We love y'all dear readers just like always - but this one's NOT Crypto.  Yes, still full on apocalyptic nihilist alienation inner city break the chain drag racing screaming into the uncaring void just like usual; but THIS is a musical reverie celebration for the proto punk swampy death trip live music that was  the Gulf Coast rock scene in the mid Eighties.  

Classic / sterotypical Anarchitex liner notes for y'all TL; DR er's - John is the true creative genius sex god lead singer

wearing Texass license plates on his stylishly slim, tall  body, a dead ringer for the focused, ambitious animated lead singer egging you on in the "Rock Star" keytaur game.   Tory is the heart, the lungs, the brains of creative genius,  unstoppable, unfazable agitprop political activist ( now a prof rotting kid's minds in a major university ) pounding keyboards/guitars/base,  working away subverting Amerika writing punk manifestos for PUNX magazine, setting up the Anarchitex  to get down wherever he could find an electrical outlet in a Houston mall.  When the authorities came for the clamp down, Tory would invoke false authority to win a few more minutes by asking who their boss was - " Mr... Jones isn't it?  Yeah Mr. Jones gave us permission - begone!! go away!! go back and ask him!"   Scott was the scarily good looking blond guitar god, inscrutably, immaculately soaring & riffing, with the hottest girlfriend in town, Bliss Blood.   The penultimate drummer Bob was from the seminal Really Red group, whose hit " Teaching you the Fear" becomes more relevant every passing day of current events - a highly rated pro engineer by day, totally hardcore machinehead punk rock drummer by night.   The legendary JR Owl Delgado Anarchitex carrying the room playing "love will tear us apart again" on bass and letting us ride while other electronic equipment malfunctioned.  

RISING above it all, the inscrutable Scott Ayers, nationwide star of pain teens.   The immaculate guitarist, sharp, pure, on fire, yet nasty.  We had a stunning crush on his girlfriend Bliss Blood.  One fine gig in Dallas, the night after some punk burned a flag, drunken cops emerged from their speakeasy to harass the kids at the music show.  Some kid was done for having a chain on his boot.  Bliss said " hey don't arrest him" so they took her.  They asked us what we were doing and we said we were getting paid to play.   So they left our black capitalist ass heart alone.  We posted a few hundred dollars for cash bail for Bliss. The funny part is the crisp 100 bills we gave were handed over 24 hours ago from HPD,  Houston Police Department.  The staple holes were clear in the currency, cash bond released after paying a fine for "display of acceleration," those bastards,  or 97 in a 35.  Or passing on the shoulder blah blah blah we wuz goin 54 in a 55. 

The screaming mighty feckin flying A- Tex were always the loudest of all the bands at any venue we played.  Many the nights we picked cigarette butts off the floor, tore the paper off the fiberglass filter and just shoved em in our ears to defray the ringing even a little.

Us?  we are qualified to write this non-fiction rant (doomed to be unread by the right people, prolly to be censored by my band mates - but hey, god bless the uncensorable Publish0x)  cause that's us stage right in that grainy band shot. Blowing a beat to shit Selmer Mark Six tenor sax for  everything we are worth in front of City Hall. The only white boys at an oddly specific African American festival street gig inexplicably won by Tory and John.   Damn near thirty years ago--- and  to quote the name of a contemporary band -  we  really "Can't Remember Shit."   So what little makes it through the sweaty alky bloody drug decades of haze seems important, just like our facial scars from slam dancing, and John and Tory's lyrics earwigging through our head. 

We can never forget the day of that photo -  wearing long red with black tribal art passes around our necks  to even try to move backstage in the surprisingly hostile crowd.  We will die clearly remembering a group of Black women in the front of the crowd,  led by one giantess, giving us full on stinkeye & body language hate, catcalling the cracker ass crackers daring to go onstage at the downtown Afro festival.  Until the proudest moment ever -we won the girls over blasting the Reagan era "Where is Lee Harvey Oswald" - isn't there a single noble son of Tex Ass who cares about tradition any more - & who remembers what his trigger fingers' for??"  The leader and her crowd did a 180, started laughing, applauding & cheering with full throats.   

As best we can't remember, met Tory in ever fashionable (read: famously gay) downtown Montrose.   At a closed and illegally just re-opened club. Around then Texas cops, along with hilariously logging who held the throw-down gun, really only allowed one hardcore club to stay open at a time.  A prompt raid by HPD ensued.  We had just moved from Detroit / Cleveland / New Oreleans  to Texas for work. Going solo clubbing, we habitually wore Iron Age steel-toed discount foundry rat cowboy boots on the bike.  With an illegally large Buck knife in the right boot.  When the cops charged in, we ran out the eff out.   Well THAT wasn't like running the cops on a borrowed Suzuki 500 two stroke, wa wa wa wa waaaaa we're going 135 hide the bike and walk back. No, not at all like that.  Instead HPD was waiting for us, & promptly collared our drunken ass easily, putting us down, finding and taking the knife in one smooth motion.  We were freaking out, lying on the parking lot. Living in the cheapest apartment complex in the paper, a recent night with new "friends" had passed through the drunk tank. There, the cops threw in a pretty clearly dead body but continued to beat it as if it were still alive while they moved us out.

The funny part? Ear on the pavement, we watched the searchlights played up and down, over and over the luscious, fishnet stocking, miniskirt wearing legs and ass of the fabulous Kelly Keen ( good Lord we had a crush on her.)   Finally the cops spoke- " Why hell, we came down here expecting to see us some preverts in this part of town.  But lookit y'all, yew got girls (extra spotlight play over Kelly's legs)  and yew got weapons, hell y'all are just good old boys, ain'tcha?  We gonna let you go."   Meanwhile, since our fool ass and Kelly's T & A had focused the cops, Tory came over with his friends and made it a point to thank us loudly for giving them time to leisurely hide THEIR drugs etc. 

A few months blow by, and LIFE IS GREAT!  we at home in bed with our girlfriend, chosen from a show half full of groupies!! John is on the speakers ON THE RADIO, uh-oh, that's odd, he is saying" hello KPFT, we are the Anarchitex, umm, we are not sure where our sax player is, but we'll start with this song..."

Our girl begged us to stay but we had just finished three times and nothing more was gonna happen there, so we jumped into the Buick Riveria with the cow horns and floored it the ten blocks to the radio station and caught the fourth song.  

YEAH we stuffed our pants on stage man, we had to, we were drained. 

ahh memories - Rudyards fakie English pub / icehouse.  Met the blond there.   Once played a gig there, after an outdoor festival was rained out. So drunk that we did not remember a thing until seeing pictures on the wall there months later.. 

OK, that's it for the TLDR liner notes, all y'all looking for that can now bail out with the Cypherpunks that left after reading the title.  for the confused souls left, here is a still shot from the ailieanated seismological hi tech consulting firm where i worked where the mad lad geniii created a 1920's german movie style movie, with us today on youtube

 proudest moments musically, ethically, morally, stylistically, sexually, politically, all came with the Anarchitex.  Now we can hear the moaning - "isn't it cute/sad/funny how much the old farts revere their glory band days?  and form tragicomic reunions? "  Well, f-ck y'all.  I skipped the reunion, always hated the later works of most of my fav punk / rock bands ( and cyberpunk authors for that matter.). Why?  really, because I did not have a sax and the chops worthy of playing with the mighty mighty Anarchitex ( FUCKIN A-TEX.)  Houston up and died in 1986 when the price of oil went from eighty to six dollars per barrel of sweet Texas crude.   For our part, we let our beloved French tenor sax and a pretty damn good baritone be stolen from our car in ever fashionable  right before we went to Wall Street for a new job. 

Not saying the band is pissed at me, I never told them the above, but here is the only pic of me that made the Anarchitex facebookit is a prescient shot of us as a wannabe business asshole, in front of years of Business pages Tory had compulsively saved up.  wait, I lie, here is a blur of what might have been, a golden moment of happiness from my life, bathed in the busom of musical life

Now we never gave a chit really about being worthy for any other band in our life.  In fact, AFTER the Selmer was gone, living in NYC we liberated a shitty student Armstrong tenor sax from a Harvard grad wall street  research colleague ( love ya MY1 YAMBO),   Played that horn at the legendary CBGB's with hardcore legends Stark Raving Mad ( Dead Kennedy's sound alike.)  Played it at police instigated riots and at least one Pussyfest at Tompkins square park,  & at the Bitter End & other NYC venues with Section Eight, Bad Tuna Experience & others, trashed that poor tenor  & never returned it.  

Let'r cry a moment for the good proper French tenor tho.  Bought it used on payments from our (hooked on reds but still excellent) high school band director).  Had it stolen from the house near cleveland by a saxophone playing thug named Tiny, and bought it back with the insurance money and a hideous small town underworld journey. Played it at a bluegrass festival to surprising success. Got laid with it a lot.  HItchiked with it cross country to Mardi Gras to busk in the streets. 

Prouedest moment of my life ?  Onstage, on mike, possibly on radio with the Anarchitex.  At some warehouse art show stage, half the art cars in Texas are there fresh from being  filmed. We are  trying to remember the melody to the brand new "blue Batmobiles on Draucla street" ode to the po po, which Tory had dictator screamed into our ear fairly recently (only way to teach us really.)   

the MC Tory steps up and says "HPD is here.  So turn it up and give it your best ! " (god bless his ass forever!!!)

So, feckin buy the Anarchitex album, it's coming out on some German label.  It's awesome.  I suck for not being on it.    it's pretty much emblematic of the batchelor life in Space City.  And the lyrics, such truth ringing though every song, "gulity rat jump", rent-a-cop, lee harvey,  I saw a button on a lapel. 

my real proudest moment noone ever knew about.  the Anarichtex got a gig with basically 80,000 screaming redneck aggies somewhere, and John wrote some fresh songs that I was 100% convinced would start a riot or at least get the shit beat out of us and arrested again ( to go with all of the bands FBI priors for hanging with Sandistinas.   Despite the death warrant signing feeling, we committed in our heart to go for it.   Fortunately or not, that was the week (one of?) the main frats actually hazed someone to death and the concert was cancelled. 

Love, 

Dave

PS here's an awesome album cover from John, i really shoulda been on it.