A year ago I wrote up a thing about a very important fanzine to me, Middlesex, New Jersey’s Flesh and Bones #6. When Spring 1988 rolled around and Flesh & Bones #7 rolled around with it, I made zero haste and bought this one immediately upon sight, almost certainly at Rhino or Aron’s in Los Angeles. I was, at this point, a junior in college and very much immersed in record collecting and ultra-loud “longhaired punk” bands from both Seattle and the east coast, very much including this issue’s Green River, White Zombie and Das Damen. But honestly, the music coverage in Flesh and Bones, such as it was, was absolutely secondary to the mag’s presentation ethos, which revolved around comedically cutting, pasting and manipulating 50s, 60s and 70s advertisements and comics; loads of drug and hippie humor; eye-popping modern comix art; wild, hair-swinging photos of modern abrasive heshers, and a super goofy, it’s-fun-but-who-gives-a-shit approach to rock & roll in general. 

I believe I enjoyed this particular issue even more than I did #6, though it wasn’t quite as revelatory. Even now I get a big laff out of it. Published by Jeff/“Jeffo”, a gentleman whom I’ve tried to digitally engage with in our current era to no avail, Flesh & Bones #7 has even more erstwhile hair farmers than its predecessor, including truly awful shirtless photos of Saint Vitus, who were unfortunately interviewed as well. The mag starts with a phony underground rock gossip column with blatantly untrue “items” about the likes of Ed Gein’s Car, Sloth, Phantom Tollbooth, Redd Kross and Live Skull – so not only those captivated by that strange 1986-89 interregnum when male hair went totally bananas and a handful of bands half-pretended that Jim Dandy and Black Oak Arkansas were something to aspire to. 

Along those lines, there is a fantastic “guide to being a real man” photo essay called “Manly Phrases and Gestures” by a greasy rocker named Davoid, from a (apparently real) band called Wassermann Love Puddle. He shows off his scar, his cop belt, his boots, how to answer the door with a baseball bat, and best of all, his melancholy down times, sitting at the bar alone, “Thinking about ‘Nam”. Oh yeah – ‘Nam. Charlie. Don’t get me started, comrade. There’s also a “Wild Women of Rock” article with loads of photos in which we get to meet and celebrate, among others, Elyse from Raging Slab, Jennifer from Royal Trux, Sean from White Zombie and yes, Yanna from Big Stick! 

Das Damen are allowed to say their piece in an abbreviated 1986-87 tour diary that’s well worth paying attention to. Bob Bert tells his life story, taking us up to the present days in Pussy Galore, who were one of my 2-3 favorite bands on the planet at this time and who, in my eyes, aged the best of just about anyone from the so-called pigfuck years. Typical of Flesh & Bones #7 is in-jokey pieces that fill spaces in between features like “Twenty Ways To Ruin The Scene”. Those of you as old as i am will remember when “the scene” was sacrosanct, and any efforts to disunite or trample upon it were highly frowned upon. Is it funny? I don’t know, is it? When you’re 20 years old it sure is.

Peppered around all of this stuff are strange comics, tongue-firmly-in-cheek record reviews and so, so many great band photos – in the back section of live reviews alone are some of the best shots I’ve ever seen of The Flaming Lips, BALL, Divine Horseman, No Trend and Death of Samantha – with every photo uncredited! It’s as good as Monica Dee’s stuff but I have no idea who took these gems. And in 1988, you could buy this meaty, 80-page Flesh & Bones #7 for a cover price of $2. Today it goes for a little more than that.