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Issue # 66 Feb 2005 thewigwambam.com |
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| Ignoring Objectivity Since 1998
WIG WAM BAM “Albuquerque zine of music & nepotism” Now with
95% less FOXX!
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| The Prids, Unit 7 Drain, TV, Dirty Novels,
the Foxx, Last in Office, No Party System, Acoustic Showcase at Brickyard
Pizza, Romeo Goes to Hell, Ten Seconds to Lift Off, Shine Cherries, Pawn
Drive, Potty Mouth Sherry's, 7 Year Rabbit Cycle, Warbler, Fukrot, Oktober
People, Tailgunner, Primates, Lousy Robot, Young Edward |
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[split 7” 2004] |
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[dvd 2004] |
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the ARCADE FIRE 1/21/05 @ Emo’s; Austin TX submitted by El Arroyo |
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| LOCAL
SHOWS |
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| the Prids, Unit 7 Drain, TV @ Launchpad the Dirty Novels, the Foxx, Last In Office, No Party System @ the Compound 1/8/05 The Compound? A new-ish all-ages space that has a decent sound system and is way cleaner than your average piss- and alcohol-soaked downtown “club”. My informants tell me that the skate shop next door has something to do with it, or maybe it’s the guys that run the little hardcore record store inside the skate shop? I dunno, but its tangled up together somehow and all the better for it. The Compound is below the Attic, that defunct second-floor hardcore/metal club that sometimes hosted all-ages shows (lugging all yer gear up & down that cramped vertigo-inducing staircase just had to suck). Here on the ground floor, though, things were looking good. A nice turn-out of kids who are generally appreciative of live music in general, something at which most jaded twenty-something clubsters usually fail. First up (I hope I got who’s who correct) was No Party System, guitar-punk dudes shirtless & wrapped in towels (and yes we-- well, I can’t speak for the girlies -- were all relieved to find they wore gym shorts underneath). NPS had a musical combo of mosh-your-friends shouters, a little Red Hot Chile Peppers soul-wail and a tad of emo howl. I was part of the Novels/ Foxx contingent and since we don’t care to unnecessarily rumple our, uh, hipster-couture, we refrained from the pit action. We must’ve looked a lot like the old fogies in the audience on those Ed Sullivan Show Beatles vids: something’s going on here with the kids but we’re too dignified for such nonsense… Next, Last In Office with some straight-up mosh-o-rama that inspired further jump-around mayhem. Me, I was too old for pits the first time around so I’ll never find slam-dancing attractive but I’m wondering just how many of the Novels/Foxx crew were getting a wee nostalgic for their misspent youth as punx. Although such politico-punk isn’t to my taste these days, I was glad to see it still happening as it serves a purpose: there’s at least a few kids who haven’t yet traded guitars for digital sequencers or lyrics like yo! yo! yo! No, my complaint was godamn Sublime on the PA during every break, like these kids were nostalgic for “old school” hits already. Well, to be fair, they’d likely be disgusted by my childhood favorites such as the Ronettes (who actually are sublime but nevermind). Next in line were the Foxx who, although it took a little time, got the mosh-riled kids swaying. As usual though it was the gals who danced, mostly with each other as the guys looked on. Poor dumb high school boys! A bunch of adorable teenie punk rock girls just dying to dance and you let them down? Far be it from me to advocate breaking the law but maybe a little alcohol would have gotten things moving here. Ah, youth…In his defense I gotta mention one guy who shook it up a little but you could tell he was a ska kid and skankin’ to glam/rocknroll doesn’t quite swing. But he gets an A+ for not standing around with his hands in his pockets. Musically it was the only time I’ve witnessed most of Juliette’s numbers get little response, maybe because they contain no obvious cues to rock-out. Also reaction-wise, Bowie’s Moonage Daydream fell to the ground with a thud. I’m not certain “the kids” (or most “grown-ups” for that matter) are quite ready for a full-on glam revival. Their loss. But thanks to El Foxx, the crowd was looser and happier by the time Las Novelas were up. Pablo worked the crowd which after knowing him so long seemed goofy to me at first but damned if he didn’t pull it off with aplomb. One of the benefits of an all-ages show is that you still have time to make it to the club shows -- if you’re of age that is. For the under-agers, I guess there’s not much to do but smoke cigarettes at Denny’s. Or if you’re lucky find someone to “buy” for you. In my misspent youth, we hung behind the liquor store to con some kind soul into picking up some booze for us and then, balancing cases of Rolling Rock pony bottles on the handlebars, ride our bicycles to the soccer field to drink and to pass joints until late into the suburban night. Maybe the youngsters have taken up the torch. So anyway like I say, there was still time to make it to the Launchpad for the Prids show. In fact there was time enough to hear part of the opening out-of-towners, a metallurgical-industrio outfit called TV. The skulls and voodoo crap didn’t do much for me but there were a few good riffs and grooves going on plus some live percussion which I love at industrial shows. Too-bright mechano beats lose me quickly but a little live skin thump-a-thump wins me every time. I may not seek them out for future listening but they were better than everyone gave them credit for. Unit 7 Drain were up next, debuting the charming Ella Vader on bass. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it but appeared calm and graceful and in fact rather ellagant. As usual I couldn’t (didn’t wanna) stand still for Unit 7 set. Adding to the festivities, Vader’s mom was in attendance who happened to be friends with some old pals of mine who knew Ms Vader from childhood. They enjoyed the set but try as I might I couldn’t convince people my age to stick around for the galvanizing Prids. Too bad. It was just wonderful to finally hear ‘em in a bigger room with a big sound system but the new songs lacked just a little something. Maybe just that they’re new and not as well-rehearsed as the “old” ones. Or maybe the fact that the band’s been on tour for about three years now, its gotta be hard to maintain their usual breathtaking heights. Don’t misunderstand, I had a great time but the set didn’t blast my skull in the nice way that it usually does. But even at a notch or two lower, the Prids remain magnificent and top most other bands at their outside best. Acoustic Showcase 1/17/05 @ Brickyard Pizza The second in a (I hope) series of acoustic smorgasbords, the first at Edward’s house last September. Here at the Brickyard (formerly some jiveass “classy” bar I forget the name of, formerly sloppy Sprockets, formerly frat-dive Fat Chance) the atmosphere was decidedly different than the one enjoyed by Ed’s friends lounging and spilling things all over his living room floor. Here, there were other folks who just happened to find their local joint invaded by acousti-strummers who convinced management (i.e. her-night-off employee Kerianne) to shut off the three televisions behind the impromptu stage. It was disconcerting to watch Edward Foma open the night with a superb Mazzy Star cover but with MTV’s Jackass on telly above his head. Hope Sandoval would’ve been appalled. Next Jeshua Patriots and Lanie played a pleasing flowery set without the tube’s glow overhead. Harry and Ella U7D were next with a guitar/bass duo of combined Cure/Memphis Slim influence, not two names that often come up in the same breath. Although the strings were way buzzy, that double f-hole guitar Harry was playing was a sweet one. Continuing the ongoing duet riff, Heather Foma and Jeremy (ex-Neutral Milk Hotel and some other Elephant Six madness) blew everyone away with some Slavak-tasting classically- influenced accordion/violin/and one o’ things I always forget the name but it has keyboards, is handheld and breath-powered (yeah, one o’ those). It was the kind of music you might hear from eastern Euro indie-rocker gypsies, playing in the street and can you spare a few kopeks, comrade… I knew right then and there a few of the remaining musicians on the roster were ready to slink out the door so as to not follow this superb showing. All I can say is there just better be an upcoming Heather/Jeremy CD. Breaking the girl/boy duo streak, Mark Winged Serpent (ex-Brixton Ex but who I first knew of in Anchorman way back in Albuquerque’s dim indie rock past) played his acoustic git-box loud but sang softly, the two styles evenly matched in a draw that declared both the winner. I might be lying but I think I recall the erudite Kerianne jumping in on keyboard for a tune. If it didn’t really happen, it must’ve been some kinda hazy opiate dream, kinda like Ms K herself. Next John and Megan Gingerbread pulled out their comfortable duet style, songs sweet and sweeter that seem familiar even if you’re never heard them before, as warm as an old cashmere sweater the cat’s been sleeping on. John couldn’t resist jumping in with Isaac Foxx on an unrehearsed choral accompaniment that seemed to surprise and please Isaac as much as it did the rest of us. His set closed out with a teenish girl/boy tune which achingly made you wish you were falling in love, heartbreak and all. Matt Mindy made me happy with some tunes of the type where you could hear phantom tambourines and Ride lead guitar even though they weren’t there: Brit-ghost bandmates! Penultimate, Nate Oktober had a liltin’ talkin’ story song in tribute to his late dad’s original October People band. He amused us all to the point of falling out of our chairs if we had been drunker instead of just sloshy mellow. Finally Matt God/Science brought the show to a close in style. Although I usually prefer lots of noise, it was a fine change of pace. The musicians involved ought to be commended for taking up the challenge of playing solo and naked -- well, not literally but hopefully next time..? Romeo Goes To Hell, Ten Seconds To Lift Off @ Burt’s Shine Cherries, Pawn Drive @ Atomic 1/29/05 Another back-and-forth night at Burt’s Atomic Tiki Cantina with slo-core versus jump-up-and-down-core. I started by catching the tail end of the Pawn Drive reunion at Atomic, their first show in many a year: thoughtful, measured and sober but not somber folktwang. Then it was over to Burt’s for Ten Seconds To Lift-Off, one of Las Cruces’ finest punky-rocky outfits. Frontman Bill worked the crowd, rousing apathetic scenesters from waking slumber. Covering the Who’s Teenage Wasteland and climbing around on shit while twirling his mike by the cord woke a few people up. I always cringe a little though when I see mikes flying around like that, reminding me of when that asshole from the Makers intentionally hit our own Mr Testy Kool in the face with his mike at the Anodyne a few years ago. The ensuing scuffle did have its comedic moments but it wasn’t what you’d call a highlight in ‘burque musical history (except maybe for Liam the K who wanted to kick Maker ass). Next, back to the Cantina for the Shine Cherries CD release set. The Cherries have been slowly (haha) building a following among hipsters young and old and they packed the house tonight. Some people can’t listen to their slo-twang for long without going hungry for beats but me, I kinda just stand and sway back and forth like a quiet drunk, letting their dreamy sound conjure up smokey Blue Ridge skies: Mazzy Star pickin’ on the front porch covering Velvet Underground songs after listening to Low’s repertoire. Jumpin’ Johnny Cassidy/Johnny Casio/Johnny Wrangler made the trek down from Denver to celebrate by playing a Korg while Pat , the brand-new Cherry, took over his old spot, looking a little like Mike Nesmith playing bass. And if you think there’s anything wrong with comparing someone to the Monkee with the hat, you haven’t been listening. Finally, back to Burt’s to get ravaged by the raucous raunchy rattle and roll of those Romeo rascals. Not what you’d call their cleanest set--so what? clean ain’t what they’re all about but pulsating punchy party punk (sorry, I’ll put away my Webster’s now). All things considered, it was a good night for mood swing musical taste. Potty Mouth Sherry’s, Seven Year Rabbit Cycle, Warbler, Fukrot 2/7/05 @ PMS house Fuck me. Its been too long since I’ve bothered to get out the door for a house show despite Caterwaul leaving messages on my phone like clockwork month after month. Why he hasn’t given up on me long ago, I don’t know but, Derek, I’m indebted to you, good sir! (and so are you: tune into his last Tuesday of the month slot on Music To Soothe the Savage Beast, KUNM 89.9 at 10PM for the best in outer-fringes rock). Luckily I made the show in time for a few numbers by the mighty Fukrot trio who grind your brains to dust with a prodigious roar, like getting your head bashed with a trashcan lid in an alley brawl but you keep going back for more. Whether you’re too dumb to quit, a masochist or merely enjoy that good blown-out feeling with your ears ringing, who can say. The beatbox-and-a-megaphone Warbler duo are easily identifiable as a northwest outfit, stylistically speaking. They’ve got that Kill Rock Stars stance even if they’re not. Great fun and literally right up in your face, jumping all around the living room with a positive attitude, you can’t help but smile. Not definable as punk compared to today’s pop-crud churned out by talentless weiners like Simple Plan, Warbler nevertheless has got that good ol’ shut-up-and-do-something punk ethic written all over their matching blue and white striped shirts. Yay! Next up the six piece Seven Year Rabbit Cycle started out with beats enough but got a little too improv-meandering and thoughtful for me after being pumped up by the previous acts. Still, with a member pedigree of Xiu Xiu, Deerhoof, Theteethe, the Chinkees and Nitre Pit among many others (those northwest kids change bands like you or I change socks) its hard to go wrong. The first and only time I’d seen Potty Mouth Sherry’s at Burt’s last year, it was fun an’ all but didn’t grab my ass. But in a house show context, their set added up. It galloped along like My Little Pony grown up into a disillusioned equine teenager wearing spiked leather bracelets and torn fishnets, disregarding authority figures at home and school. Speaking of which, shows like this are something that would surely alarm every parent but little do they know: most of the attendees are some of the nicest and most positive people you’d ever want to know. Its alright, ma! Oktober People, Tailgunner, Primates @ Launchpad Lousy Robot, Young Edward @ Golden West 2/11/05 I started and ended tonight at the Launchpad although I caught not much of any band there. By all accounts the Primates (featuring Chuck Jurich, ex- about eighty different bands and projects; bet you can’t count ‘em all!) were exceptional for a debut gig and tight with well written songs but I only heard one number and most of it was while ordering my first drink. So as I finally made it to the stage, there was about forty seconds left before it was all over. Story of my life. Closing the night, I took a break from talking shit up near the bar with the Zac Twins to watch a couple of Oktober People compositions. And compositions they are, possessed of an humble majesty, reminding a little of Pilot To Bombardier but more sweeping and grandiose, in a quiet way. Like Pilot (one of my local faves a few years ago), the Oktobers spring vaguely from heartfelt early nineties indie-rock but that went in the right direction i.e. vaguely skirting but not in the full-on emo direction. On guitars, Nate and Sean are a formidable duo. Up second and from San Diego, late addition Tailgunner didn’t do a toss for me. After two songs all I could think of was Soundgarden playing pop. I hear they’ve gotten CMJ exposure which is where all college rock ends up eventually. They’re welcome to it. College rock is as good an excuse as any to leave so I went next door to the Golden West specifically for what I think was Lousy Robot’s debut of drummer Maury (Giranimals). It was a bit jarring at first, much more punchy and bright than before. Robot tunes are heart-rendingly perfect (Gentleman Jim’s an outstanding writer) but until now have been presented in a much more sparse manner which I thought quite complemented their pop construction. Ex-drummer Jeffrey (famed around these parts as ex-Scared of Chaka) played it on the down low which I rather liked. Maury’s keeping a lot busier up there (on a beautiful vintage Gretsch kit) and will take some getting used to but he nailed each song right on the (drum) head. I’m interested to see where it goes when the Robot finds a keyboard player, which they haven’t had for a few months since Chuck’s moved on to new monkeyshines. His keys style was also spare but precision-placed, at the perfect time in the perfect manner like the difference in how one additional brush stroke might fuck up an otherwise flawless painting. Before Lousy Robot was up, I was hanging in the rear “green room” with their entourage, a bunch of married couples that all seemed well-adjusted and happy (how un-rocknroll of them!) and was regaled with stories of being shushed earlier by the El Rey contingent from next door, some alt.classic string quartet that didn’t appear amused at all to have to take their tux and gown clad breaks in the GW hall next to the rest rooms. Anyway the Golden gig was delayed until this pack of alt-Yo Yo Ma’s were finished so as to, I guess, not upset the delicate genius. I suppose it could be annoying, like hearing jet fighter explosions from the blockbuster movie next door while you’re in the multiplex trying to watch a quiet weepy-pic but hey, that’s the promoter’s logistics problem, not the band’s. But it worked out well regardless, giving the green room/domestic-bliss contingent more time to get hammered before the Robot set. Opening the Golden stage tonight was a mighty surprise for me, Young Edward, a four-piece four-part harmony bluegrass standards outfit including none other than the reclusive Michael Henningsen on stick bass. I’m always very happy to hear someone play bluegrass straight: no stupid Hee-Haw antics, no jazzy interpretations, no sell-out, but fine harmonies with some okay picks of material. I’m a little weary of bands drawing from Old and in the Way-era Peter Rowan and, sure, Little Maggie and Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms are pretty obvious choices. But! Fox on the Run is not only obscure--written by 1960s hit songsmith Tony Hazzard and probably most famously recorded by the great Country Gentleman-- but the song can’t be performed without perfect timing in the harmony department and these guys had it all around. Steve Allen’s banjo came across as a percussive instrument (which is what it was, pre-Scruggs), frailing style rather than pickin’. Robert Bretelle’s resonator guitar was a bit of a head-scratcher since I couldn’t really hear its unique qualities (due to the miking I think) unlike what people like Taj Mahal used to do with it before he got all roots-African ‘stead of blues-African. The fiddle player knocked me out though, not flashy grandstanding as most non-bluegrass aficionados mistakenly think bluegrass is supposed to be. Ben Zuda played pleasantly squawling “Old Time” music, not the hound’s-tooth style of the unmatchable Vassar Clements but more what you might expect of a grizzled old sawyer with the fiddle tucked not under his chin but under his ribs, mountain style. I hope to hear more from Young Edward. There’s plenty of pre-1970s bluegrass tunes with full harmonies that need reviving and they know how to get that beautiful high lonesome sound just right. . |
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| LOCAL
RELEASES NM bands, any label |
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the Answer Lies/ Ten Seconds To Lift-Off [split 7” 2004] Dirt Culture Records www.dirtculture.com Musically, things seem to happening lately in Las Cruces NM --or maybe they always have and I’ve only made the right connections recently. This is a rockthefuckout split, not in the styles I listen to much but that don’t mean I don’t like it. The Answer Lies lie in that territory somewhere between crustaceous hardcore and pump-it-up punk, like a dreadlock Mohawk or wearing one Chuck Taylor and one Doc Martin. The bits of pop flavor I heard live a couple months ago at the Atomic are gone here but raucous and still reminding me of an undercurrent of the Surlies, a short-lived puro punk outfit featuring our old buddy Bob Tower of Mind Over Matter. And like the Surlies, the Answer Lies may rock-out and party-on (University House!) but its merely the medium for the message. And the message is not just Let’s Rock! but Why Do We Rock? Ten Seconds To Lift-Off’s lead cut Record makes for a great ‘80s rawk party single, not quite with poofy hair but maybe fingerless gloves on the guitar players and a shirtless singer with tight leather pants. I’m envisioning MTV music video debauchery here but not fancy like snorting coke off of supermodel boobs but getting trashed on PBRs and Old Crow and passing out face first in supermodel laps. And I mean that in the best possible way…. |
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Arrhythmia (DVD 2004) Kronik Industries http://www.kronikindustries.com Barely out of the can a few weeks and there’s already A-holes grumbling over this documentary about Martin Stamper, Mr Fast Heart Mart himself. Grumbling about why him and not me? and other jealous scenester whines. The answer to that is : fuck off. Video guy Rob Nakai digs the music and has been stalking-- I mean --following Stamper around with a camera for a few years. Like any flick made over time, you get an overview of the subject’s evolving haircuts--I mean --musical styles and projects. Me, I was tickled to death to see my old Rebel Radio pals Robbyn and Pete “the Rooster” featured here for their part in Mart’s Sidewalkers, a fun streettwang outfit. Too, though, I was dismayed however to find no reference to Martin’s other group (you mean there’s more!?) the bluegrassy Hoboes In Limbo. This doc’s feel is laid back, no fawning, no preening, no hard sell but letting the man and his music speak for themselves. So instead of whining about it, why not celebrate its celebration and pray for more & similar projects? |
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an AUSTIN REPORT submitted by El Arroyo the Arcase Fire 1/21/05 @ Emo's, Austin TX Something was wrong amid all that was right. Yes, the show was sold out at a significant venue despite it being the band’s first headlining trip to Austin. And yes, The Chronicle was plugging it as the biggest show of the week. And yes, tickets were selling on Craigslist for a preposterous $50 (face value $12.50), and that’s if you were lucky enough to find someone willing to sell a ticket, which most people who wanted one weren’t. Oh, people were pumped for the event – it was undeniably the buzziest show in recent memory. And, in the end, The Arcade Fire put on one of the best performances I’ve ever seen. For real. But still, somehow, nothing ever felt quite perfect, which was perplexing & more than a little frustrating. Here’s what went down as best as I could tell: Advertisements listed “Arcade Fire at 11:30 sharp”, so we got there at 10:15, just in time for the start of the opening act. Venue was 1/3 full, which I found strange for a night that people were purportedly this excited about. (First clue about what was to be the night’s only drawback). The opener was Final Fantasy, who turned out to be one guy from Toronto who plays the violin. He did some cool stuff with loops and put on a good show, but I remain convinced that the best part of his performance was his opening line: “Hey, I’m Owen Pallett, and I am Final Fantasy.” Anyway, Clue #2 was how crazily people were cheering for this guy after every song. I mean, I’m sorry, he was good and all, but here’s someone who wouldn’t draw a crowd of 10 people in Austin by himself, and the masses are screaming for him like he’s the second coming. Whatever. Owen did a short set followed by about a 20 minute break. On stage, members of the band alternated with a few roadie/friends in checking instruments and adding little touches: a plastic cow, a motorcycle helmet, a white wire dog with Christmas lights. The crowd streamed in, but no one pushed forward. Clue # 3, shortly to be followed by Clue #4: the band finally made their entrance single file at just before 11:30, but no one cheered until all of them were onstage, because nobody knew what the band looked like. It was hard to argue with anything that went on up onstage. From the first notes of “Wake Up” to the final strains of “In the Backseat”, The Arcade Fire were mesmerizing. They demonstrated the perfection of a sound and a performance style that has been building in dark indie clubs across the continent for years, and they did it without seeming cocky or self-conscious. They just seemed FUCKING GREAT. Aside from the violinists (Final Fantasy stuck around to play with his buddies), everyone switched instruments several times during the show, using everything from an accordion to a xylophone to an upright bass to a steel drum to more stringed instruments than I could count. The music was just as powerful live as on their CD, if not better. And watching was a joy: all 7 band members singing together at the top of their lungs during “Wake up”; everything-guy Richard Parry leaping around playing a shoulder-slung drum, a tambourine, the walls, and a cymbal in between stints where he froze like a street mime performing the wax-statue bit; keyboardist Regine Cassagne peering mischievously out at the crowd from between xylophone sticks and prowling the stage doing catlike dances; Sarah Neufeld’s intense and fluid mastery of the violin and her coordinated movements with Owen (bows moving together for most songs, opposite for the final number of the night); these are some of the things that made me want to shout. But none of it compared to the absolute command of front man Win Butler, who appeared to be doing exactly what the universe always meant him to do. His stage presence was the epitome of natural perfection; he was able to share and interact with the crowd while appearing to be creating music for his own benefit. Gifted but egoless – my favorite type of performance. And he has one of those voices that you know instantly is going to always sound right – Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Jack White; he’s in that realm vocally. The realm where the character of the singer’s voice seems bottomless. The one where you know that every crack, every strain, and even every waver off-key is exactly what the voice is supposed to be doing. Win Butler’s voice sounds like George Clooney and Brad Pitt look – thick with inimitable natural cool. So, anyway, that was pretty much it. The show was amazing, but the audience never quite held up its end of the bargain. A few folks started trickling toward the bathroom during the Magnetic Fields cover, and again during the Talking Heads cover. Even the guy with the thrift store suit and wide green tie. WTF?? They only have 10 songs! Who needs a bathroom break?? People were having conversations between songs, not screaming for more. People would start clapping enthusiastically in rhythm but you could always tell it wouldn’t last the whole song. I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. While there may have been some hard core fans there, and while I’m guessing most people had actually listened to the music and liked it, the majority of those in attendance were there to watch something happen, not to be part of something. They were waiting to be led by some Indie Pied Piper who never showed up. Strangely, the audience was at its most rapt during the final (and softest) song of the night. It was as if everyone suddenly realized that the show was ending and they hadn’t yet had the transcendent experience they had been promised. Was that it? Did we miss it? No. We failed to create it. The real problem is, while this band is perhaps the pinnacle of evolution for the indie music that has been the creative lifeblood of bars like Burt’s Tiki Lounge and the Atomic Cantina for years now, it’s unclear if that music and its culture can survive a jump to the next level. Will it play at civic centers, festival stages, and amphitheaters? Will the energy, the intimacy, the sound, and, most importantly, the Cool be able to translate to a larger setting? Or, like blood outside the body, will it soon change colors, congeal, and dry up? As great as The Arcade Fire were, last night left me wondering if the fans that want to adopt this music can possibly nurture it as effectively as its birth parents. Something was wrong amid all that was right last night. It was us. reported by El Arroyo, erstwhile ‘burque scene observer & current Austin graduate student |
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Wig Wam Bam (by Captain America PO BX 4865 Albq NM 87196 captainamerica1941@hotmail.com) |
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| Wig Wam Bam is written by Captain America |
po box 4865 | albuquerque, nm 87196 |
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