–Photo by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Wordless Wednesday – 8/9/23 – Oriole Park at Camden Yards
Urban Decay
No doubt a familiar sight to anyone who lives in or has spent a great deal of time around economically depressed city regions. It’s a post-apocalyptic hellhole reminiscent of The Walking Dead or the Dying Light zombie games.
Yet the disease is not a fictitious bacteria outbreak. This form of urban decay comes from impoverished conditions, age, neglect, fires that were either accidentally or purposefully tripped, lack of money for proper upkeep or crime. Or a dreadful combination of them.
Often the title ownership to left-for-dead rowhomes like these in Baltimore City are transferred so frequently like a hot potato it gives the real estate phrase “flipping” (as in turning around an investment property in quick succession to another buyer soon after an initial purchase) a bad name. Especially when no money gets put into the investment property, resold at a marginal profit “as is.”
Every time I see one of those “flip that house” shows on t.v., it reminds me of a time when the business act was once illegal in the state of Maryland. Not that it stopped seedy investors and cash-grab title companies. This is the business I work in by day, 27 years’ worth. I’ve seen it all and continue to do so even today. It’s a trade not for the weak.
Imagine trying to parkour across caved in or in many cases as you see here, thoroughly wiped-out rooftops. In the few cases of city rowhomes which have benefited from upkeep, being forced to co-exist with ramshackle garbage which may or may not have been properly deemed as condemned has forced, along with Baltimore’s insane crime rate, many folks to move out in a mass exodus. This has forced a lot strain on the city’s suburbs.
Then again, we have seen a large uptick in city rehab investors buying these decades-old properties on the low end and many of them actually doing the right thing, sinking proper uplift funding through time-spread rehab escrows. Taking the time to reinvest, remodel, apply for the appropriate use and occupancy permits, turning junk into jewelry. While I’ve seen rise and demise after rise and demise inside the standard residential mortgage industry (a cyclical business from which I’ve both thrived and been downsized too many times), right now hard money lenders and privatized funding operations are giving life to a prolonged hard season inside the industry.
Perchance to dream rotten core shells like this seldom few venture into may yet again have a chance to breathe…
–Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Five Things Friday – 8/4/23
Hey hey, my friends! Hope the week’s been kind to you. It’s been a while since I’ve done a Five Friday operation here at Roads Lesser Traveled, but I’m in the mood since there’s been a lot tumbling around in my head, most of it good, some…well, we’ll leave that mess all on the back burner where it belongs. So here are five things at the front that are worth mentioning:
One: I have had the best traffic stats here on the ol’ blog this week in a long time. By my count, this was my second-best week ever. I know a lot of it comes down to consistency and interaction and hopefully dropping content y’all are enjoying. My spare time between family and work is pretty slim, but it was a productive content and other blog visitation week. I want to thank all of you for amping my visits. Thank you to all of my new followers who came aboard this week (definitely a record number of newbies in a week for RLT, woot!) and simply, thanks for your support. Virtual huggies, fist bumps, low hand slides, all that jive.
Two: Iron Man may have had a dramatic exit out of the MCU in the movies ala Avengers: Endgame, however, Tony Stark is alive and well in the comics and, of all things, he’s getting hitched! No, not to Pepper. No, he’s not stealing Peter Parker’s eternal flame, MJ. Not even Hellcat, with whom he had a fling in the last volume of Iron Man the comic. No, Stark has lost everything in this current run of the title, penned by Gerry Duggan, and he’s out for vengeance against the anti-mutant crusader who usurped his fortune and tech, Feilong.
What does Stark have left after his pal Jim “Rhodey” Rhodes gets framed and arrested for a murder he didn’t commit while helping Tony shell out (yeah, pun intended) his armament buildings controlled by Feilong? A generation-passed membership into the Hellfire Club and what is being set up a future marriage to X-Men supreme Omega, Emma Frost! This whole plot seems wackier than an eight appendaged Spiderman (yeah, that really happened), but Duggan, who is also writing a hefty load of X-Men and prime engineer of the dramatic “Fall of X” storyline now in full motion, has been aces with The Invincible Iron Man. Consider that my current drug comic right now. Gimmick or not, the nuptials between Stark and Frost is a must-read! Bring tha noise!
Three: My son is getting close to driving age, which means he’s growing up and has been much faster than I wanted him to. Sounds like familiar vernacular to any parent, I’m sure. Over the years, I’ve had a tough time navigating what media is appropriate for him to consume, whether it’s video games, music, movies, all of it. Every teenager growing up has to push the envelope with his or her parent(s). What gets considered taboo becomes the ultimate sneak spree. I know all about it, considering the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre was on my mom’s no-no list while I was growing up. This was at the dawn of VCRs and video tapes. My old buddy, Shawn, and I had an “in” at a local video store and being hungry horror hounds, we were able to get Chainsaw on the down low, and, as it turned out, far worse, considering the original Texas romp was tame in the gore department.
I think of that all the time when I figure how much my kid snuck behind my back and how we’re now well past it. Where I was hardline conservative in parenting, more liberal in my politics, sociology and overall thought process, I’ve softened up over time with my kid. He’s seen it all, done some choice things I had to take him to the mat over, but in a summer of healing for all of us a family, enter the old Showtime series, the American version of Shameless, running on Netflix. Two years ago, I would’ve ripped all access to any media from my kid if he’d tried to pawn this. Now, here we are, almost done with Season 2 (he already binged the entire run once since it’s summer break for him) and I love the fearlessness of this show. It reminds me of HBO’s Six Feet Under, my second all-time favorite show in the way that anything goes, no filter or border is safe, and yet all of the insane shenanigans of Shameless is so well-executed, such a flippin’ riot, I keep studying it for my own work.
Funny how parents and their kids can sometimes come to an awkward, if harmonious meeting at the generation gap.
Four: Tomorrow, my cousin Shawn (a different Shawn than Texas Chainsaw Shawn, lol) who will be my “best mensch” at our wedding, and I are going to the Baltimore Orioles game, my first since COVID. I used to take my family to Orioles and Washington Nationals games a lot before the outbreak, because we had limited entertainment funds and we were either at a library, a park, the movies or a baseball stadium. My son got the shits of baseball, unfortunately, to the point he likes to do what teenagers do and give me grief saying the Orioles “suck.” Just because.
Well, yeah, they fell like a brick on hard times in the past few years, but if you’re paying attention to baseball, the Orioles are currently flying high. Way high. I won’t quote the stats, because I’m a firm believer in sports jinx, but anywho, tomorrow, the Orioles will be honoring the 1983 team which last won a World Series for Baltimore. 40 years ago. We’re talking Cal Ripkin, Jim Palmer, Rick Dempsey, a ton of O’s legends including my man, Eddie Murray. The team is not only bringing back much of that wonderful Class of ’83, there’s an Eddie Murray bobblehead giveaway! I had to go. I just had to. It’ll be a blast just to call out the chant when Eddie steps out on the field tomorrow, just like we did at the height of Orioles Magic back in the day: “Ed-die! Ed-die! Ed-die!”
Five: A hijack of a post I did at Facebook last week:
“Happy stat of the week. A couple weeks ago, I went to the doctor for a routine and TJ asked me to have them draw blood for a cholesterol check. Turns out that registered high and I was also told I have a pre-diabetic condition. I came in at 192 pounds which isn’t bad, but definitely a result of nursing my third back pull of the year and heavy intakes. My vest for my wedding suit was too tight, a wakeup call of its own.
Doing my research, I knocked out excess carbs due to a lazier than usual diet, quit stress snacking at work, restricted myself to 4 alcoholic drinks only in a week and got back to basics with healthier eating. My sugar intake spiked as it will living with a teenager, but I refuse to use that excuse any longer. With my chiropractor’s help, I have been running 2-3 miles 3 times a week on mixed elevations, 4-5 miles on a track as I prepare for 5K and 10K races in September. Intensive lifting days as I feel froggy. Two weeks later, I came in this morning weighing 182.5 pounds. Nearly 10 burned off in that duration.
Do yourselves a favor, especially as you get older; keep on top of your health and keep a close eye on cholesterol and sugar levels.”
I’m happy to report that my weigh-in this morning showed only a .5 pound gain for a lean and stealthy 183. Hopefully I can maintain this momentum.
–Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Because It’s Doro
Here’s your boy in the court of the Queen of Metal, Doro Pesch, circa 2006. I’m proud to say I’ve interviewed Doro four times in my career, one the sweetest, humblest people on the planet. Doro celebrates her 40th anniversary this year with a new album in October, Conqueress – Forever Strong and Proud. These pictures you see remain one of my favorite nights (and weekends) in the music business, hanging with Doro and Savatage/Trans-Siberian Orchestra guitarist, Chris Caffery, who’d been subbing in her band on that night on top of opening the gig with his own ripping solo slot.
I’d been in NYC the night before covering industrial rock legends Skinny Puppy, schlepping down the east coast to cover Doro’s gig the next day on little sleep. I’d fallen asleep behind the wheel on the way home for a moment and I’m damned lucky to be alive today.
You had The Runaways, Betsy Bitch, Wendy O. Williams and Girlschool breaking gender barriers in heavy music before Doro Pesch fronted Eighties German metal heroes, Warlock, and accelerated a woman’s deserved place inside the masculine-dominated genre. Sure, Doro’s combined beauty as a former model and her svelte stage presence has always made her a divine visual spectacle and she remains an ageless wonder today. Her chops have always been on their game and I’m looking forward to hearing them again, now 40 years in the metal life. Doro isn’t so much a machine as she is a perfected fireball. High altos to lower octave rasping, Doro hits it all, and she can rally you as much as seduce you. Doro’s solo music is an extension of Warlock’s stomping anthems, because all we are, all we are we are, we are all…all we need.
What has always struck me about Doro, however, is how gentle and sweet she is when you talk to her. It’s no secret Doro Pesch puts her fans ahead of herself and she is perhaps the most personable celebrity in heavy metal. The first time I had Doro on my phone, I literally melted. I confessed like a nerd that I’d harbored a crush on her in 1988 after my then-girlfriend dumped me on her way to college. Doro and Warlock vicariously helped me get through that teenaged trial–along with the Ramones.
Kind soul that Doro is, she laughed and thanked me but there was a genuine, flattered cadence to her delivery that resounded with me. This is a woman who’s no doubt been told by hundreds of thousands of men how attractive she is and still there’s a profound humility to Doro Pesch that endears you further to her. Luckily, I hadn’t chased her off with that reckless admission. I mean, who does that in a professional interview? She gave me three more and remembered me each time, so happily, no faux pas!
That night in 2006 hanging with Doro and Chris Caffery and Doro’s drummer Johnny Dee is one of my happiest moments as a rock journalist. Johnny, doubling as Doro’s tour manager, was beyond gracious. The guy took care of me and escorted me through the venue security without confrontation and yet to claim my backstage pass, which he’d slipped into my laminate holder at the precise time I needed it. I still have that badge in my box of music scene mementos. Suffice it to say, security for Doro Pesch is pretty damned strong, for obvious reasons.
Every time the Queen of Metal had new material to promote, my motto to my editors was “I always have time for Doro.” I can tell you from the four interviews I did with Doro she is simply precious and the humblest woman of her stature I’ve ever known. One of those chats came after she’d lost her American home in Long Island to Hurricane Irene after relocating from her native Dusseldorf, Germany. She was stoic while soft-spoken and so very gracious in her time and candidness. I was incredibly proud of her.
One of the interviews I did with Doro was even more of an honor, considering it was an assignment for Metal Maniacs magazine bestowed upon me by the editor, one of Doro’s personal friends who normally takes Doro herself. Thank you for that, Liz. I understood what an immense gesture it was to grant me the Doro interview. That was number four and I was as proud of that one as I was the first one for my monthly column in AMP, much less that awesome night in Springfield, Virginia.
In…my…heart, Doro...fur immer…
–Photos by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Wordless Wednesday – 8/2/23
Labyrinth of Media
As alluded in yesterday’s post, at the height of my time writing in the music industry, I kept more than half the freebie promotional books, CDs, vinyl, DVDs and Blu Rays I was being sent for review and interview consideration. This added to a meticulously curated collection of music from nearly all genres, not just metal, punk and Goth, which I extensively covered in my time writing in the scene.
Eventually, people started seeing me pull comparisons from other genres and I was being tried with submissions outside of what I could pitch for assignment. In fact, one of the cooler moments in my career was the time a black metal artist reached out to me and thanked me for being the only reviewer, much listener, to pull The Cure from his music. For me, the dank textures I heard from The Cure’s Pornography and Seventeen Seconds was evident and richly used inside the loud and brackish tones said artist employed.
At one point in my career, I was writing for 13 simultaneous venues, print and online, including two monthly columns. Nowadays unheard of, since print media is hanging by a splintering lifeline and even the most seasoned writers are now featured at one to a small handful of gigs at a time.
My pulling hints of country, classic rock, Afrobeat, hip hop, folk, electro-trance, Celtic and ambient into my reviews was because of the constant hunger for music in my life and all the expendable cash I could turn around to try new music from as many diverse walks of life. I sought all the music I could which had any sense of integrity since I felt like it made me a better writer. As we were almost always tight in the budget back then, I would usually take my freelancing money and reinvest it into music purchases. That, plus expertly maximizing all the record store gift certificates I got. I always waited for key sale days where I got a freebie of equal value for each unit bought, this before it was called a BOGO.
It meant to the industry at-large I could field other genres, though it mostly culminated in a nice writing gig for Music Dish where I could take on DVD releases by Joni Mitchell, Barry White and non-heavy music. Even Blabbermouth gave me latitude here and there to drop an off-their-radar retrospective Blu Ray review of, say, The Jam, Bad Brains or The Doors.
My ex-wife was a good sport about it all, but even she had her moments of teeth gnashing when our mailbox was stuffed to the metallic gills with hard copy promos most days. Our bills would end up crushed or sometimes lost altogether from the swamping of promos. The stacks of new material upon my desk were something to behold back then. Nearly as much as the shelving units I erected to store all of this media when I had the basement of a rancher as my office.
Considering I’ve always worked a full-time job, I devoted a large part of my downtime toward building my second career in journalism. No matter how things turned out between my ex and I, I will always give her due credit for giving me the space to chase my dream in the music business. At the height of my time writing in the industry, I was covering 10-12 shows a month with on-site interviews and show photography. That alone was time-consuming, especially the transcriptions and copy submissions. Add all the reviews and time invested listening 2-3 times to a new album release each, sitting in front of the tube with a pad and pen for videos which ran, on average, 2 to 3 hours each, and read new book releases… You get the picture. It was exhilarating, but it was also goddamn exhausting. I slept very little back then. I always talk about going to a show after my day job, getting home, getting the photos and interview turned in by 4:00 a.m., then back up again at 7:30 a.m. to go back to work. I was living the dream, though.
Later in my music career, I ended up taking all the work I could and socking it into our account when times grew tough. I turned it into a second job for income we had to have, and once we adopted our son, it became even more of a challenge to squeeze all of that work for money we needed, since his welfare came first and foremost.
My labyrinth of media was at the rancher, and I do miss it because of the beautiful neighbors we had, plus my monster-wide office which even had my old drum set and congas to spank in-between assignments. Those were some amazing years of my life and before we were forced to move out by the landlord who was selling the place, I had nine total shelves loaded with books, CD, vinyl and videos. I wish I’d taken more photos than these, but you literally walked into a self-made corridor of media which intimidated most of our guests but had a few wanting to stay there the entire time during a visit and pick my brain for industry stories.
When we had to relocate, we had to downsize in space. I ended up giving trash bags full of media to my friends that wouldn’t fit, especially in a well-stuffed storage locker. It became a matter of treating things less as my trophy room and more for practicality. Moving 26 boxes just for my media (my comic book collection is another beast altogether) became more of a taxing chore than a love of it. With each subsequent move, I pared down the collection even more, feeling my heart pierce each time.
I still had a wonderful collection before I separated from my ex, but I began to feel embarrassed when it took nearly 45 minutes alone to pull my media out of the basement even then. Once TJ and I got together and I saw her cringe at what I still had of media, I was initially saddened. Once we got serious together and decided marriage was going to be a thing, though, I knew we could only bring so much of our excess into a unified home with my son.
The rest, you all know. My music, the best of the best, is still with me, just more portable. The most meaningful CDs I refuse to part with, like my film scores and soundtracks, my Stax Records and 1950s American Heartbeat rock ‘n roll box sets, my Prince, Iron Maiden and Voivod catalogs and CDs that were gifted by bands I still consider friends or signed by artists I interviewed, like Lee Aaron and Geoff Tate, formerly of Queensryche… TJ understands that much.
She calls me overly sentimental and perhaps she’s right, but I bled for the industry and I’m not ashamed of all that I hoarded, even if it meant more to me and my colleagues than most people who came by to see the labyrinth in all its gaudy glory. My life has turned exponentially for the better and I see an even greater future ahead, but damn… Just damn.
–Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Two Treasures Left from a Lost Vinyl Collection
When I think about my 16 years spent as a music journalist, I think of all the free media I was sent for review and how I once had an entire basement office to store it all in. That can save for another post in the immediate future.
Over the course of the past few years with new changes and integrating my life with my future bride’s, we have both had to scale back, purge and lock away in storage until we feel right with locking down a permanent nest to call our own.
While it’s been a breath of fresh air on our recent move having only 5 boxes of media to haul versus 26 in moves from years past, what aches me more than anything I’ve let go is eliminating my hard copy CDs and vinyl records to a couple rows of the crucial essentials. I stored all the music on a USB hard drive, so it’s not a full loss, though a portion of who I am and was just doesn’t feel the same when I think about how much time was spent covering music and dropping a fortune at music shops that were my second homes.
I once had nearly 4,000 CDs and 300 pieces of vinyl, nearly half of it free. What you see here is what remains of my vinyl, with the addition of a gifted vinyl platter from former Voivod bassist Jean-Yves “Blacky” Theriault for his side project, Twin Adventure.
The Ramones saved my soul and my life in my late teens, and nothing makes me smile more than knowing I’d saved them in return, hypothetically-speaking. Blitzkrieg ’76 is one of my biggest music treasures, a rare, live bootleg recording done on my sixth birthday in 1976. It’s a brisk-moving time capsule of the Ramones at their beginning, in their fastest and rawest three chord measures.
Keeping in the theme of birthdays, an old friend of mine, Bob, once gave me a UK pressing of British hardcore punk legends The Exploited’s Troops of Tomorrow. I’d always pick this slab up in one of our old music store haunts, Music Machine, always wanting it, but never shelling out for it. I’d come home to find this album on my parents’ doorstep, the scrawled birthday message over top a second plastic jacket sleeve. I think it was my 18th or 19th birthday.
I doubt my son will see the significance in either of these gems whenever I pass, but I do hope he can see the value I place on them as remnants of a painful purging process.
–Ray Van Horn, Jr.
When My Comic Book Miniseries “Metalheads” Was Nearly a THING
I’ve had a love affair with comic books for most of my life, starting the hobby back in 1978. I even worked comics retail for a short time in the early 1990s. The women in my life have thankfully all been understanding of my need for comic books and even more so, my thirst to WRITE for comics.
Seven years ago, I came up with an idea while I was still writing in the music industry to collide my experiences as a metal and punk journalist with horror. The proposed four issue satire miniseries, Metalheads, reflected what I was seeing and feeling as I got older in the scene. I strove for sarcasm, dark humor and a b-slap of gory horror fun.
Joining my crusade was my dear friend from Kiel, Germany, Dominic Valecillo, who fleshed out my vision to such delight I felt like we were on to something through his imprint, Stealth Comics. We even struck up a small deal of promotional sharing with a wacky “nitro sexy” band calling themselves Granny 4 Barrel, who appears in a panel of Metalheads # 1.
Dominic took the debut issue of Metalheads and sold out his print run at the Germany Comic Con. We were fortunate to have a rep from Marvel check it out and offer glowing remarks on the story. Sadly, the money I had allocated to get my own print run domestically in the United States was needed for survival during a turbulent time. Dominic, a rising star in Germany, found himself in-demand, swamped with commissions and it’s been a great joy watching this brother evolve in his art.
This impromptu centerfold Dom came up with still cracks me up today…
I still have the dream of writing in comics and have been working on a new script for an upcoming project to pitch one of the indie presses. I have been rolling an oddball mash of John Wick 3, Tenebrae, Cobra Kai, Schindler’s List and Star Trek film scores, none of which have a thing to do with this new project, but hey, whatever keeps the dream in motion…
–Ray Van Horn, Jr.
“Batting in the Clutch,” a Poem by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Batting in the Clutch
yell to me, don’t wallow in silence
pretend it’s the bottom of the ninth inning
you thrive upon the razor’s edge at live sports
and when I hear your banshee’s scream
it makes me forget the in-and-out whirs upon your pillow
come on, darling, rise up,
it’s bases loaded, one out, the home team’s down a run
I’m on third and coach is telling me to get a good lead
tear it down the baseline, fair side
and walk one off, baby
high five me at home plate
and pogo to victory like we just made the playoffs
–Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Coming of Rage, by Ray Van Horn, Jr. – Snag a Copy Today!
“Buzzkill, how does it happen when your scene no longer belongs to you? What defined you at a youthful age gets killed off then comes back two decades later when you can tell the greenhorns all they’ve missed. Unless you’re onstage where senior bands (now called “heritage acts”) receive their due for a second go-round, you no longer matter. You’re the weirdo, the assclown, even more so than when you practiced it all first.”
–excerpt from “Chasing the Moon,” Coming of Rage, by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Hey, hey, just a little bump before the release of my new novel Revolution Calling to remind you my first short story collection, the Pushcart Prize nominated Coming of Rage is available through any of these outlets.
As always, much love and thanks for your support!
Paperback links:
Amazon:
Also available at Lulu and Barnes and Noble:
https://www.lulu.com/…/paperback/product-ny256n.html…
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/coming-of-rage-ray-van-horn-jr/1141914814
E-book links:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/coming-of-rage-ray-van-horn-jr/1141909254
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/coming-of-rage
https://www.lulu.com/shop/ray-van-horn-jr/coming-of-rage/ebook/product-87wkjm.html?page=1&pageSize=4
Roads Lesser Traveled 