ISSUE 129 | SEPTEMBER 2024 KIDDO: KRYSTI JOMÉI MR. YUK: JONNY DESTEFANO FOXGLOVE: JULIANNA BECKERT MERCURY: KAYVAN S. T. KHALATBARI CLEOPATRA CRISTIN COLVIN ANTIVENOM: MARK MOTHERSBAUGH FIRE CORAL: MEGAN ARENSON FRONT COVER: BRIAN SERWAY, XX121 - @BSERWAY BACK COVER: CAITLYN GRABENSTEIN, FACE OFF - @CULT.CLASS BOX JELLIES: BRIAN SERWAY, JORDAN DOLL, HAYDEN AUGUSTINE, DAVE DANZARA, JASON WHITE, JOEL TAGERT, RAY YOUNG CHU, BRIAN POLK, HANA ZITTEL, ERIK ROGERS, ERIC JOYNER, KID KOALA, ZAC DUNN, KATE RUSSELL, ERIN BARNES, NICK FLOOK, DANIEL 'DL' LANDES, AARON LOVETT, TOM MURPHY, MOON PATROL, CAITLYN GRABENSTEIN GILA MONSTERS: AMY SHAMBLEN, COLE BEE WILSON, WM. RANDAL PAINTER, BRET SMITH, DANIEL "SMURF" SHARNER, MATTHEW THERRIEN, LEIGHTON BUXMAN, JOE BLABLAZO, XANDER SMITH BROWN RECLUSES: MARIANO OREAMUNO, HANA ZITTEL, DS THORNBURG, PHIL GARZA, ZAC DUNN, MAGGIE D. FEDOROV, CRISTIN COLVIN, CONRAD FRANZEN, MARTY MANDRESH SUPPORT OUR FRIENDS AND BENEFACTORS: DENVER MUSEUM OF NATURE & SCIENCE, MEOW WOLF, MONKEY BARREL, MUTINY INFORMATION CAFE, ASTRO TOURS, OFF THE BOTTLE REFILL SHOP, BENNY BLANCO'S, COLORADO TATTOO CONVENTION & EXPO, COLORADO FESTIVAL OF HORROR, TOXOPLASMA ARTS FOLLOW US – IG: @BIRDY.MAGAZINE | FB: @BIRDYMAGAZINE BE IN BIRDY – ART + WORDS + COMEDY + ET CETERA: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONS MAILED SUBSCRIPTIONS + SINGLE & BACK ISSUES + MERCH: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOP ADVERTISE IN BIRDY + SUPPORT US + HELP US GROW: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACT-US BIRDY IS INTOXICATING, HANDLE WITH CARE MONTHLY ©2024 BIRDY MAGAZINE, DOUBLE, DOUBLE TOIL AND TROUBLE 1 JONNY DESTEFANO, COBRA
FAi R IE S: THE CAR E AnD NoT Pi SsING OFf oF BY JORDAN DOLL BEST OF BIRDY ISSUE 069 S ummer is gone. It jammed in on its wind surfer, had its bodacious way with us, and left us sticky and hungover by the swimming pool. It is only now in the percolating days of autumn that we can begin to heal. Here, within a cocoon of outerwear we can grow our strength and a nice layer of winter marbling against the changing of the seasons — for autumn can be a very dangerous time, and I’m not just talking flu shots and mold allergies. It is a time of shifting, a changing of the guard from light to dark, merry to mournful, warm to cold. It is a thin place between one state of existence and another. No. 129 Simply put, it’s fairy season. Now you’re probably thinking, Fairies?! Big whoop! They look pretty cute and harmless on TV, and movies, and the Tinkerbell burlesque fan art message board that is tearing my marriage apart. But I assure you, those aren’t the fairies I’m talking about. A few hundred years ago in medieval Europe, fairies were one of the more terrifying threats a person could encounter while traipsing through the wilderness of Gaul, Brittany or Saxony. Right up there with poison ivy and AMY SHAMBLEN
Romans. Because while some fairies were indeed kind and benevolent, others were cunning and avaricious, and almost all of them were considered incredibly dangerous. Most traditions agree there are two types of fairies. The nice ones, who are members of the Seelie Court, and the mean ones, who belong to the Unseelie Court. But whether you encounter a beautiful water nymph or a surly hobgoblin, to deal with a fairy is to court disaster. See, fairies have hundreds of little rules and they are almost always trying to trick you. Forget a piece of fairy etiquette or lose a guessing game to one and you are almost certainly going to be whisked away to the fairy world to dance forever until your feet fall off or some other such twisted fate. Seriously, one of their favorite things is to make people party until they die. Picked the wrong flower from the side of an enchanted stream? Oops! Now you’re doing keg stands for all eternity while a leprechaun spins house music. And that’s honestly just the tip of the pointy hat. Fairies love to steal babies and replace them with ravenous fairy babies called changelings. Fairies will sour a cow’s milk, make you become hopelessly lost in the forest, cause misfortune to shadow your every step or might just make you disappear altogether. Sometimes a fairy makes a human fall in love with them and then fuck off back to the fairy realm, leaving the person to wither away, pining for their fairy love until they die from that shit. Nobody should ever have to die that thirsty a death. So what are you supposed to do about them? Well respect is a huge thing with fairies and many people placate them with regular offerings of food and drink. If you do encounter o f th fir flk b l li Never break etiquette, ne in some sort of game, m Simpsons: Hit & Run. If you are out walking in a p appear, make sure to stee walking through the wood circle of mushrooms or flo Yep, fairy circle, walk aroun Fairies can be warded off with talismans of salt, homemade bread or pig iron (though they would likely see this as an insult) and can even be befuddled away if you wear your clothes inside out. Finally, it is said that fairies began to disappear from the world when humans started to try and make order out of it. As a result, fairies exist mostly in the spaces between these uniquely human demarcations. The border between one property and another for instance, or the stroke of midnight, or perhaps at a crossroads. But the very best time of year to encounter a fairy, is on the day that one season gives way to another, aka the fall equinox, aka September, 22, 2024. Now just because the equinox is coming up does not mean you should go looking for fairies! I know you probably heard that if you catch a fairy it has to grant you a wish, or if you catch a leprechaun it has to give you its gold, or if you catch 30 to a 100 pixies you can make sweet and tangy pixie preserves that, when eaten on toast, make you able to dunk. But trust me, it’s just not worth it. Unless you are really good at riddles. Like really, really good at riddles. In which case you need to email Werewolf Radar directly then meet me at the crossroads with a tennis racket and a beekeepers mask. Them preserves is as good as ours. Have questions about the paranormal? Send them to werewolfradarpod@gmail.com or on Twitter: @WerewolfRadar. It’s a big, weird world. Don’t be scared. Be Prepared. HAYDEN AUGUSTINE, FISHBOI 3
DAVE DANZARA, FASCINATING - @LOSTINTIMEDESIGNS
BY JOEL TAGERT | ART BY JASON WHITE For decades now we have been overcome with nostalgia. Our stories take place in a romanticized past, or a simplified present, or a future that looks curiously ancient, swords and spaceships side by side. We seem unable to conjure a plausible vision of what is to come, and maunder listlessly through dystopias and armageddons. We shrink from the future, sensing in technological development the likely inevitability of two possible outcomes: the destruction of humanity, or the rending of reality into an incomprehensible fluid. — Dr. Zara Deniz Maya leaned into the reflection, face and forehead swelling, body shrinking away to nothing. There was something disturbing to her about it, a too-apt visual metaphor. She had read the Bean was actually named Cloud Gate, which also could serve to describe the before-andafter of neuroport installation, romantically regarded. But really it was just a big funhouse mirror. Which was also fitting. No sooner had this thought passed than another figure loomed behind her, a long white face painted with a big red smile, a bright green derby hat three sizes too small perched on a bald pointy head. She spun around so fast she nearly fell into the Bean. “What was that?” her cousin Lauren said, looking incredulous. Because there was no one there, just the usual crowd of tourists. A middle-aged guy in bulky flannel and sunglasses lowered his camera. “I, I — I don’t know. I thought someone was there.” “I guess someone is. Lots of someones.” “No, I thought — never mind.” Lauren raised her eyebrows. “Girl, you are wound up tight, you know that? Need to get you a drink or a joint or something.” “Sure. Yeah, why not.” They walked to Miller’s Pub and sat in a dark booth. She ordered a beer and a reuben and then said she had to go to the bathroom. Once in the stall she put in her earbuds and said, “Ava?” No answer. “Ava? I need to talk to you. I need help. Come on, please.” A toilet paper roll squeaked in the next stall over and Maya paused her plea until its occupant had left. “Ava, I don’t know what I’m doing. I think something strange is happening.” She waited, but no answer came. In fact Ava hadn’t spoken to her since the operation, which was upsetting because her guardian AI had been a major factor in Maya agreeing to it in the first place. Since then she’d gone about her life, more or less, waiting, following a meager trail of clues that might conceivably lead to her daughter, gone these many years. She sighed, feeling tired and confused, rubbing at the back of her head where the implant was. But the procedure had left no scar and she might as well have imagined it. She went pee because she was sitting there already then got up to wash her hands. Maybe she should just go home. Back to Boise. Back to waiting tables and wondering what the hell had happened to her life. As she looked up at the mirror she noticed a spiderweb strung between the two hanging lights above the sink. WAIT, the threads read. Her jaw dropped. She was not imagining it. There was a word in the web, a sign in the spidersilk. As she watched, a largish black spider delicately highstepped from behind one lamp and began deconstructing the text, line by line, until it was just an ordinary web again. But it was a message — the first she’d had in over eight weeks. How had Ava done it? A robotic spider? No, of course not — it was the neuroport, the manipulation of her own optic nerve. “Feel better?” Lauren asked when she got back. “Yes, actually.” “Good, because you were gone about a year. Listen, we should go out dancing. Celebrate, you know? It’s been, like, years since we went out together. I bet if I call Raph and Pia they’ll come out too. Do they even know you’re here?” “No, I kept meaning to call them, but— ” “I’m calling them right now. We’re doing it.” “I really don’t want to.” They went back and forth on it, but it was still early in any case and they took an autocab back to the brownstone in Wicker Park that Lauren shared with her friends Nat and Amara. They smoked pot, they drank, and all the while Lauren’s thumbs were flying on her phone until the doorbell rang and Raph and Pia were there squealing Maya’s name. Shit, she hadn’t seen those two in a minute. Then Marisol showed up, and Lenny, and Serena and Xan, and suddenly it was like half their old crew was there, and it was a party after all and Maya was wondering why she’d been so damn tense. You know why. Her baby girl, gone in a whirl of lights. But Maya deserved her own life. They danced in the kitchen, and Xan was giving her appreciative looks, asking her where she lived, joking and flirting. She turned, liking the feeling of his height behind her, and opened her eyes to the reflection in the kitchen window. The clown was behind her, holding a balloon. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, it said. His eyes were the same yellow as his teeth. She lurched for the door. Outside night had fallen. A bat flitted across the light above the door. She peered into the corners of the little backyard, stood on her tiptoes to peer over the fence. Xan had followed her. “Hey, you okay? You just like, ran out of there.” “I’m fine. Sorry. I just suddenly felt sick. Thought I might throw up.” 7
“Want me to get you anything? Glass of water?” It would get him out of her face for a minute. “Sure. A glass of water would be great.” She thought about just ditching, but where would she go? She turned to sit down at a little patio table but a bat swooped down in front of her face and then — hovered there, flapping its wings. She stepped back. She was sure bats weren’t capable of hovering, but this one was stubbornly hanging where it was. “Ava?” “Yes, it’s me.” The bat opened its mouth and made a weirdly electronic beeping sound (was that how bats normally sounded?), but Maya heard the AI’s voice in her ears as though she were wearing earbuds. Like the little beastie was throwing its voice. “Listen, you’re in danger. You’ve come to the attention of a minor power, a daemon named Fiddlywink. He’s looking for you. I think probably he’s working for someone else, and we need to find out who.” “What are you talking about?” Maya said, in a voice nearly as squeaky as the bat’s. “How are you a bat? How is this real?” “You need to stop thinking in terms of real and unreal. They’re not useful concepts to you anymore. Now listen. Fiddlywink is going to catch you, but I’m going to help you deal with him. Okay?” “Okay. Sure, why not.” “Good. Hold still.” The bat dove forward and latched onto her neck. It took every bit of control for Maya not to smash it, but in three seconds the bat was off her and hovering again. “Good,” it said. “When he comes, follow your instincts. And remember, we need to find out who he serves. Ask him who his master is.” Maya had fallen to a crouch, hand at her neck, tears in her eyes, but she nodded. The screen door squealed open. “Here’s your water,” Xan said. “Thanks,” she muttered, and looked at her hand. A few drops of scarlet there. “Are you bleeding?” he asked, newly concerned. “What happened?” “It’s just a scratch. I walked into a branch. Listen, could you get me a Band-Aid? Sorry, I’m kind of a mess tonight.” “Yeah, no problem, be right back.” As soon as he closed the door she went out the back gate. She didn’t have a plan, she just needed to move. She felt the impulse to run and gave into it. If her friends saw her sprinting away they’d think she was crazy, but moving felt good, even with the drinks she’d had. She didn’t go far, maybe eight blocks before she slowed to a walk. More brownstones, a liquor store visible a block away as she crossed the street. The moon above late summer leaves. She turned the corner and Fiddlywink was waiting, grinning his yellow grin and waving a gloved hand at her. She turned and ran, but from behind her she heard his voice, which seemed to come from a great distance, like a scratchy phonograph heard through a wall. “Fee, fi, fo fum, Tweedly dee and a rum tum tum, Peek-a-boo and out I come, Biddy biddy bum, biddy biddy bum!” She turned toward the liquor store she’d seen, but made it not half a block before Fiddlywink floated out from behind a dumpster, still singing: No. 129 “Fiddle dee dee, fiddle dee doo, Fiddlywink wants a new chew-chew, Bibbity, bobbity, boo, boohoo, Chippity choppity you, yoohoo!” She turned again, down the alley, blindly, going anywhere, nowhere. She went three steps and Fiddlywink popped up like a jack-in-the-box, right out of the pavement, and seized her upper arms in his enormous gloved hands, squeezing hard, lifting her into the air. He grinned with carious teeth, grinned wider than anyone could grin. “Rub a dub dub,” he said, “tub full of blood.” She screamed, and felt something change in her. With sudden strength she twisted free of his grip and clawed at his face. Long slashes opened on his doughy visage, weirdly pink blood flying, and she slashed at him again, then grabbed him by his polka-dotted outfit and threw him to the ground. He should have been heavy, by his look and height he must have weighed two-fifty easy, but she tossed him down and held him there by the throat. Her body felt on fire, like she was glowing, like she could have thrown a building down as easily. And, she realized, she was hungry — ravenous, actually — his blood smelled sweet — Ask him who his master is. So she did, in a voice she barely recognized, something feral. Fiddlywink’s smile was tremulous, yellow eyes twisting side to side, but he didn’t hold out. “Hey diddle diddle, girl with a riddle, Fiddlywink sings the tune. The cat starts to laugh, the mouse feels the wrath, And the Archon swallows the moon.” He started to giggle, but she tore out his throat with her teeth. His blood tasted like cotton candy. By the time she was done his body was starting to soften, to melt away like cheap ice cream. She turned and a glowing portal opened in the street. Out stepped a small figure, childlike, with bug-eyed lenses and a head-to-toe covering that she knew to be a spacesuit, more or less. She was already numb and beyond surprise, but even aside from the events of the past half hour, she’d met cytobytes before. “What did she do to me?” she asked this one, aggressively advancing. “Vampire mod,” it answered. “I think she was improvising.” “Is it permanent?” “Nothing’s permanent. You’ll learn.”
MARK MOTHERSBAUGH HOLDING ISSUE 027 AT SXSW - MARCH 2016
MARK MOTHERSBAUGH, FROM THE POSTCARD DIARIES - JUNE 14, 2024 11
RAY YOUNG CHU, PROS AND CONS JUST SO YOU KNOW, THIS LETTER WOULD HAVE BEEN TEAR-STAINED IF IT WASN’T WRITTEN DIGITALLY (AND OTHER FUN FACTS ABOUT HOW SAD MY LIFE IS) BY BRIAN POLK HAVE YOU EVER APOLOGIZED FOR SOME TERRIBLE THING YOU DID MORE THAN A DECADE AGO, AND THE PERSON YOU APOLOGIZED TO DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER IT? Like most other humans navigating the hellscape we call life, I find myself staying up nights and dwelling on incidents that happened many years ago. Then I feel awful for how I behaved and subsequently engage in hours of self-recrimination. A few times, I even reached out to the person I wronged and apologized — and every time they either had absolutely no clue what I was talking about, or it just wasn’t that big of a deal to them. So imagine my reaction when I realized I had been feeling shitty about an event that only survived in my own head! I think that’s indicative of the human experience — our personal pasts live larger in our own memories than they do in the memories of others. It reminded me of that Samuel Johnson quote: “If any man would consider how little he dwells upon the condition of others, he would learn how little the attention of others is attracted by himself.” Sing it, brother! WHENEVER GOD SEES A PUG, DO YOU THINK HE WONDERS WHY HUMANS WOULD GO AND DO THAT TO A WOLF? Poor pugs. Through no fault of their own, life sure isn’t easy for them. No. 129 From obstructed breathing due to brachycephaly, to shortened life expectancy, their existence here on earth is mostly burdened with one struggle after the next. A far cry from their ancient wolf ancestors, who got along in nature just fine, the pug needs constant human care to even have a chance. Hence, I could see a vengeful God getting pretty upset with our unique pug creations. “I created the majestic wolf, and THIS is what you did to it?” he’d say. “The poor thing can’t even give birth properly.” You know, I often criticize the Old Testament God for killing the entire population of earth in the Great Flood, but there are times when I get it. GROWING UP, THEY TOLD ME CRIME DOESN’T PAY, BUT NEITHER DOES WORKING, SO WHAT THE FUCK? As far as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster. Well, that’s not exactly true. While I did enjoy watching Goodfellas and various other gangster-related movies, I didn’t have the opportunity to join any gangs, since there weren’t any gangsters where I grew up. Had there been, I definitely would have strongly considered such a lifestyle. I can imagine it now: during my 20s and 30s, I would’ve spent my
time committing racketeering, extortion, and tax fraud by day, and attending the most exclusive booze- and drug-fueled parties by night. Since I came by my money so easily by ripping off the rich, I would’ve tipped everyone generously — especially the working slubs who rely off such gratuities to barely eke out a living. I would’ve almost overdosed a few times by getting high on my own supply, as they say, but they’d serve as wake-up calls to slow down a little. Then in my early 40s, some rat would’ve pointed to me in a courtroom for some transgression, and all of a sudden I’d have been serving seven to 10 years at a penitentiary upstate somewhere. While some days I’d have had regrets, I would’ve never forgotten the good times — not even sadistic security guards or other terrible inmates could’ve taken that away from me. Soon, I would’ve served my time, got out on parole, and tried to put the criminal lifestyle behind me. Of course, I would’ve slowly but surely realized that working for a living afforded even less dignity than I’d had in the clink. And I would’ve found myself slipping back into my old ways — reestablishing connections to the underworld and committing all the crimes that landed me in jail in the first place. After spending several more years doing a lot of crime and partying my ass off when I wasn’t off stealing shit, I would’ve died violently some time in my late 50s or early 60s — killed either by the gun of a jealous lover or some kind of law enforcement type. And that would’ve been much better than the retirement plan I have now. Also, at least a life of crime would have afforded me some good times where the cash and drugs flowed and I felt like I was on top of the world. There are no such good times now. I spend all my waking hours working for money that I already owe to creditors. I never get ahead. If I buy concert tickets one month, I eat ramen all through the next. Every pathway through this life is a deadend. I drew the short straw — like so many of us did. We all played by the rules and we still didn’t even come close to winning. When they told me as a boy, “Crime doesn’t pay,” they never said, “Neither does working.” Nor did they say, “Crime occasionally pays, but in the long run, you’ll end up dying some time in your late 50s or early 60s. But you know, at least you’ll have a lot of fun and be able to afford some of the nicer things in life. And you’ll get to taste the sweet nectar that is dignity — which is something you’ll never get working 9-5. So weigh the pros and cons of embarking upon a criminal career, and make your decision accordingly.” I just wish they’d been a little more honest is all. “… I SAID ALOUD TO MYSELF IN A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE.” Sometimes during bouts of drunkenness when I think I’m a genius, I write down my ideas. Then I’ll look at them again when I’m sober, and realize that drunk me must be some kind of fucking idiot. The title of this entry is proof of this. How did I ever laugh at that? I WONDER IF ANYONE HAS EVER BROKEN BOTH OF THEIR FINGERS IN A MINISKATEBOARDING ACCIDENT I’ve definitely seen people break both their legs in actual skateboarding accidents. And I imagine mini-skateboarders wipeout all the time. But even if they didn’t break their fingers, I bet someone, somewhere had to go to the emergency room after wrecking their mini-board. And I imagine everyone in the emergency room that day had themselves a nice laugh. 13
z Pink Slime By Fernanda Trías, Translated by Heather Cleary (2024) In an era that might seem overwhelmed with plague, epidemic and contagious disease, fiction and reality, Fernanda Trías puts her twist on the genre in her second novel translated into English, Pink Slime. A toxic algae bloom is decimating the environment, resulting in a red wind that blows in from the water on the coast, sickening and killing anyone in its path. “It’s like they’re being … skinned alive. The other day I had to drive one. Left the seat full of flakes, like dandruff, you know? Dry, white, sort of transparent. The wind peels them right down to the muscle.” As people move further and further inland to escape the wind, an unnamed narrator remains among those who refuse or don’t have the means to move. Tending to her slowly disintegrating relationships, she visits her mother and brings her food, working to mend their relationship, not as easily triggered by her controlling nature or disparaging comments about her choices since the epidemic started. She regularly lingers at the clinic her ex-husband is relegated to, after he, maybe willingly, walked into the wind on purpose. She nannies a young boy, dropped off by his inlandliving, wealthy parents, who suffers from a genetic ailment that never allows him to stop eating. His insatiable hunger is so burdensome for his family that they return him to the dangerous coast to be rid of him for stretches of time. Beyond the toxic wind, another ominous horror plagues this town. A large meat-processing plant that churns out a “pink slime” called Meatrite, that residents who can’t afford otherwise, are forced to subsist on. This factory and its products are intertwined with the jobs, lives and families of everyone on the coast, alluding to a connection between the algae and the horror of the facilities where the “pink slime” is created. Trías does an elegant job of making a horrifying plague novel feel like an examination of our relationships and how our minds tie to a sense of place, even when we know we need to move on. Graphic and moody, Pink Slime is an atmospheric and introspective take on the plague and pandemic fiction genre. Trías’ first novel translated into English, The Rooftop, was released in 2001. Ephemera: A Memoir by Briana Loewinsohn (2023) Muted watercolor and textured pages make up Briana Loewinsohn’s melancholy graphic memoir about growing up with a mother haunted by a deep sadness. Organized by the concerns of the gardener — dirt, water, light — Loewinsohn remembers a childhood spent longing for her mother and the grief of wondering why she and her brother were not enough. She reflects on trying to connect with her and reconciling memories against the only thing that seemed to make her mother happy: spending time with plants in the garden. Ephemera is a heartbreaking memory of childhood, and the way Loewinsohn moves through this reflection is expressed through a beautifully sorrowful poem and delicate illustration rooted in nature. A subtle graphic memoir, Ephemera is dark, beautiful and an ode to the complexity of memory and love. No. 129 By Hana Zittel
ERIK ROGERS - BEST OF BIRDY 044 & 049 15
ERIC JOYNER, INVISIBLE FORCE - ERICJOYNER.COM
No. 129
The flock stalk in fluctuations upon Filthy porous surfaces of perverse waste, While fancy footwear clamoring by in flippant haste, Tasting morsels of refuse we use to lose contents that make sense to rinse twice and cut once prior to exposure to flames and pearly whites … Atop the KING’s coop on STAR ST. — who would rule over the high point of this island’s spread and said words on the ROOF — a young fighter named IRON MIKE was said to have come to my block many times to hold court with the KING. He would travel from BROWNSVILLE as many others would from all corners to seek his counsel and behold his sublime brood. This KING has mostly returned as OBI-WAN did in pure SUBMISSION TO THE FORCE. But of course he could be still ticking and kicking out on VAN SICLEN AVE and FAR ROCK watching old shows on transistor tube sets that the orderly’s unplug but he always RESETS. The scene will play the SKY and NEWS and perhaps HERRIOT will turn up with an extra tub of apple sauce and speak of LADY SING THE BLUES. And orthopedic shoes play taps on LINOLEUM BASS DRUMS as whistling one-eye ELLE DRIVERS pile up higher than Bill’s families of folks still alive and empty out pockets and HEARTS. BUT ALIVE OR IN REST, the crown upon STAR ST. that RAY speaks to me of is a BIRD FLU of good news. As he understands, I too am a pigeon who struts and pecks to pick up SPEX I spit back into peeping baby bird’s peeping hungry beaks, as the HOBO JUNGLE slithers like an AMOEBA afloat upon the PACIFIC expanse of endless liquid continuity from TONGA to PERTH to TASMANIA and NOME … where the woman eat SEALS and speak with EYE LIDS that gives subtle nuance to the dance to avoid the POLAR BEAR upon the ARTIC HEATH. The rains drops fall as we all remember a lad who was too mad and bad to stay in his coop and came to be set free by the KING here. It’s hard to say when last his feet stood upon that roof and asked his majesty of the LONELY PIGEON who was ready to be set free too. As the KING would always allow his folk to choose and never use a noose longer then his fingers could cast the FEED. For a kindly man named CUS D'AMATO had seen a thing in this lad he had to BET THE FARM on and allow this ruff tuff to breathe fresh air under a starry sky so far from the BRICK and CRIME. To become a legend and ascend a throne only a villain could seek or ever own. SAY HI TO THE BAD GUY. As the gavel smacks the stand and all RISE and EXHALE. A pigeon would be only as free as its belly of fuel will allow its wings to sing songs that claws use to mock the earth below. So into another COOP and another RISE and FALL and REDEMPTION of ALL. Our eyes wander to the clouds and 747s slip by every 30 seconds of so. Perhaps his laps will lead him one day to return to the ROOF and place where he was allowed to behold the KING’S court … WARBLERS are urban PIGEON KEEPERS … keepers of wings create most disdain but remain as NEW YORK as PIZZA, BAGELS, BOOBIES and CRACK. (In humble honor of the WARBLERS of NEW YORK and the mythical KING of this small faith who a young IRON MIKE TYSON was said to visit often. Mike would have been quite young but to bless our block with his heart and that of the respect for protecting our discarded scraps the LONELY PIGEON collects and shares with its friends … ) 5:23 YARDIE HOD OGE 8.9.24.000003 FOLLOW FOR MORE — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @SAVAGESNEVERSLEEPNYC 19
ANGEL ELOC A DIVINE PEEK INTO ONE OF THE BIGGEST INSTALLATIONS AT THE UPCOMING MEOW WOLF HOUSTON BY ERIN BARNES | CHARACTERS BY COLE BEE WILSON | PHOTOS BY KATE RUSSELL The iconography of cowboy culture unfolds into vast vistas of possibility and freedom … Plus some pretty excellent boots. Western style and its corresponding hats, spurs and chaps are experiencing a moment in pop culture: Beyoncé released her wildly popular Cowboy Carter album, and artists like Orville Peck have been breathing new life into the classic Western archetype for some years. Being a lonesome cowboy can come with a lot of heartbreak, and not just the kind when your woman leaves you and your truck dies. It’s the kind of heartbreak of growing up in a culture that you love that doesn’t love you back. Maybe you’re artistic, indoorsy, sensitive, neurodivergent, queer, or just plain strange. Meow Wolf senior artist Cole Bee Wilson understands this push and pull. A fifth generation Texan, he grew up between San Antonio and Bandera, TX doing idyllic cowboy things on his grandparents’ cattle ranch: driving trucks, riding horses and working side-by-side with his grandpa. He now regularly volunteers on a cattle ranch in the Galisteo Basin outside Santa Fe, NM and still loves everything that comes with the lifestyle, including its culture and music. I met with him at Citizens Of Montrose, a welcoming coffee spot in Houston’s hip, artistic, queer neighborhood to learn more about the installation. Over breakfast Wilson told me, “Country music is one of the only types of music where you can be poetic and corny and tragic and funny all at the same time in the span of two minutes and 30 seconds.” The mythos of the honky tonk watering hole is like an oasis in the desert of the soul … and Wilson wants to create one where everyone No. 129 is welcome. That’s where Cowboix Hevvven, “a liminal, afterlife, purgatory, honky tonk, dive bar for angels, demons, aliens, space/time travelers and various other weirdos of the cowboix variety,” comes in (pulled from a concept statement by the artist). Wilson is Lead Artist and Creative Director on this immersive and interactive art installation, which will feature a functioning bar and restaurant in the upcoming Houston Meow Wolf exhibition. Wilson continued in the statement, “Cowboix Hevvven is an interdimensional pocket where the divine and profane coexist and fluctuate with ease. Cowboix Hevvven is an ACTUAL FUNCTIONING bar that serves tasty dive bar food and beverages, based on the hole-in-thewall honky tonk dives and dance halls of Central Texas such as Sam’s Town Point, Longhorn Tavern, The Lonesome Rose, and Lola’s Depot. Batsy is the owner of this notable pitstop for queer weirdo free ramblin’ rodeo heads of the afterlife and beyond. Each colorful character has a rich, long and sometimes lonesome tale to tell: devilish days of glitz and glamour, and the dizzying heights of honky tonk angels. There’s a seat at the bar for all y’all here in Cowboix Hevvven.” “Cowboix” is spelled as such so that anyone can be a cowboix. And everyone, I mean every type of being in every type of existence, is here. The colorful cast of interdimensional angels and demons each have involved backstories revealing trysts, gambling debts and polycules. Batsy, an ancient and powerful demi-god, has transitioned from being worshiped as one of the most powerful beings in the universe to a relaxed bar owner. Together with her partner, Angel, they’ve turned a
GILBERT “WACO” MACO CISCO GOLDY MOODY RAINBOWS DILLY MATT KING ♥ rundown Texas tavern into a lively haven for all manner of beings, making every night an unforgettable celebration for the past 37 years. Recently, they’ve welcomed Cisco into their joyous companionship. Angel is an ageless, genderless divine being of light, capable of taking many forms, but often appears as a translucent, glowing humanoid. In Cowboix Hevvven, being trans goes beyond gender, but also time and space — a multidimensional spectrum of existence. Angel is a fifth-dimensional entity whose magical pedal steel playing has enchanted audiences since they met Batsy in the ‘70s, creating a perfect balance of dark and light in their eternal love. There are also depression demons that represent the sadness in country music and our own hearts (the character Eloc, a portrait of Wilson’s grief that cries into its beer); old timer Humanoid armadillos, a half Human half Glitzian adjoined entity, a sentient clod of unlucky mud, a literal pool shark that will talk smack about your shoddy pool playing, and a fiery mega country superstar who had everything in the world but walked offstage one day to return to the simplicity of the dive bar. Most poignantly, there is a rainbow angel that represents the beloved late co-founder of Meow Wolf, Matt King. Wilson was close to King — and like many Meow Wolf artists, he wanted to immortalize his friend in this hauntingly striking statue that radiates with glowing light. None of the characters are on one side of a strict binary between good and evil; all of them are somewhere on the spectrum, just figuring things out. Wilson described the scene, “every day is the same Friday night, one stroke ‘til midnight.” It begs the question, even if you’re stuck in an endless party, does it feel like a trap? Cowboix Hevvven’s otherworldly qualities are balanced by its real dive bar charms, as it features an interactive pool table, a photo booth and a jukebox that plays music created by Wilson as well as 30 songs licensed by Texas musicians. It will open with the rest of the Houston exhibition with a full menu, and entry will only be available to those purchasing Meow Wolf tickets. The collaborative work of many artists went into this installation, including a dedicated team of production managers, fabricators, tech installers, CAD designers and more. Lead artists who worked on Cowboix Hevvven include Jaelah Kuehmichel, Max Cohn, Sofia Howard, Caity Kennedy, Karen Lembke, Cat Mills-Flegal, Emilio Pincheira, Elana Schwartz, Wylla Skye, Zach Sawan, Charlotte Thurman, Enoch Mcpherson, Chris Hilson and Jess Webb. There’s an expected curiosity around Texans’ reception towards this playful exploration of the cowboy archetype. Certainly there will be many folks for whom this welcoming space is sorely needed. Wilson joyfully explained, “For every person, the invitation stands … and we will be there at Cowboix Hevvven to greet you with love and grace.” STAY TUNED FOR THE OPENING OF MEOW WOLF HOUSTON, TX WHERE YOU CAN SEE COWBOIX HEVVVEN & MORE: MEOWWOLF.COM/VISIT/HOUSTON CHECK OUT MEOW WOLF'S OTHER PORTALS NEAR YOU: CONVERGENCE STATION IN DENVER, CO; HOUSE OF ETERNAL RETURN IN SANTA FE, NM; OMEGA MART IN LAS VEGAS, NV; THE REAL UNREAL IN GRAPEVINE, TX; AND COMING SOON ... LOS ANGELES, CA! — MEOWWOLF.COM/VISIT 21
NICK FLOOK, HIDEAWAY - @FLOOKO
Jealous Sunbeams A long steady gaze at nothing in particular is better than prayer. A slow walk, side by side with a friend in silence, is a dream within a dream. Life does not pass quickly when you move at earth speed. Spend an entire day traveling the same distance as a roly-polly or an ant. Do as little as possible to see what you attract. Now do even less. • Jealousy exists in sunbeams. Clouds carry the frequency of avarice. All rivers lead to the lowest point. Where would I have to sit to be at peace with the state of the world as it is right now? • In a car with a cracked windshield I cross the country to escape myself. Pulling into truck stops every few hundred miles to purchase gas and check the oil; I also attempt to buy some kind of escape: erotic massages, donuts, lottery tickets. I’m aware these entry level addictions would get me laughed out of a NA circle but they cause me enough distraction to prevent me from liking myself, or even knowing myself. With each stop, I hope to feel a warmth; like my mother’s touch, an accolade from my father. Perhaps by desiring sex, fat, salt and sugar I seek to be desired in return. My deepest desire is to be desired. Unfortunately, the feeling I’m searching for never comes, or at least it never lasts. These experiences only deepen my shallowness. When they don’t deliver what I so desperately need, I feel waves of shame and promise myself to change my behavior; to make healthier choices moving forward. Making a mantra of the promise, ‘Never again. Never again,’ I repeat this over and over for miles until the shame abates opening cracks for the cravings to crawl in again. I spend hours driving down the highway trying to convince myself the next stop will be different. Of course it never is. Who is the ‘I’ that is doing the convincing and who is the ‘myself’ that needs convincing? This thought begins to break the shame/reward cycle I’ve been stuck in for decades. Why are there two parts of me? Where do the I and the myself reside in my body? In a molecule? A cell? The mind? The soul? The battle between I and myself leaves me exhausted. The relentless shadows overwhelm my best intentions. With no more left to give this fight, I pull over on a road with no name outside of a town I can’t remember. The moonless night is humid and full of insects. Whatever for Alicia Cardenas BY DAN ‘DL’ LANDES disease I carry has become too heavy to travel any further. Incapable of a full satisfying breath I wheeze closer and closer to panic. My joints ache with inflammation. “Who is to blame for this shitshow of a life?” I scream into the night. Falling flat beside my car the damp air smothers me like a blanket. The bugs feast on my body. I can go no further. Can I kill the ‘I’ to save ‘myself’? • The sun announces his arrival by turning pink the low clouds on the eastern horizon. The sky begins to take on the blue-green color of the sea. A bird song beckons me onto a path that leads into a patch of trees that once was a forest. A group of people gather around a fire next to a low tent, like a giant tortoise shell, made of bound willow branches and covered in blankets. My shame prevents me from making eye contact with others as they tend a fire and mill about preparing for what I do not know. A man invites me forward and smudges me with the smoke from a burning bundle of silver sage. This is not me I say, this ritual is not mine. I have no rituals. He motions me toward the low tent. On my knees I crawl inside through a small opening. A return to the womb. In the center is a shallow pit filled with rocks glowing orange with heat. I see only slivers of faces illuminated by the early morning light coming through the opening of the tent. We are all in this because we are broken beyond belief. We all are searching for relief. Wearing a simple cotton smock, a woman with tattoos across her fingers and hands grasps the ladle and spoons water onto the hot rocks. Steam. Heat. The smoke of cedar curls up like a blue ribbon. My body is cramping. The panic builds. I can’t breathe. Get out! Bolt for the door! Get back in the car and drive! Fuck this! The water hisses on the stones. The woman sings songs about our ancestors. “You are not your thoughts,” she says as she continues to ladle water onto the rocks, “although they will stop at nothing to convince you that they are.” “Thoughts” she says, her eyes bright like the moon, “are wonderful tools but terrible masters.” The heat eventually abates. The others dissipate back to where they came. The woman with the tattooed fingers slips beneath the underbrush and disappears. The river, gently falling beside me, is the only sound. A rolling gospel pure and clear. ‘Do less,’ it says. ‘Now even less.’ 23
LETTING THE GHOUL TIMES ROLL WITH COFOH CO-FOUNDERS BRET SMITH & SMURF BY KRYSTI JOMÉI Colorado Festival of Horror returns for their fourth year, fittingly kicking off the 3-day convention of terror in September on Friday the 13th … ki ki ki, ma ma ma … Bigger, bolder and bloodier than ever before, this independent, volunteered, artist-run fest is bringing in the big guns (or maybe, machetes?) when it comes to their 2024 headlining special guests. Her first-ever Colorado con, Pam Grier ( Jackie Brown, Escape from L.A., Mars Attacks!, Bones) will grace the stage for a Q&A, autographs and photo ops. And it doesn’t stop there. Fans will also get to meet Scream Queen Tiffany Shepis (Tromeo and Juliet, Star Trek: Picard), Alexandra Essoe (Doctor Sleep, Midnight Mass), Annabeth Gish (The Haunting of Hill House, Midnight Mass), and a wicked Friday the 13th crew — Adrienne King, Amy Steel, Thom Mathews, Tom No. 129 McLoughlin, and Vincente DiSanti — along with a slew of other horror actors, eerie artists, harrowing writers and chilling vendors. Attendees will also have a chance to attend numerous panels and workshops, a short film festival, costume and tattoo competitions, trivia and karaoke, and more, all the while sipping on a pint of Killr™ Brew or a glass of Stabernet. Born out of a mutual love of horror, Co-Founders Bret Smith, Daniel “Smurf” Sharner, Jeanni Smith and Daniel Crosier wanted to make a festival embracing the genre and celebrating all of its different artistic styles and realms, while creating well-needed community. We caught up with Bret and Smurf to talk about this year’s fest and why they fright for the right to party for horror fans of all ages in Colorado. ART BY WM. RANDAL PAINTER
SPECIAL GUESTS PAM GRIER ANNABETH GISH TOM McLOUGHLIN WHAT PROMPTED YOU TO CREATE A HORROR FESTIVAL IN COLORADO AND HOW DID YOU MAKE SUCH A BIG PRODUCTION COME TO FRUITION? Bret Smith: Years ago, I loved attending the Mile High Horror Film Festival, and the first con I ever volunteered for, Colorado Horror Con, were all a lot of fun, but sadly neither lasted. So in 2018, some friends and I were talking about starting a convention and recognized that there was no horror-only con in Colorado so voilà! It came to fruition because of all our incredible staff and volunteers, who are just that: volunteers! The four co-founders are just volunteers too, so it is clearly a passion project to make Colorado Festival of Horror happen. Smurf: I’ve always loved horror. Growing up I never missed a new movie or novel or a show that had some sort of horror theme. As I got older and started doing conventions, it always felt like an overlooked area and should have its own event because there’s so many different styles to horror. Based on that we knew, it could thrive. And everyone else had focused on the superhero “capes” of pop culture leaving horror relatively open and untouched, so we could deliver a unique experience. WHAT'S BEHIND THIS YEAR'S THEME, FRIDAY THE 13TH , AND HOW DID THE IDEA COME ABOUT? Bret: Last year when Jeanni was creating the Program Book for 2023 and we wanted to put in a quick ad for 2024, we were shocked to see our starting date was a Friday the 13th in September! There was just no way that couldn’t be our theme for this year, our first Friday the 13th start. Besides the iconic Jason Voorhees, we discovered the outstanding Never Hike Alone: Friday the 13th fan films, plus we love that Friday the 13th can also be symbolic of “unlucky” stuff, so we just had to! Our friends at FanSets have created an exclusive pin for us this year comprised of all the best “unlucky” things in life! Smurf: Since year one we’ve had different themes to build off of. Just a way to build something different each year and help our thoughts for WE ARE COMPLETELY NERDING OUT ABOUT PAM GRIER TOO! CAN YOU TELL US MORE ABOUT HOW SHE GOT INVOLVED? Bret: I’ve tried to connect with Pam Grier since the first COFOH thanks to her Colorado roots — attending East High School, living on a farm with horses here — discovering all the iconic directors she’s worked with, and being surprised by her horror credits, especially this year’s Amazon Prime series THEM: The Scare. Jeanni and I were blown away when we first stepped into Voodoo Doughnuts on Colfax to learn the whole story about the theft and return of Pam’s velvet painting. I tried social media to connect with her unsuccessfully for years, but thankfully, I happened upon her agent representative, and now, we have her for her first Colorado con appearance! So excited! potential guests. Friday the 13th was a must for us as one of the major staples in the horror world and we couldn’t wait to announce it last year. WHAT ARE YOU MOST EXCITED FOR THIS YEAR? Bret: I am super excited about our special guests. I’m pinching myself that we have Pam Grier as a special guest along with an unusual group of Friday the 13th actors and creators from the films and fan films, and keeping our annual tradition of having a Scream Queen. This year, it’s Tiffany Shepis. Tiffany maintains my promise to myself to always have a special guest that has a Star Trek connection. And with my newfound love of everything Mike Flanagan on Netflix, I’m psyched to have two special guest actors, Alexandra Essoe and Annabeth Gish, from many of his shows, including their highlight mother-daughter relationship on Midnight Mass. Smurf: So many things — I could go on for hours about it, but first thought is having a true icon as a guest. Pam Grier who has never done an event in Colorado will be here Saturday and Sunday and I can’t wait to sit down and interview her and discuss such an amazing and illustrious career. THOM MATHEWS AMY STEEL ADRIENNE KING VINCENTE DiSANTI TIFFANY SHEPIS ALEXANDRA ESSOE
ARE YOU DOING ANYTHING NEW OR DIFFERENT THIS YEAR? Bret: We have some new sponsors and exclusives this year. Horrifying Hot Sauce created our own hot sauce, “Game Over,” and Littleton Meats is offering an exclusive mail-order “Slaughterbox” to attendees. Our workshop programming was so successful last year, standing room only, that we have moved it to a larger room, and overall we’re extending programming to begin earlier and end later, like 2 a.m. on Friday and Saturday. We’ve added an official “Let Me Be Short” competitive film festival with submissions via FilmFreeway, and a new unusual activity for fans: axe throwing! Smurf: We’ve made a few adjustments from last year, added more horror focused vendors half of which have never been here. Our panels have some returning presenters but with new topics while some are expanding on what they did last year. We work diligently every year to bring in something different to mix it up for our guests, we will even have a horror-themed axe throwing station outside. WE’VE BEEN BIGTIME FANS OF COFOH-BASED COSPLAY SLASHER COMIC SERIES TRUE BELIEVERS BY HEX PUBLISHERS / METAL X ENTERTAINMENT / BIT BOT MEDIA FOUNDER JOSHUA VIOLA, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR STEPHEN GRAHAM JONES AND ARTIST BEN MATSUYA THAT WAS BORN OUT OF A CONVERSATION WITH YOU BOTH AND JEANNI. CAN YOU GIVE US A TEASER OF WHAT FANS CAN EXPECT WITH TRUE BELIEVERS’ INVOLVEMENT AT THE FEST THIS YEAR? Bret: Joshua Viola added Canadian illustrator Matthew Therrien to No. 129 his cover art team and we’re bringing him to the show as he painted stunning covers of actors who appear as COFOH guests in the storyline: Jamie Lee Curtis, R.L. Stine, Devon Sawa, and others for upcoming issues. Issue #1 has only been available to Kickstarter supporters so we’re excited to offer fans the entire 26-page Issue #1 at the Metal X Entertainment / Hex Publishers booth in our Death Dealers Room. Plus, Issue #2 will premiere at this year’s show! It is such a thrill to have Stephen, Josh and Matthew attend and participate on a True Believers Issue #1-2 Release Party panel. It is surreal to have such a creative and horrifying slasher story where COFOH is the epicenter of the chaos. Be sure to look for other cameos besides the celebs, and don’t be surprised if life imitates art in future years with these celebs coming to COFOH. And the bloody icing on the cake — Matthew drew this year’s COFOH exclusive beer art, brewed by our sponsor Outworld Brewing, which we call Killr™ Brew, named after the cosplay killer in the comics! WHAT SETS COFOH APART FROM OTHER HORROR FESTIVALS THAT ARE STARTING TO POP UP IN COLORADO. Bret: COFOH is a one-of-a-kind, locally-owned, homegrown, homeoperated convention, run by local horror fans who have many connections with our local creative community. We pride ourselves in engaging local talent and businesses to participate and create for our show. Just look at Terror In the Corn’s haunt actors at the show, Outworld Brewing making us a beer, Dragon Meadery bottling a cabernet sauvignon, L.S. Strange providing attendees with bags, Metal X Entertainment’s TRUE BELIEVERS comics, Distortions Unlimited’s loan of monster props to decorate the venue, Mutiny Information Cafe / Phantom 8’s running of ART BY LEIGHTON BUXMAN ART THE CLOWN W/ A WEREWOLF AT COFOH '23 ART BY JOE BABLAZO DANIEL CROSIER, BRET & JEANNI SMITH W/ ELISA SARGENT AT BROADWAY HALLOWEEN PARADE '23
the tattoo competition, and local artists creating posters, T-shirt designs and badge art. The other horror shows frankly are out-of-state shows popping up in Denver to test the market and kinda have a corporate feel, similar to a large comic con. They have big bucks behind them from running shows in other states for years, so they can get very expensive actors to attend. We prefer being an intimate show where fans have access to our celebrities and talented creatives. Smurf: Local, homegrown show that is about the community and has real heart. A lot of these other shows are very cookie-cutter and overlook the local artists, vendors and businesses. All of us (the founders) spend time building the show, talking and taking the time to build relationships within the community to give the best experience, not just for the attendees, but the guests, vendors, sponsors and our own crew. BIGGEST CHALLENGES YOU’VE FACED AS AN INDEPENDENT, ARTIST-RUN FESTIVAL? Bret: I’d say funding, cash flow, inflation and the economy are our biggest challenges as well as these out-of-state conventions that are close to our show dates. Show attendees only have so much disposable income. Smurf: Space. The ideas we have sometimes can be a little larger than the venue would be able to handle, and we’ve had to pace ourselves a little. STANDOUT HIGHLIGHT FROM OVER THE YEARS. Bret: We’ve had so many highlights, but a couple years ago, seeing actor David Howard Thornton, as Terrifier’s Art the Clown, creepily come down a glass elevator as a long line of fans awaited a photo with him, was stunning! Last year’s Rocky Horror Picture Show shadowcast was pretty darn special too. BIGGEST MYTH OR MISUNDERSTANDING ABOUT THE HORROR GENRE AS A WHOLE. Bret: That horror fans are weird, mean, violent, etc., when they are in-fact some of the nicest and most inclusive people you’ll ever meet! The horror community is truly special. Smurf: The people. In my experience the horror community overall is the most welcoming regardless of the genre you might enjoy. It’s all about the craft and the story, there’s never a wrong answer of what’s better because we’re all here to appreciate it together. I’M SUCH A CHICKEN WITH SUPER GRUESOME OR HAUNTEDBASED FILMS/SHOWS. HOW ARE YOU ABLE TO ENJOY SOME OF THE DARKER REALMS OF HORROR WITHOUT GETTING NIGHTMARES? Bret: I’ve just seen so many horror films of all kinds, I’m likely jaded, and I love doing “homework” to watch the gory films of our special guests before meeting them in person. I run a horror con, so maybe nothing scares me. Smurf: No nightmares unless I’m doing a marathon of some kind. The hardest part for me is not laughing during some of the more intense moments or jump scares. I love it. FIRST HORROR FILM THAT HOOKED YOU. Bret: Creature from the Black Lagoon. ARTIST KEVON WARD SALLY & DR. FINKELSTEIN COFOH 2024 T-SHIRT DESIGN BY XANDER SMITH JEFFREY REDDICK AT COFOH '23
horror Favorites TOP THREE MOVIES: Bret: Creature from the Black Lagoon, Night of the Living Dead, The Fly (original and remake) Smurf: Hellraiser, High Tension, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein TOP THREE SHOWS: Bret: Anything from Mike Flanagan (The Haunting of Bly Manor, Midnight Mass, The Fall of the House of Usher) Smurf: The Fall of the House of Usher, Friday the 13th: The Series, The Walking Dead TOP THREE AUTHORS: Bret: Stephen Graham Jones, Paul G. Tremblay, Smurf: Oh, that’s hard to say. I used to watch all of the Vincent Price films with The Abominable Dr. Phibes being my favorite, but I also loved Abbott and Costello who had a rather different approach to horror, but one of the best monster lineups a fan could wish for. IF YOU COULD SPEND A DAY WITH ONE HORROR VILLAIN — WITHOUT BEING HURT AND/OR MURDERED — WHO WOULD IT BE AND WHY? Bret: I’m gonna go really current, Mother from Barbarian. I love that film! Now I could say why, but that would be too gross; when I told Jeanni why, she said, “Nope, you’re not saying that!” Smurf: Pinhead of the Hellraiser series. ANY OTHER FUN HORROR/SCI-FI BASED PROJECTS YOU’RE INVOLVED WITH OUTSIDE OF COFOH? Bret: I had such a great time this last April in Colorado Springs helping our Six Feet Under Horror Film Fest friends put on the Hooked On Horror mini-convention and film festival with four Scream Queens in attendance. The forensic pathologists who put on the quarterly film festival, Leon Kelly and Dan Lingamfelter, will be back at COFOH with another creepy real-life cases panel. We’ve started doing screenings with special guests at different times of year and different venues too, like My Bloody Valentine and Mother’s Day. Smurf: I also run the Colorado Ghostbusters and after COFOH starts our busy season, we make appearances at various events throughout October. Everything from haunts, Trunk or Treats, the Broadway Halloween Parade and other parades, and other Halloween-inspired events. WHAT CAN WE LOOK FORWARD TO FOR COFOH 2025? Bret: For our 5th year anniversary celebration, there will be Monsters! I wonder where that will take us?! Smurf: We have plans on adding a whole new element for next year as we build off of our theme Monsters. I can’t go into any detail without ruining the surprise, but we all are very excited about it as we hit year five. COLORADO FESTIVAL OF HORROR 2O24 FRIDAY, SEPT. 13 - SUNDAY, SEPT. 15 MARRIOT DENVER SOUTH AT PARK MEADOWS 10345 PARK MEADOWS DRIVE | LONE TREE | CO VIP HOTEL PACKAGES AVAILABLE *FREE FOR 10 YEARS & UNDER W/ A PAYING ADULT* LEARN MORE & GET TIX: COFESTIVALOFHORROR.COM FOLLOW FOR MORE COFOH NEWS & ANNOUNCEMENTS: IG: @COLORADOFESTIVALOFHORROR | FB: @COFOHORROR No. 129 Daniel Kraus Smurf: Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Stephen Graham Jones TOP THREE VIDEO GAMES: Smurf: Dead by Daylight, Silent Hill, Dead Space FAVORITE GENRE WITHIN HORROR: Bret: The slasher! Smurf: Slasher, no question. FAVORITE SOUNDTRACK: Bret: John Carpenter’s Halloween Smurf: Great question, I’d have to think about that one simply because there’s been some really good ones, but the first one that comes to mind is A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors. FAVORITE QUOTE: Bret: “They’re coming to get you, Barbara.” Smurf: “Psychos do not explode when sunlight hits them, I don’t care how crazy they are.” YET TO BE RELEASED FILMS OR SHOWS YOU’RE EXCITED FO: Bret: Alien: Earth TV series, Mike Flanagan’s The Exorcist and The Dark Tower Smurf: Army of Darkness FAVORITE PROTAGONIST: Bret: Ellen Ripley Smurf: Ash Williams FAVORITE ANTAGONIST: Bret: Aliens! Smurf: Aliens ARTIST XANDER SMITH & JEANNI SMITH, COFOH '21
BY TOM MURPHY A SHORELINE DREAM – WHITELINED The songs on this seventh A Shoreline Dream album sound like Ryan Policky and Erik Jeffries mined through the ambient despair and melancholy of recent years to infuse the songwriting and production with a hopeful vitality. It certainly doesn’t hurt that Mark Gardener of Ride contributed his talents to three of the tracks, but the core songs turn the group’s beautiful ethereal melodies into something that pairs well with the physicality of its always robust rhythms and electronic and electric low end. The lyrics seem to trace a journey through low places of emotional desolation and a feeling of being out of place and lost expressed through gorgeously luminous flows of ambient sounds. But in the end, the record leaves you feeling like you can make it through a gauntlet of disappointments and setbacks with your heart and sense of self reinvigorated. FELIX FAST4WARD – BETWEEN SUN & MOON The deep sense of tranquility that permeates every track of the new Felix Fast4ward album is immediately striking even when the songs course into psychedelic dub passages. In aggregate the tracks link like a mystical radio broadcast. It’s probably best listened to, if possible, on a cassette or a continuous playlist because the flow of ideas and sounds hits like a continuum. One might compare this to Gonjasufi’s 2010 release A Sufi and a Killer of another record from that year in Flying Lotus’ epochal Cosmogramma. Except there is more of a neo-soul flavor here in the artist’s command of similarly fused aesthetics from the aforementioned to hip-hop and IDM production resulting in an entrancing listen beginning to end. No. 129
MIDWIFE – NO DEPRESSION IN HEAVEN Once again proving that the heaviest music is that which has the deepest moods and goes to the emotional spaces that most people would rather forget, Madeline Johnston offers seven songs that are uncompromising in their emotional weightiness. Each guides you through lingering grief and the dreams, fantasies and ghosts that sit with you as you try to sort through what anything means — and the things you’re told have meaning — and how to navigate the nuances of what you’ve come to believe. Through a lens of abstract, pastoral, ambient folk and gauzy tones, Johnston eases the listener into an acceptance of uncertainty and vulnerability to existential truth. Also, nice nod to Santo & Johnny. PINK LADY MONSTER – PSYCHIC ANTENNAE AND A TINSEL HEART 40 plus years ago this album could have come out on the 99 Records imprint during the height of No Wave. Its alchemical fusion of free jazz, noise rock, pop and the avant-garde is frankly unlike much of anything going on at the moment. Although “No Romance” might be compared to a PJ Harvey song, its rhythms slink, slash and flow in unpredictable yet intuitive fashion. The group’s earlier dream pop leanings are folded into beautifully and thrillingly nightmarish compositions that sometimes wax into the realm of Tropicália, with a similarly pointed social commentary delivered with a creatively wicked sense of humor. STEVEN LEE LAWSON & THE ARCHERS – HELP IS ON THE WAY Steven Lee Lawson & The Archers fully integrate its more raw, existential rough edged and earnest Americana with its introspective pop sensibilities on this EP. Maybe it’s the Rhodes or the splintered power pop guitar hooks that bleed into psychedelic Americana akin to mid-70s Neil Young. Maybe it’s tender and confessional folk elements. But here, Lawson and company find a way to elegantly articulate the tension between despair and hope as two faces of the same emotional state, and on measure, land on the latter, rendered in the sounds of a kinder and gentler honky tonk band. TUFF BLUFF – S/T A lot of poppy garage punk has fairly straightforward and unironic lyrics. Tuff Bluff off nuanced and complex emotional portraits in its supercharged power pop throughout this self-titled debut album. The stories in every song have specific and immediately relatable situations, illuminating the essence of an American experience or archetype, and not always the type our culture romanticizes. Because of that, the irresistible and energetic melodies baked into every song hits as vital and authentic and never as saccharine and trite. For more, visit queencitysoundsandart.wordpress.com
MOON PATROL, X-RAY COW - BEST OF BIRDY 106
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