Darkthrone — Panzerfaust: While this one is not considered as much of a black metal classic (by hardcores at least) as A Blaze in the Northern Sky, Transylvanian Hunger, or Under a Funeral Moon, I always go back to this album for it’s over the top homage to Celtic Frost. Fenriz and Nocturno Culto shifted from being necro and underground to being just over the top heavy and aggressive. And you can still hear the huge influence this album, along with the previous three discs, had on Phil Anselmo’s Superjoint Ritual (which stole its name from “The Pagan Winter” on A Blaze in the Northern Sky).

Monty Python’s Flying Circus — Monty Python’s Previous Record: I’ve been on a bit of a Monty Python kick after watching the six episode “Almost the Truth” documentary and starting to read through Michael Palin’s diaries from the Python Years. I recently digitized all of my Monty Python vinyl and this one still stands out as my favorite. Mostly because the new material written for the record is so damn funny, including “Embarrassment” and “Australian Table Wines.” Also, this one is a nice improvement over the first album, released by the BBC (and the only record the Python’s don’t own the rights to), which was recorded live in front of a very lethargic audience.

Miles Davis — Miles Smiles: For some reason, I never quite ‘got’ the second Miles Davis quintet. Maybe it was because it lead into Miles fusion period which took me a while to get into as well. Or perhaps it was because the second quintet with Herbie Hancock, Tony Williams, and Wayne Shorter stood in the shadow of the first great quintet with John Coltrane, Bill Evans, and Cannonball Adderley. Regardless, at some point, this album finally clicked for me, and every once in a blue moon I go back to it, usually in winter for some reason — maybe it’s the complexity of the compositions. There is a great energy to this lineup, especially in Tony Williams drumming and Herbie Hancock’s fluid-yet-complex playing style which I grow more in awe of over the years. “Circle” still ranks up there with my favorite tracks by Miles.

Dishammer — Vintage Addiction: After hearing Dishammer’s split 7″ with the Warwolves, I scored this gem on vinyl from Hell’s Headbangers (via Parasitic Records mail order). So much heavy d-beat goodness here. Four Spaniards channeling all their love of Motörhead, Discharge, and Entombed into one stellar album. Most of the songs clock in at 2 minutes or less, with only a few stretching to what would be considered epic for Dishammer at 3-4 minutes. There’s no letup. Dishammer just pummels you with pure hypercharged energy one song after another.

Having been born and raised in New Jersey, I’m often asked by non-Jersians, “What was it like?” I usually get odd stares when I respond with, “Like the circus left town.”

There is a sadness to New Jersey. If you’ve lived there you know what I’m talking about. It’s hard to see past the state borders. Things outside of New Jersey just don’t seem possible. Maybe that is why, too often, people never leave New Jersey. They usually wind up just staying put, residing two towns over from where they grew up, still hanging out with the same high school friends. As they get older, their worldview may expand, but often it’s too late. New Jersey has them. To leave it all behind would be to rip themselves from the womb. I was lucky enough to leave when I was 18. Looking back on those that didn’t, I realized that was the sadness of New Jersey: being trapped in place that never offered much promise to begin with. Seeing it now, it always feels like the circus just left town, a pale memory of it drifting down the turnpike.

That sense of sadness is all over Alex Austin’s The Red Album of Asbury Park. It is in the setting: Springsteen-land in the late 1960s, a once thriving seaside getaway, now a rundown hulk of decaying buildings, degenerates, dive bars, thieves, decrepit amusements, gangsters, and junkies. (Go there now and you’ll see not much has changed, except the amusements are gone). It is also in the main character. Vet Sam Nesbitt has just come back from Vietnam. He’s one of the lucky ones. The horrors of war have given him a worldview that goes beyond Ocean Avenue. He wants out. He wants to make something of himself, to escape the ghosts of days past, and not become another lost cause walking the streets of Asbury Park. That’s more than once can say of his binge-drinking mother, his deceased father (who had his own secrets), and his unmotivated brother (or perhaps just motivated in the wrong directions).

Nesbitt’s hope is music. He has the goods as a guitar player and harbors dreams of that hit album that will get him the hell out of New Jersey. Except the music is too much of an escape. It is a pipe dream that bursts whenever confronted by all the obstacles surrounding Sam. Austin never once over-glorifies Sam’s pursuit of musical stardom. Instead, as any musician would attest, Sam’s efforts become an endless series of letdowns — bad gigs, continuous debt, medical mishaps, band breakups, missed opportunities –that far outweigh those nights where everything goes right.

Most importantly, Austin nails New Jersey. Sam’s dreams are dashed not because he can’t cut it as a musician — if anyone deserves to make it, he does — but because he runs face first into those obstacles each time. Sam has his dreams, but no actual hope. The dreams are merely a way to escape what ultimately is the grim reality facing him: a dead-end town with too many obstacles and not enough opportunity.

Often, novels about musicians fall apart when it comes to what should be the easiest part: the music. Writers tend to make the mistake of focusing too much on the music and not enough on the life of the musicians. It gives a story too much hokiness, especially when written by a non-musician. Too much focus on the flow of songs and how adeptly the characters are playing them and not enough focus on what that music means to the musicians in question. Austin takes a different tact. Sam’s escape into music (and his pursuit of being rock star) is important, but rendered in broad strokes rather than specifics. It is not what makes the character live and breathe in the reader’s mind. He wants to be big — Pete Townshend big — but he has to survive Asbury Park first. Throughout the novel, no matter how hard Sam pushes towards the dream, his family, or the local gangsters, or the women who don’t want him as much as he wants them, pull the bottom out from under him, dropping him to the pavement. Each time he dusts himself off and jumps back into the fray. The circus had left Asbury Park years ago and Sam’s struggle to resurrect his musical dreams make him sad, but also heroic. He’s the only guy in town who hasn’t given up even if he is the only one who knows it’s a worthless to even try.

If that’s not a novel about New Jersey, I don’t know what is. In The Red Album of Asbury Park, Alex Austin has crafted a sad postcard from the Garden State, but one worth reading.

I have officially started on book #2. Without giving away any details, one of the main characters in the book is everyone’s favorite mischief maker and all around swinging guy, Satan. The idea for the book actually came to me one morning while listening to “Up Jumped the Devil” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Those pounding piano chords, Cave’s voice growling at that low register, the overall vibe of the dark one lurking mischievously up the street — the plot of the book laid itself out instantly in my head.

On the rare occasions when I do finally plop my ass in the chair to tap away at the keyboard, I always listen to music. Some folks find this odd as they usually require peace and quiet when writing. But I prefer to have music blaring, preferably something that gets me in the mood of the story. When I wrote The Love Book, I listened to really heavy Doom: Black Sabbath, Cathedral, The Obsessed, Spirit Caravan, St. Vitus, Grand Magus, Candlemass, Trouble. The music fit the dark stories I was firing out.

For this next book, since Satan is a central character, I decided to make good use of iTunes and put together “The Satan Playlist.” The basic criteria was this: any song that includes Satan or the devil or old scratch as a character. So for example: Robert Johnson’s “Me and the Devil Blues” is in since Johnsons sings, “And I said Hello, Satan, I believe it’s time to go,” but AC/DC’s “Hell Ain’t No Bad Place to Be” doesn’t make it since Bon Scott is merely referring to his rock n’ roll lifestyle. So without further ado, here is the playlist I put together. If you think I’ve grossly overlooked a song, send a suggestion to biffsatan@kenwohlrob.com.

Up Jumped The Devil — Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
Satan’s Fall — Mercyful Fate
Devil Do — Holly Golightly & The Brokeoffs
Satan Comes to the East Village — The Black Hand
Me And The Devil Blues — Robert Johnson
Sympathy For The Devil — The Rolling Stones
Lord Of This World — Black Sabbath
Satan Ex-Machina — Nox
The Devil Stole The Beat From The Lord — The Hellacopters
The Dealer — Goatsnake
Satan’s Curse — Possessed
In League With Satan — Venom
Heaven And Hell — Black Sabbath
The Devil’s Chasing Me — Reverend Horton Heat
Bleed For The Devil — Morbid Angel
The Devil And The Damage Done — Witchery
Hells Bells — AC/DC
The Antichrist — Slayer
Shout At The Devil — Mötley Crüe
Chief Rebel Angel — Entombed
Antikrist — Dimmu Borgir
King At The King / Evil Is In — Stormtroopers Of Death
The Tempter — Trouble
King Contrary Man — The Cult
In The Flesh — Entombed
Satan — Entombed
Highway To Hell — AC/DC
Hell Awaits — Slayer