issue #02 pdf - Razorcake

Dennis: Is this a trick question?
$: No.
Dennis: I have no idea. Means nothing to
me.
$: Matt?
Matt: Excuse me?
$: Does two feet nine inches ring any bells?
Matt: No.
George: Wasn't Matt's ollie three feet?
$: Two feet, nine inches. 1989. A recordbreaking
ollie.
Dave: I was just going to say that! I swear
to God.
Matt: I thought we were talking music. I
was thinking "What song has two feet nine
inches in it?"
Bridget (icily, acrimoniously, in a voice
tinctured with sadness and though surely
not for me to say but I will anyway, deep
regret): We never talk about music.
Matt: I'm sure it's not a record anymore.
$: Do you know any other skaters who play
in Irish bands?
Matt: Um, no.
$ (realizing the ridiculous specificity of the
question): Do any of your fellow accordion
players skate?
Matt: Um, no.
$ (bravely, stalwartly, muleheadedly soldiering
down this dead-end line of questioning):
Can you compare the feeling of
pulling off a 360 degree no comply and getting
drunk off your ass playing the accordion?
Matt: Um, they're both a good time. That's
really the only comparison
Dennis: He's actually done them both at the
same time.
Matt: It feels good to be on stage playing
music and have people enjoy what you're
doing. It feels the same kind of good skateboarding.
$: Do you skate much anymore?
Matt: I do and I don't. Obviously not as
much as before. I'm trying to but it's hard
with my life. My son is three and I'm trying
to get him into it. Taking him down to the
skateboard park. I got him a little miniboard
and everything.
$: You take him to the park?
Matt: I do. There's one by my house. But
most of the time he skates in the garage.
$: Have you ever pulled a sack tap?
Matt: Is that like smashing your shin on
the rail or something?
$: No it's a trick on the Tony Hawk video
game, which is as close to the park as I get.
(Everyone has been served their food and
are eating. Everyone, that is, except Money
and Shay-Shay. Money goes on a tirade,
which in no way resembles a fit, and bitches
about the total absence of tortellini on
his plate. After years of service in the front
lines of punk rock journalism, Money
knows the rock interview is not unlike a
high-wire act that requires a delicately balanced
intake of alcohol and other nutrients.
Money trembles. The whole thing is in danger
of collapsing.)
$: With so many of you, it must be really
hard to get together to rehearse.
Dennis: What makes it even harder is that
Matt lives in San Diego.
$: Are the gigs pretty much your
rehearsals?
Dennis: Sometimes.
$: How long have you been playing the
accordion?
Matt: Six years.
$: How did you get started?
Matt: It was just something that I decided
to do. I had this old accordion and I took
lessons, just like anyone.
$: Did it come naturally?
Matt: Not at all. I was taking lessons with
these kids. Playing stuff like "Row Row
Row Your Boat." I was terrible. I was like,
this is never going to work for me. Then I
finally got a handle on it and started playing
music I was interested in.
$ (feeling strong now): You had a breakthrough.
Matt: I played in a recital and everything. I
was older than some of the parents.
$: How long had you been playing when
you joined Flogging Molly?
Matt: When I met Dave it had only been a
year and a half.
$: Holy shit.
Matt: I told him I would try to be the best
accordion player I could be. My heart was
in it and he gave me a chance. And I try to
be a better accordion player all the time. I
have a sick collection.
Not content to merely observe as lesser,
higher-salaried rock journalists do, we participated
in the rollicking frolicsome splendor
that is Flogging Molly. Whiskey was
drunk. Shoes were scuffed. Elbows were
bruised. And then back to the bar for more
whiskey. Rusty remembered to take photos.
Shay Shay, black eye and all, rocked.
Money, as he is wont to do, rolled, already
thinking ahead, mentally calibrating the
questions and answers while sublimating
his own considerable ego so that the gracious
wit of Flogging Molly would come
alive on the page. Also, how to spell
tortellini.
* Punchline to the joke: "What's the definition of
Irish foreplay." But you already know this so what
are you doing here at the bottom of the page straining
your eyes? Isn't it bad enough your ears are
blown out you have to wreck your eyes as well?
Beat it.
I’d rather be compared to the Pogues than fucking Elton John.