was on stage ejaculating all over
his 501’s, racked in the throes of a gnarly Clapton
solo. His guitar face looked like Yngwie Malmsteen
auditioning for a gay porno. Sadly, Austin’s shit-hot
beard trend only made it halfway to Darwin’s,
leaving it with the biggest collection of goatees and
chin pubes since Ozzfest 2003.
Bonus Fact: This shithole’s genes will probably not
be naturally selected for the next generation of bars.
3. The Lair
The plan was simple: to watch a band at every
single club with live music on 6th Street in a
single night. We left the comfortable confines
of Emo’s and Beerland on a full-mooned night to
venture into what for most Misprint readers is
uncharted territory. We believed we were on a
search for unheralded bands earning their artistic
chops, the hard-working dreamers playing for
the love; basically the essence of Texas rock
and roll. What we actually found was a night
of unspeakable masochism, eardrum mutilation
and profound alcohol abuse. Unfortunately, every
capital city has its slum, and for the live music
capital of the world, that slum is 6th Street.
Band: Lindsay Wynn Band
Lonestar: One 2-dollar bill.
Bathroom: 100% Shittable.
Being in a singer’s backing band could probably be
pretty sweet. Think James Brown or Springsteen.
But when your frontwoman only wants to do
Sublime or Jamiriquoi covers? In that case, you are
quite fucked. Let’s just say the dudes in this band
were really bummed out when we walked in. You
could just tell they were praying to get through their
set before anyone actually saw them onstage.
Bonus Fact: The Lair has a clean, spacious elevator
to do rails or have sex in.
5. Maggie Mae’s
Band: Oliver White Group
Lonestar: $2 Longnecks, red plastic cups available
upon request.
Bathroom: Just big enough for congratulatory
brojobs whenever the ‘Horns win.
Self-righteous, smarmy ‘zine writers have been
trashing this downtown institution for at least a
decade. The patio is plenty sweet. Too bad they
ruin it by piping in a closed circuit TV feed of the
bland, anemic Texan-Soundgarden-cowbell-fiasco
going on downstairs. But the band’s not to blame.
You could tell they were only in it for the burnt
orange ‘tang.
Bonus Fact: The ladies did not like my ironic tie.
6. Nuno’s
Band: Zach Perry
Lonestar: The world may never know.
Bathroom: One of Austin’s last unexplored
territories.
This place doesn’t believe in freedom of the press
since the bouncer wouldn’t waive the $2 cover. But
he was quick to look the other way for some girl
who made out with him. After some debate, we
decided it was not worth making out with some
Slim Shady knockoff with fingers full of sterling
silver to see a shitty cover band who, from the
street, appeared mildly retarded.
Bonus Fact: Nuno’s lost a guaranteed sale of 4
Lonestars by denying entry to the Misprint staff.
8. Dirty Dog
Band: Motionside
Lonestar: Does it even matter at this point?
Bathroom: Like shitting at the gates of hell.
At this point in the evening, I was wishing every rock
musician in the world could be struck dead. I wanted
to deafen myself just to be sure I never had to hear
another guitar. Even the alcohol didn’t work anymore,
because I might have been pissed out of my skull, but
that dude had a confederate flag sewed to his denim
vest and looked pretty serious about it.
Bonus Fact 1: The Dirty Dog has a permanent arm
wrestling table so you and your handjob buddies can
settle disputes over the three gnarly, amphetaminesnorting biker chicks at the bar.
Bonus Fact 2: There are snowboards hanging on the
wall for no fucking reason at all.
Bonus Fact 3: This is the worst bar in the entire world.
9. Bourbon Rocks
Band: The Bourbon Rocks House Band
Lonestar: $3.25. And test tube shots are not free.
Bathroom: Like a back alley during Mardi Gras.
I fucking love this place. As hilarious as it is to watch
the dorky college kids and Dell badgewearers dance
like pubescent middle schoolers, the douchebags in
the Bourbon Rocks band are really the only ones on
6th Street who still give a shit. It’s not about coked-up
artschoolers moaning into their bangs. Bourbon Rocks is
about conjuring your heroes (those heroes being E.L.O,
the J.Geils Band or Sir-Mix-a-Lot).
Bonus Fact: It is a Misprint staff ritual to down a Jager
test tube shot here before our issue release parties.
Misprint In History
The Smoking Ban, One Year Later
Words That
Should Be In My
Predictive Text
stache
EXACTLY ONE YEAR AGO, IN VOL 1 NO 3,
Misprint <FIG. 1> predicted nothing short of
the total elimination of the Austin scene as
we knew it. Unfortunately, that apocalyptic
vision did not come to pass and Austin was
stuck with another year of $3.25 lone stars,
witless stage banter and Kid Indie. Actually,
if the ban on indoor cigarette smoking has
taught us anything it’s that being able to
smoke inside your favorite bar really didn’t
make it that much better to begin with.
In fact, the
smoking ban
has led to an
increase in
real estate for
the local bars.
Did you know
that Mugshots
actually doubled
in size when
that abandoned
methadone
clinic out back
was turned into
the lovely patio you now enjoy? And all that
needed to be done was dump a bunch of huge
fucking rocks on top of the trashed pixie
sticks and light bulb pipes and steal the lawn
furniture from Caritas. Done and done.
Shockingly, none of the Austin bars that were
predicted to shut down, including Room 710
and Lovejoys, have. In fact, I’m writing this
article right now from inside 710, and the
electricity seems to be running just fine. Like
the last fans of nü-metal, they’ve held on for
dear life.
Another prediction that failed to pan out was
the so-called “Great Migration.” Did any of
those scared yuppies hiding in the suburbs
behind their copies of Texas Monthly start
flooding into downtown? Well, I haven’t run
into my bank teller shotgunning tallcans on
an amp at an Oklahomos show just yet. Come
to think of it, I run into the same old jackasses
I used to before the ban. Except now I see
them enjoying all smoke free Austin has to
offer at quality new (post-smoking ban) spots
like Red 7, The Hi-Lo or the Beauty Bar.
Sadly, some folks still look fondly back on that
temporary lift to the smoking ban. Nothing
said “I’m taking a stand for my rights” like
dancing to a chopped ‘n screwed mix of Sigor
Ros while smoking a menthol at Plush. Now,
when I find myself in a city that allows bar
patrons to smoke inside, I still go out front
anyway. I’m ashamed to admit, but it doesn’t
feel normal to smoke indoors anymore.
What does feel normal now is the new mixed
development being built on Red River. And
you know that place is going to be strictly
smoke free.
douchebaggotry
linklater
beardcore
sparkleberry
redrum
fuckstick
gentrification
pantone
bitches
pabst
nizzle
im breaking up the band
Just because
THEYʼRE too
cheap to print
in color, doesnʼt
mean you are!
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Gossip! Gossip! Gossip!
Hot on the heels of the Emo’s Lounge, the
Emo’s corporate conglomerate continues
its plot for global domination with the first
non-Austin franchise. In the very near future,
you will be able to visit an official Emo’s™ in
the lobby of some Las Vegas casino between
the Hard Rock Café and T.G.I. Friday’s.
Guilty Dave assured Misprint that this will
in no way dilute the Emo’s brand. No word
yet on how they’re going to find enough
bearded dudes and shitty tattoos to make it
a genuine Emo’s experience. Expect a convoy
of tanker trucks full of drug-tinged hipster
urine barreling through the Nevada desert
sometime soon.
----------------------------------------------------In other local club news, the short-lived
Velvet Spade is following on the heels of the
similarly ill-fated Caucus Club and closing
its doors. To open in its stead will be a
internet cafe/bar/venue laughably called The
Mohawk. Presumably, the Mohawk will cater
to inhabitants of the new condos going up
in place of the old ice factory, most of whom
have never even seen a Mohawk outside of
Crocodile Dundee.
----------------------------------------------------Rumors are flying about trouble in Beardville.
Insiders tell us that The Sword is breaking
up following this tour due to an irreconcilable
dispute involving Advanced Dungeons
and Dragons. It’s still unclear whether the
Clerics or the Paladins were at fault. They
were last spotted trying to settle their creative
differences at the arm-wrestling table over at
the Dirty Dog.
Austin politicians are considering adding
an extra day to the week so local bars can
host more lame DJ nights. Expect some hot
new DJ to start spinning an exclusive night
of Hungarian lute-core, chopped ’n screwed
sea chanteys and Neil Young bangers at a
neighborhood club near you.
----------------------------------------------------Bruce Dickenson fired up the Iron Maiden
tour plane and evacuated 200 fellow Brits
from war-torn Lebanon. Apparently, when
Bruce isn’t busy singing metal songs about
The Canterbury Tales, beating up Sharon
Osbourne or fencing at the Olympic level,
he’s found the time to get a multi-engine
certification and work as a commercial 747
pilot. A colleague says, “He was only too keen
to get involved and help. He has a strong
interest in the welfare of people caught up in
international conflicts and cares about what
is going on.” This proves once and for all that
Maiden fucking slays.
----------------------------------------------------Famed crunkster Bonecrusher just signed on
for the next installment of Celebrity Fit Club,
following in the footsteps of fellow Z-lister
Kip Winger. Reportedly, Bonecrusher “ain’t
never skeered,” even of losing a few pounds.
----------------------------------------------------Aside from all those domestic violence
citations, JoJo from the Los Lonely Boys got
busted for pot again. He really needs to invest
in a big bottle of Visine and one of those little
one-hitters that looks like a cigarette.
Slightly less crappy, but still crappy, names for The Mohawk (see above)
Club Fauxhawk
The Leasing Office
Bar Misprint
Nü Oslo
The Ugly Bar
The Brohawk
...And You Will Know Us
By Our Sweet New Bar
Emo’s V
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