ITHACA, N.Y. — A new report conducted by local baby boomer Paul Rundle states that vinyl, which he used to own “tons of” back in the day, is still “making a comeback” nearly two decades later from their initial reintroduction back to the mainstream.
“I sold all my vinyl records at garage sales back in the ’90s for basically peanuts! No telling how much all those Jim Nabors records mom passed down to me when I was younger are probably worth now,” Rundle explained, adding how “crazy” it is seeing records on shelves again. “Never thought they’d come back in style. I figured we’d just be still riding high on CDs, like the young people like. But wowie, LPs are really the cool hip thing right now. They even got em’ at Target. I feel like it’s still 1986 or something.”
28-year-old record collector Julianne Moreski was adamant about not making the same mistakes her parent’s generation had.
“Oh, I love collecting vinyl, but I love the idea of getting rich off of them in the near future much, much more,” Moreski explained while opening a fresh LP mailer with the latest “Purple Rain” repress inside. “Now that they’re back in style again, and if my calculations are correct, they should become junk within the next decade. And by holding onto the wax through the inevitable slump in popularity, I’ll be rolling in the dough when they become cool for the third time around 2070. I’ll be rich! That is, if we’re not all dead by then.”
Owner of the Spinning Serenity record shop Thomas Flynn is enthusiastic about the current market, however.
“It’s great! What’s not to love about vinyl? It’s awesome seeing people come in and buy music in the best format,” Flynn stated while manically organizing bins. “Sure, hearing balding baby boomers ask ‘wow, you sell vinyls here?!’ for the last 17 years does sorta make you go mad, but we like to have fun with it. In fact, we have a great big Deep Purple blacklight poster for the 1,000th customer to ask that question. Here’s to another decade-plus of the vinyl resurgence.”
At press time, Paul Rundle had nearly lost his mind at seeing Spinning Serenity selling so many cassette tapes.
Group entry is usually staggered in a haunt to prevent overcrowding, so the line is long. To keep the energy up haunts usually have scare actors walking through the lines, providing a creepy ambiance and the occasional jump scare. A24 brought its own unique spin to crowd work. Gone were the killer clowns and executioners. Instead, there was the distraught-looking 40-something stumbling from group to group confessing that she didn’t know how to be a mother. There was a man clearly just going through the motions in a conversation with his girlfriend. There were British club dancers with no script.
When we made it to the front of the line we were greeted by a man dressed in an academic-looking suit who was somehow lit by neon wherever he went. He approached each member of our party, and with a paternal energy bluntly expressed why they were a disappointment to him before ushering us into the first room.
In a spooky old room with decrepit furniture and cobwebs everywhere (neon-lit) a coffin is opened by someone inside. The man who emerges is plain-looking and distraught. He wears a sign hung around his neck which reads “Not Dracula.” He approaches your group seemingly on the verge of tears and confesses that he doesn’t know how to be a mother. It is immediately clear that this isn’t you’re typical cheap-thrill spookehouse.
You enter a bedroom lit in a neon color palette. A young woman texts from her bed, seemingly bored and unaware of your presence. Suddenly, she looks distraught. She texts frantically chanting “No, no no…” until the phone drops from her shaking hands. A scream builds on her face but never comes out. If you ask what’s going on, the host puts a finger up to your lips and tells you not to embarrass him. This goes on for 7 minutes.
Dispelling the notion that they’re too pretentious for good ole Halloween fun, A24’s next room features a Universal classic-style mummy, though he does not emerge from a tomb. He is seated at a laptop computer, interviewing for an events coordinator position with Sallie Mae. You can tell this job would be a game changer for The Mummy, and at first, he seems confident, but it just doesn’t go well. The Mummy grows alienated and despondent, barely able to muster a “thank you for your time” at the end, which is not reciprocated. He may be thousands of years old, but this Mummy clearly feels like an imposter in a world of adults.
The setting is an Irish pub where everyone seems to know each other, and seems unwilling to interact with a Cyborg patron who moseys from group to group unable to penetrate conversations. Our host explains that the Cyborg was once a welcome member of the community, but was accused of an unspeakable crime, and though proven innocent, the stigma still follows him.
The make-up is top-notch, matched only by the grounded, all-to-real performance of the two zombie actors, who feign amicability as they sign divorce papers. They congratulate themselves on being mature and able to maintain a friendship despite the breakup, but it rings false. One of them notices your group and suggests eating you. The other zombie mumbles some affirmative reply, but they don’t move. Clearly, there is too much unresolved conflict between them for the zombies to function, and they’re both in denial about it. Haunting stuff.
Yes, the “Spring Breakers” star himself is there, and after a quick initial greeting, he will try to sleep with you. When rebuked, he will immediately claim that he only tried to sleep with you as a method-acting exercise for a role he’s preparing for and that he thought you were 18. When you tell him you’re actually older than 18 he will reply “Gross.”
The transformation uses movie-quality special effects, it’s really impressive, but then once he’s a wolf he just kind of goes shell-shocked describing an accident he saw that’s clearly traumatized him. He doesn’t howl or anything. He just keeps mentioning the empty baby seat he saw, and you really don’t know what to say to the guy.
As fans of the movie, we were pumped to see a “Green Room” themed haunt. The place was made up like a dive bar and filled with people you didn’t want to mess with. Your host then impatiently tells you to get on the stage and do your set. We tried our best, but half of us had never even played an instrument before, and we felt real danger getting off that stage.
Like, for real, it’s a hospice room with an actual terminal patient hooked up to a bunch of machines. His family is there and they can’t stop crying.
You turn a corner and bam, Art The Clown from the Terrifieer movies jumps out at you. I guess they figured throwing some traditional haunted house scares in there would help satisfy everyone, but at this point, we’re all too despondent to react.
Witness the horror of real people discussing the lowest moments of their lives they were driven to by chasing the highs and lows of irresponsible gambling in what they believe to be a safe environment.
Apparently, they were adopted and they are really hung up about it, which seems clear to everyone except the creature. Denial. Trauma. Neon lighting.
In the “Men” themed room every scare actor has had their face replaced with that of Rory Kinnear. It’s an impressive feat, and we can’t imagine how they were able to do CGI in real life, but the meaning of the face swap completely eludes us.
Happy Star gives the occasional like and is barely online. They’re just glad to be here, quietly chilling in your connections list. Easily the least annoying of the bunch, only weird when they start posting about their New Age interests. Apparently they’ve gotten into crystal energy healing in Arizona and have started offering “wellness courses.” Anyway, this Happy Star is most likely enjoying life away from their computer, and they’ll sometimes remind you about that with a post.
Sure, he’s from your distant past, but this little fella is a lurker. Why is he always looking at your page? You can always rely on seeing this guy in your notifications. You give him a pass because it’s Taco Bell and that’s still your fast food of choice, but this dude will even like and comment on sponsored content. Typical chihuahua, responds to anything. Mostly in barks and quivers – don’t move too quickly around him.
Who is on LinkedIn posting advice at 5 a.m.? It’s Birdie. The early bird gets the worm and apparently hijacks the algorithm, so you’re constantly seeing her posts. But there’s some sound advice in there, so you don’t mind. Sometimes you’ll screenshot one and, like most people, never look at it again. She was apparently the first female McDonald’s mascot so, if anything, Birdie is a trailblazer. Also, she seems to actually be into eating worms.
Too many selfies from the Jollibee Bee, plus they post way, way too often. Interacts with anything you post, too. Lots of emojis, especially the awful “laugh-cry” to punctuate sentences. You don’t exactly know what they do, but they are always sharing “wins” or excited about some new campaign. Constantly networking, always busy. They’re a fucking bee, afterall. But there’s something weirdly comforting about seeing a giant red bee at all of these events. You remind yourself that it’s just a parasocial relationship, you don’t actually know this bright red bee. But you know they spoke on multiple panels last year and made Forbes 30 Under 30.
Grimace treats LinkedIn like Facebook, sending unsolicited messages and oversharing constantly. Anytime a celebrity dies, Grimace posts a long rambling post about how much this “visionary” meant to them, somehow bringing it back to a recent injury or a clogged toilet. Way too many mentions of clogged toilets. Every other post is about a clogged toilet. Makes you consider Grimace’s anatomy in a way you never wanted to. What the fuck even is Grimace? Either way, you have a message from him on LinkedIn waiting for you.
Announces every job transition as though he were the fucking President resigning. Every career transition is like an awards acceptance speech, with multiple people tagged and awkardly thanked. Conjures up the most bland lessons learned imaginable. Wow, “teamwork makes the dreamwork,” huh? How long did that one take? The Little Caesar’s guy distributes half-hearted compliments to everyone before sharing a “quirky” office photo that makes absolutely no sense. Has honestly quoted lyrics from Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” when discussing his career change. Also, for some reason, frequently repeats his comments and types in all caps.
We all have that LinkedIn connection that makes you wonder: How the fuck do I even know this person? Their name is vaguely familiar, at best. You’d click on their profile, but the last thing you need is them knowing you’ve looked at their profile page. This is basically The Noid. He’s familiar but also kinda not, like a dream or the shittiest déjà vu you can imagine. Anyway, the Noid uses posts as a way to talk about recent “personal challenges,” mostly about stopping pizza deliveries in his neighborhood. What is this dude’s deal?
Self-titled albums are usually either a band’s debut LP, or a back to basics effort years and/or albums later. This one is neither, which makes it quite tough to talk about, especially after the band’s almost perfect breakout first ska-punk LP, and their dark follow-up sophomore hardcore album. This one may have been held in higher regard if it was the band’s first album, but it sadly sounds like a cash grab, which we know is the goal of a major label release, but we’re still mad salty and sour here. Still, we find it extremely hilarious that Disney’s Hollywood Records thought that a band called The Suicide Machines would break into the mainstream like Belle and the Beast, and even more so with this album. In closing, while the first two tracks on this record have stood the test of time, the others sadly haven’t.
No one, not even Julius Caesar or Harry Potter, was expecting a new The Suicide Machines LP in the 2010s, let alone in the 2020s FIFTEEN years after their truly great album predecessor “War Profiteering Is Killing Us All,” but Jason Navarro and company love to keep ya guessing, and delivered this decade one of the better ska-punk intentionally-or-unintentionally throwback records. The band’s seventh album “Revolution Spring” came out via Fat Wreck Chords six days into Spring 2020, and just days after the Covid lockdowns started, which was a freaking romp of an empty time. Still, despite you thinking that we are eternal contrarians, we really don’t think that cold, cold, cold Detroit is the new hot, hot, hot Miami, even though it may resemble the Whole Foods known as Williamsburg with far more crime right now.
We’ll get to their most underrated LP later, but “Steal This Record,” the band’s fourth album and last major label release, is certainly The Suicide Machines’ second most underappreciated effort in their seven-album catalog. Funnily, they pulled a Chumbawamba by telling/advising/notifying/commanding people to steal an actual record, which is technically criminal behavior sans honor, that likely cost Hollywood Records six figures to make, which should also be illegal. Stand up if you agree, and provide a killing blow if you don’t. We’re unsure as to what caused the frenetic direction of this full-length, but it definitely sounds angry front to back, and most certainly more so than the band’s third and self-titled studio album. The record also came out fourteen days after the awful 9/11 tragedy, and said disaster put a pin in the band’s first single “The Killing Blow” before it even had a chance.
The fifth LP from The Suicide Machines and their first of two non-major label releases to be released on SideOneDummy Records, former home of the now disgraced Anti-Flag, likeminded Big D and the Kids Table, the impossible to describe Gogol Bordello, and Dio. For many hardcore fans of TSM, this record served as a glorious return to form after its elimination on album #3. The Suicide Machines’ highlight track from this album, which has a surprisingly high number of public streams, “High Anxiety,” is a killer ska-punk anthem, and was even featured on the soundtrack to “Tony Hawk’s Underground 2”… Do you even skate, bro? A cool point to mention is that “A Match and Some Gasoline” is the first of two TSM LPs to be recorded in The Blasting Room by Descendents’ Bill Stevenson, and The Virginia Sisters’/Blood Brothers’ Jason Livermore.
The band’s sixth/last LP for quite some time known as “War Profiteering Is Killing Us All” is the band’s best record from this century and serves as a similar sequel to 2003, like 1998 was to 1996’s for the band in genre form, songwriting prowess, and a tasty, tasty, tasty rectangular pan pizza with a crisp crust, but not a crust punk, hosers. Overall, it is a critique of the bottomed-out George Walker Bush, the meh sequel to George Herbert Walker Bush’s administration, which was very common in the punk rock world between 2000-2008, but The Suicide Machines executed its bitter sentiment better than most. Also, the tune “I Went On Tour for Ten Years And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt” is not only rad/long/fun/vibey AF, but it is one of the better song titles from a band in the Warped Tour scene.
The Suicide Machines’ sophomore LP “Battle Hymns” is BY FAR their most underrated in their vast catalog, and we would’ve love loved/hate hated to see what the goons on Twitter would’ve said about this one if it was around in the late-’90s, but happily, Elon Musk was doing way cooler things then than his troll high society billionaire shizz now. Please speak no evil about this record, as we can’t take that kind of rejection from you all; sympathy for the devil. As objective/subjective masters of our craft, we theorize that the unjustified hate for this record is because it was such a departure, and even Hollywood Records agreed, despite the fact that they are the premier hardcore punk label in all of, err, Hollywood. Like album #4, the bad babies in The Suicide Machines encouraged theft for this one, which is step one for cockblocking your work.
Like its three mega conglomerate label sequels, The Suicide Machines’ debut and groundbreaking LP “Destruction By Definition” was produced by their A&R label dude, and revered songwriter Julian Raymond, who also worked with Fastball, Cheap Trick, Mutemath, and Robert Johnson. Mr. Raymond killed it here, and the proof is in the pudding regarding track four, “No Face,” which received radio and MTV play for a lil bit, and in the band’s best song “Break The Glass,” which was on the soundtrack to the Oscar-winning “An American Werewolf in Ann Arbor.” A badass opinion is that the band’s bonus track “I Don’t Wanna Hear It” is a solid ska-punk rendition of your straight edge second cousin’s favorite song. S.O.S.: In closing, B-Rabbit opened for The Suicide Machines at the world-famous St. Andrews Hall in 1996, got booed off the stage, and wept.
