Don't think twice it's alright.

This blog post is a bit of a departure. I have stumbled onto a old
issue that has become once again important, so bear with me.

I have been on a "get healthy" journey since the beginning of March. I
have put myself on a 1500 calorie diet and have been exercising A LOT!
Much of my success (20 pounds in 8 weeks) is due to eating very
limited meat. When I do eat meat, it is either chicken or turkey.
Recently I picked up Michael Pollan's OMNIVORE'S DILEMMA and reread
it. Now I am revisiting a moral dilemma I had earlier in my life. I
was a vegetarian once before. I did eat eggs and cheese but nothing
with a face. Honestly, I only quit because of health issues.

OK, some set up: I believe if you can't face the fact that that lovely
steak you are eating was a cow that had to stand in its own waste or
eat a diet that made it sick, then you shouldn't be eating it. When I
was little, if my mom served a roast chicken and I saw the whole
thing, I would, like clockwork, have an upset stomach that night. Was
my mind trying to tell me something?

If you can't kill it, or milk it, or take it's eggs, are we being honest
about where it came from?

I was into FFA (Future Farmers of America) as a youngster, so I have
killed a chicken, milked a cow, harvested eggs, not to mention
castrated a steer and raised a lamb for inevitable slaughter. The day
I watched my lamb get slaughtered (we were made to watch as part of
the class) was the last day I ate lamb. He was an annoying creature
but I just couldn't eat the poor bugger. My family did, insisting it
was the best lamb they ever tasted (a case for happy animals...happy
meat).

Back to the point (I think I have one). I am struggling with our
"humane" forms of slaughter. Some slaughter houses have new "humane"
chutes for the cows that keep them calm. They were designed by Temple
Grandin and she has done some amazing things, but I wonder exactly how
humane *is* "humane" you know?

Sooo . . . I thought I might only buy meat from local farms where the
animals are allowed to move freely and happily through life, eating a
healthy diet of grass and grains --- not their own animal protein. But
they still have to be killed, and in a small farm they certainly don't
have fancy chutes and stun guns. So now what? What was the trade off?

As a side note, in my previous vegetarian incarnation, I loved my
leather shoes because I rationalized that the cows are already dead,
and the hides still had to be used, so I am just helping to fight
against waste . . . Yeah, right Synde. . . denial much? Hey, don't get
me wrong, I still LOVE my leather shoes. Hence the dilemma.

Here is what I have decided to commit to: I will only buy my meat
(still mostly chicken) from local "animal friendly" farms. This will
include cheese as well. I will also have 3 vegetarian days a week,
from breakfast to dinner no animal product at all. For now this is the
best I can do. I am going to check out some of the new meat
substitutes out there like Gardein. We'll see what happens.

I want to make something clear. I have NO ill will towards anyone who
eats meat. I love meat. Man-oh-man, I love me a bacon cheeseburger
once in a while. I just don't know how to have both a yummy-yummy
burger and a shiny happy cow.

So what do you think? I would love to know your thoughts (be nice
please, and no religious discussions --- this is not the right
platform for that).

Tattoo Who?

Back in the day when I was a partner in an Esoteric bookstore, we used to get regular visits from Trent Reznor. He never bought much but he would spend hours perusing books and asking questions. Knowing of my time in the music business, we often talked about common friends. The last time I saw Trent was a few years ago, when on his way out of the store he stopped to tell me about a fledgling band he really liked, called Necrospank 5000. Trent told me I should meet the lead singer Erron Zorn, that he was "my kinda guy." He laughed when I asked for elaboration and simply pointed to a John Dee book, saying, "You already know"
WTF??? Cryptic much Trent?
I forgot about our conversation and went on my way. A few years later I was hanging with Sean Yuselt's band in New Orleans when she asked me if I knew of Erron Zorn.
"NO" I shouted. I told her that she was the second person to mention him in connection to me.
"Well if you meet him you will understand" she smiled. "Also they are having a party at Doctor Voodoo's tonight. You should go! You know where I am talking about right?"
I nodded, wondering just what the hell I was getting myself into.
Later that evening I entered New Orleans notorious Voodoo alley and made my way to the legendary Doctor Voodoo's back room,industrial music emanated from a cobalt door. Sitting on a box next to the door was the weirdest looking huge Sphinx cat (hairless cat). I reached down to give him a little scritch behind the ears and I swear the cats eyes turned red and he winked.

Naw couldn't be.
I opened the door to a cavernous basement, full of smoke, sweat, music ...and some things I dare not mention. Wandering over to the bar, I saw that only two drinks were available. Home brewed absinthe, and something called Black Death. Hmmm hallucinations or death? I opted for thirst, while slowly surveying the room.

My eyes caught on a man sitting in an Egyptian style Morris chair. He was dressed in all black, with wristlets of leather on each arm. His hair was spiky and jet black and his eyes were hidden behind aviator style sunglasses. In other words HAWT!

His head turned towards me as if he felt my steely gaze, He raised his hand very slightly making an oh so subtle beckoning motion. I looked behind me to see who he was summoning only to find there was no one there. I turned back only to see he had lifted his glasses enough to look at me, annoyed impatience reflected in hazel eyes to die for. I hurried over and sat in a small folding chair on his right side. "'Bout time Synde," he drawled in an eerily familiar voice.

"Sorry, have we met?" I asked.Being close to him made me feel disoriented. Magic surrounded him like delicious sandalwood cologne, making my skin tingle.
He grinned. "We have known each other through the ages. The astral plane has no boundaries"
Oh Jesus I thought...here we go...
"I am so sorry," Zorn continued. "My manners are amiss. Erron Zorn at your service." He thumped his chest.
"Synde," I started.
"Yes yes yes I know..Synde Korman, Agent Provocateur," he said chuckling like he'd shared a private joke.
I just stared in confusion
"Here--drink this," he said and handed me a flask. "It will make our time together easier"
I seized the flask and took several gulps before he snatched it back.
"Careful," he warned.
Within moments I could no longer hear the music, and I was only just slightly aware of all the people. I could only see Zorn.

While the room was progressively going out of focus Erron became clearer and larger than life. He was waving his hands in front of me trying to get me to focus on him.
"We don't have much time, and I have some things to say to you. First and foremost, your jewelry...I want a necklace. Make me something SPECIAL...it must deal with banishing and protection. You know what I mean, yes?"
I nodded and he continued...
"It has to be done by the full moon"
"Hey, that's only two weeks," I protested.
He ignored me and continued
"We also have a message for a friend of yours"
By this time my eyes were starting to flutter and my brain was fading, but he continued to talk.
"Jaye Wells, you must warn her that the Caste of Nod wants her..."
I was starting to black out, and the last thing I saw and heard was that damned hairless cat shouting "You're losing her Erron!"
Fade to black....

I woke up two days later in my hotel room, well rested but very unsure of how I got there. As I sat up, I felt a hot sting on the inside of my right arm. Looking down I saw a fresh tattoo of the Necrospank 5000 logo.
"Damn that Zorn" I muttered. A cat's meow echoed through the room, part purr, part laugh. That crazy Sphinx cat was sitting on my bed smirking..
WAIT WHAT????

The rest is better left unsaid....

Tried to save myself,
but myself keeps slipping away....

***** this story is completely fictional..., to find out more about Erron Zorn and Necrospank 5000, hairless cats, or Jaye Wells read GREEN-EYED DEMON the newest installment in the Sabina Kane series by JAYE WELLS. www.jayewells.com

****You can view or purchase Erron Zorn's necklace here. http://etsy.me/hVa9NA

Ask the Angels

This story starts a long time ago- yep...way back in the 70's, when platform shoes and shag haircuts were in fashion..(oh wait..that could be today) in 1976 a very young Synde was becoming fascinated with the growing punk scene in New York City and London. Primarily NYC, but London had the angst ridden politics of the Clash and the Sex Pistols. One of my favorite albums that year was Radio Ethiopia by the Patti Smith Group. It was an uplifting thought provoking mix of music and poetics. As an artist myself no other musician has connected with me artistically the way Patti does. Her words resonate deep within my being. Enough so that my 16 year old self wrote her a letter, telling her so. Not a gushy fangirl letter, rather a missive- the letter from one artist to someone who inspires.
Less than a month later, I received a letter back. The envelope was hand addressed in a tiny scrawling cursive. The letter inside also handwritten began with a line so awesomely Patti, that I still laugh today thinking about it. “Dear Synde- your letter was so positive I ate it for lunch.” Come on now! How cool is that? She went on to offer advice to that would be poet and journalist that changed my course in life.

After highschool I was studying to become a vet, but I left school (don't worry I went back later in life) and turned it in for a life of music and writing.

Five or six years later while working in New York City, I got to meet Patti, at CBGB's no less..(if you don't know about CBGB's google it..YOU SHOULD know!) She was kind and soft spoken but with a rapier wit. She told me she hoped “ I'd eaten her reply” I told her of course I hadn't, but rather that I had in fact framed the letter. She laughed and said “ it will taste better with age I hope!”

I ran into her a few more times over the years and each time she has asked about my career, what I am reading and what I am listening to. Sometimes we talk about both our connections to Jim Morrison.

The last time I saw her(2004) I gave her a necklace I'd made her..”don't eat it though” I laughed.

Patti continues to be a an unwitting mentor to me. Two weeks ago upon returning to LA I finally sent her a poem I'd written. She responded via email(how times change) telling me it was in her office.

She said it gave her hope and she was going to keep it there...WOW my poem sits in Patti Smith's office..Life holds little surprises for us all doesn't it?

**Don't they see when they're looking at me,

that I never end...transcend, transcend...

anit it strange.....****

Crossroads and Keystones

I am going to take a moment away from the music blogs, to talk about another part of my life. I also make jewelry in an ETSY shop called Cemetery Cat Designs.
Today I am pleased to announce I launched a new line inspired by the characters of A Brush of Darkness by Allison Pang. I hope you will check them out and I hope you like them..AND BUY THEM...

Don't Forget the Joker

The other day at work I was talking to one of my coworkers about Lemmy Kilmister. One of the things l like about him is he carries no pretenses about who he is. There isn't a crazy star attitude, he just simply is Lemmy. Some time ago I saw a video about Lemmy, most of which was shot in his home. The carpet was stained and there were bottles and cigarette butts everywhere. There were no vases of flowers or over designed living rooms. Just Lemmy smoking and drinking a beer. That's real life!
Back in the days, there was a time when MTV’s 120 minutes was the thing to watch if you wanted to see metal, goth and anything alternative. You remember --- when super annoying Ricki Rachtman was the host?( Correction: I was reminded that I am talking Headbangers Ball..120 Minutes had the bald dude as the host...Thanks Aleck) Anyway, they used to throw some pretty amazing parties. One such party was a the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, poolside. Everyone was there. Especially if hair metal was your thing (I would argue that it's not mine, but you all have seen my post on C.C. Deville). The boys from Poison were there, bad boi (koff koff) Tommy Lee, Blasko, John Tempesta, Mike Ness. I think Everlast and the Offspring were also there, and I even believe that Glen Danzig made an appearance. Scattered throughout were typical industry folks, playboy bunnies in various forms of dress and undress, and the rockstars of the moment. So we were all hanging around poolside when here comes Lemmy in a speedo (a European model which is even smaller if possible) and cowboy boots. He is walking tall, proud to show off his body. Basically he was there to pick up women, and you know what? It was working. For the life of me I couldn't believe how well it was working. (I think right then I might have thrown up in my mouth a little.) Why was it working? Well, for various reasons really. He is under no assumptions about how he looks. I mean, lets face it, hygiene is not necessarily his best friend. But he is a rockstar, in no uncertain terms! He doesn't throw fits or ask for only green M&Ms, but he oozes rock n roll out of every pore. He is the real deal. After all the banana hammock jokes had run their course, I had a chance to talk to Lemmy. The guy is hilarious and personable. He told jokes, some so fantastically dirty that I had to fight down a blush. Still I found myself enjoying every minute. Somehow when he leered at me and asked “who are you m'dear,” I didn't want to punch him, just pat him on the back and sigh, “Oh, Lemmy.” I have only met him that one time, but recently I saw the Lemmy documentary and it's a must see. I just love this crazy mother.Give Lemmy and Motorhead a try, they started in 1975..still going strong today you just can't forget the Joker..

****You know me, evil eye
You know me, prepare to die
You know me, the graveyard kiss
Devil's grip, the Iron Fist******

I will wear my hair long

As I mentioned before, while in college I worked some video shoots. There were two reasons for this. One, it was very very easy work and
it lasted only two days at the most. And two, they shot a ton of said videos at my college campus (California Institute of the Arts). Very little travel required.

I have sprayed water on Kevin Dubrow's forehead, so it looks like he's sweating (as well as sprayed black hair color on his bald spot). Been
yelled at by David Lee Roth (see earlier post), not to mention been completely charmed by Ian Astbury of the Cult. All hair, feathers and

leather, this dude has the charisma! Which I can only attribute to him being one of the Fae (his ears weren't pointed...or were they?) I have
been a fan of the Cult since the days of Southern Death Cult, so the idea of working as a wardrobe assistant for their video shoot was very

cool.

I arrived at the sound stage and was immediately immersed in the
leather, velvet, and makeup of the wardrobe trailer. The costumer
Susie and Ian were engaged in a discussion about his hair. She wanted
it pulled back and he wanted it loose. It seemed an odd debate, and
clearly she had never seen the band perform. They both turned and
looked at me as I entered and paused, then Ian demanded "back or
loose" I smiled. I was between a rock and a hard place, and I knew it.

However, Art is art, so I smugly said, "Loose but maybe with a hat?"

He loved that. Susie, however, gave me the "look of death."

After that I was just pretty much steaming jackets in the wardrobe
prison. It was fine; it's what I was hired to do. I heard the playback
start and figured they must finally be filming. All of a sudden the
music stopped and I didn't think too much of it. That is, til the
yelling started.

Then the trailer door slammed and I turned to see Ian standing there

very perplexed. "This jacket hurts. It's fucking killing me," he

whined. It was clear that he was teetering on the edge of true rockstar angst.

I helped him off with the the velvet coat only to see blood dripping

down his arm. "Holy fuck!" I exclaimed.

He wasn't whining --- he was bleeding.

It seems that the costumer had left a pin in the shoulder seam, and

each time he moved, it scratched his arm. When he saw what had

happened, he boiled over in a cacophony of cussing and flailing arms.

Like a cresting wave, he tumbled out of the trailer door shouting in

annoyance. I fixed the jacket amid distanced shouts, then suddenly:
quiet.

The assistant director for the shoot came in, smiled and said,
"Congratulations you just got promoted. Susie quit."

Yipes! I'd been had! Ian returned, and I patched his shoulder with a
bit of gauze and tape, then got him back inside the jacket. I also

added a small heart just under his left eye. "Better?" I asked.

His answer was a nod and a kiss on the cheek. Oh Ian, you sly devil...
He took my hand and pulled me out of the trailer to the sound stage,
where the band and dancers were waiting. He let go of my hand and

cautioned, "Make sure I look perfect." The rest of the band voiced

their concerns and we fixed them all except one: Billy Duffy was
worried he looked too much like Billy Idol. Short of hair dye I
couldn't really fix that...

There were some makeup fixes, but apart from that, the shoot went
smoothly. The boys were quite nice and thanked me profusely for taking
over. They gave me a signed LOVE poster (which hung in my hallway all
through the 80s and 90s). Ian also gave me the skull ring he was
wearing (yes, yes I still have it, although I never ever wear it). I
went on my way, pleased that I did a good job. Every time I see the
RAIN video I still feel satisfaction.

Years later, I am at a VH1 Doors filming where Ian is to take the lead
singer reins from Jim Morrison (AGGGGHHHHH! GURGLE! NOOOOOO). His hair
was short and his edge was gone. His charm, however...yep, still
there. He came up to me, hugged me and was genuinely nice. He talked

about a new album coming out, prefacing it with, "Its more metal than

you like, but give it a go." Wait what? I don't like metal? It's like

he didn't even know me! Oh yeah, he doesn't really...

The album BORN INTO THIS did okay --- not my cup of tea, as I
preferred the tribal ritualistic side of The Cult. Still, it was a
good foray into metal/rock. And mostly I am glad to see that Ian kept
his humanity. Sometimes it just works that way. Thank the Gods.

***I've been waiting for her for so long
open the sky and let her come down************************

Get Your Boots On

As I have stated before, I worked at Magic Mountain during my college years. I was the stage manager for Showcase Theater, and hosted many a band.
On this particular night, a little-known British band called King was making their US debut as well as starting a longish tour. They had two huge hits in the UK with "Love and Pride" and "Won't You
Hold My Hand Now." They also had a sponsorship with Doc Martens. The lead singer Paul King was easily 6'2", and he wore these red or yellow suits with short pants and red Docs...the whole thing made him look
like a demented Jethro Bodine. He was supposedly really very shy too, to the point of their road manager -- a gregarious blond who introduced himself as Steve-O -- warned me about Paul's shyness.

Funnily enough, I didn't find him shy; he seemed honest and friendly as he grilled me about what he could expect on American soil. We talked so much, I forgot to make sure there was water on the stage. (This theater was a traditional style, meaning it had a proscenium, which is the wall that separates the stage from the audience. In fact,

this stage had a double proscenium, which created a little alcove on
either side of the stage between the audience and the band… Okay, Tech
Theater time is over now.)
Soooo, as I was rushing to set the water and beer in the alcove, I heard the lighting designer say over the two-way radios that the curtain was going up. Shit! I was on stage and the show was starting!

I was trapped as I jumped into the little crawlspace. It wasn't a
matter of sneaking out in the dark. Sadly, the stage was lit up like
the sun. Most of the band noticed me right away, sitting on the floor
in that tiny space, sulking. I had to turn the 2 way radio off once I let my
staff know where I was holed up. Four or five songs in, Paul noticed
me. Frankly, it was apparent he worked hard not to laugh, point or
throw water. The show was awesome, as clearly I had the best seat in
the house. Well, that is until the encore…ah, yes. Sir King came to
get water, looked me right in the eyes and whispered into the dark, "I
would take your tool belt off if I were you." The look on his face
held utter mischief, and I'm not too proud to say that I was scared…

I heard the opening strains of "Won't You Hold My Hand Now" and
looked up… Yep, he was standing right there in front of me with his
hand outstretched. OH, HELL NO! I tried to plaster myself against a
wall, but he just reached in, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out to the
center of the stage. I couldn't really fight, because that would make
the show look stupid. "Jethro" proceeded to kneel (I am only 5'2") and
sing to me, all the while firmly holding my hand. I wished that I
could have melted into the floor. It was not my best moment. Finally,
I accepted the whole rigmarole and enjoyed myself. I do believe I even
stomped a few dance steps up there with him.

After the show, everyone in the band hugged me as well as made fun of
me. They loaded me up with swag (which I still have). Then Paul came
by, thanked me for being a good sport, and asked if I would work some
of their California gigs. Sadly, I was right in the middle of a
production at school and couldn't leave. So they went on their way.
The band broke up two years later, I was sad to find out. Paul has
been in and out of the limelight as a model and a solo artist, but I
never did forget that day.

These are heavy times.
So won't you show your hand?


Special thanks to Amy Kinard for helping me to remember....;) thx!