"It's out there and it's waiting. I don't care who you are or when you're reading this, it waiting for you, baby, and it knows the day and the hour and the minute and the second. The last gig, the last drink, and the last laugh is on you. It knows, baby, chapter and verse, and you'll wander into it in New York or Cleveland or L.A. or Paris fucking France. If you're lucky, you'll never see it coming.
The Pagans were never lucky."
------ from Diary Of A Punk by Mike Hudson
I love that. Something so many know deep down but never really think about. It sticks with you.
I received my copy of M's newest book Diary of a Punk. Read it in one sitting. It's not very long, but completely engrossing nonetheless.
As the front-man for one of the first (real first, not fake first) Cleveland punk bands The Pagans, it is quite a life. Not always a well spent one, but very lived. It's a life spent with drugs, woman and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Of playing with such bands as The Dead Boys, The Cramps, Lemonheads and countless others. Of friends found, lost and found again. Some friends lost forever.
In between the hard living of fighting and drinking and singing there are moments of tenderness. Never mushy or overly sweet, just tender. When he writes about Stiv Bators, Brian, Rebecca, Richie, there's a quick glimpse into the softer side of this punk. And then it's gone. You don't get anymore. But that's okay. Because you were able to see it for a second.
An unapologetic, no frills, writing style allows it to carry you along to the unavoidable end. It is a newsman's hard-nosed type of style, but one that is all his own.
Get it and read it for yourself from Amazon or The Niagara Falls Reporter .