When I was re-he-heeeally young I thought the song "Death and destruction (and don't forget the chaos) " was about animal rights, that the "Exploited" were really singing "Don't forget the COWS" - isn't that crazy?!? Well, "U.S.F" is just as c-c-crazy - even more so. In fact, it is crazier than any of my crypto-amusing childhood anecdotes. Trust me; it just is.Actually, I don't think it should be moi the one telling you what these four fearless Israelies from hell - a.k.a. "U.S.F" - were all about. I wasn't part of the original line-up, I never wrote a song for them (then again, it seems no one did; they just kinda wrote themselves...), and to wrap it up - I have a terrible memory. But, as it seldom happens, Destiny has thrown moi into the center ring, and so I shall do as I must; I shall tell you what "U.S.F" was (and maybe still is) to me.
I was the last one ever to join "U.S.F", and that was AFTER their key sound and aesthetics had already been cut & pasted onto the band's flag, which in reality would consist of no more than a filthy blanket tied around a (firemen's) amputated arm. There was nothing left for me to do but to borrow the guitarist's black bass and play it like a filthy blanket, and of course to remember all the fire dept. tunes, which I did - at times even better than the original 'U.S.Fians' themselves...
I don't recall if someone actually asked me to join them, and it wouldn't surprise me if - as with the song-writing - no one did. I just... You know, somehow ended up playing with them... as in bassist 'by default'. And by jiminey, I even think the first time I played with them wasn't a practice or anything - it was in the fire baptism (or shall I say 'Fire Bar-mitzva') of an actual show, with an actual, unlettered crowd sportin' unbiased mohaks! But... Wait, let me back up a bit and tell about the first time I saw these guys...
First of all, as I already warned you, my memory's not so good, so it might not have been the REAL first time I saw them, but it doesn't matter; that's how I remember it. And besides - I like using time concepts loosely and leaving the chronological details for others. So anyway.... Where was I? Oh, yeah: my first "U.S.F" experience.
I don't remember where I was living at the time, but I DO recall walking a long distance - up hill - to get to the show, passing as I go desolated highways, stop lights that did not change from red, empty buildings with one or two lights on, closed & beaten market stands, dying trees and grey factory areas who looked like medieval battlegrounds. I also recall walking there with some other people, but don't ask me who they were. I swear I have no idea.
The place - I think - was called "The groove bar". It was very poorly lit, had no (significant) stage and it's staff seemed to consider the show as an 'inconvenience' to put up with in order to lighten people's pockets from their beer-money (this attitude was, and still is, the predominant ethic of 99% of Israeli clubs towards Punk/HC shows). "Useless I.D" rocked-out first, then maybe some other band, I'm not sure, and then "U.S.F.". Now, ya'll remember how Grail Marcus described first seeing "the Ramones" and having to hold on to something so as not to get 'blown away' by their energy? Well, 30 seconds into "U.S.F."s set everyone had to hold on to something so as to not get sucked in - that's how brilliant they were!!! Also like the "Ramones", they had to play every song twice (or trice), 'cause they only had like 4 of them, and their bassist (El-ad "the midget") didn't even know the name of the band he was playing in. He actually had to ask the crowd (he disappeared not long after that, and I'm not joking either...). At around two or three AM all I could see was Batz waiving his shirt in circles above his head while people sang 'Mizrahit' hymns into his mic ('Mizrahit' is the Israeli equivalent to U.S country music), and in the background some unknown marauder's voice was making all kind of weird & high-pitched noises from a different mic, hidden behind the bar's counter. The lights had been turned on by the owners in a vain attempt to signal the show's end, and 'arsim' (Israel's equivalent to rednecks) were staring through the glass-door and making fun of everyone. Indeed, a good time was had by all.
I saw "U.S.F" like 4 or 5 times more before I joined them, and I can tell you they were one of those bands that didn't have a heavy medium; their shows were either a Dionysian celebration or a tragedy of errors. And one such tragedy happened to be my very first show with them. It wasn't the crowd, the club, the sound, the equipment nor the timing - no siree bob. It was us. I remember hearing the words "lo nora, lo nora" (Hebrew consolation words) bouncing off the cave-like walls repeatedly inbetween each song, as we had to start every one of them all over again. And then again. And one more time. I looked at Fede with my deathbed look, but he - as all drummers tend to - was unaware of his surroundings, especially of the fact the we sucked. I then gave Kobi the same look, but he -as all Kobis tend to - was in guitar heaven (NOTE: there is no heaven for bassists). At some vague point me and him even switched instruments without no one even noticing, let alone caring. The camera flashes had stopped long ago. YES - WE SUCKED at my first show, and sucking is never a good catalyst. But I clinged on to that smirched black bass regardless, for it was my sole ticket to, um, analgesia.
Also, to be perfectly honest, it has to be made clear that we never actually attracted people to shows: no one ever came to see US (except maybe Batz's sister - I'm not sure what was she thinking that night...). We were always simply 'there', like the eagle gnawing at Prometheus' liver; we came along with the other bands people came to see. That, of course, earned us a few enemies amidst every crowd. There's one guy I specifically remember, a rather belligerent fellow with a rather large-sized bone to pick with us. I'll probably never know his name but he was at almost every single show I played with "U.S.F.", and he fucking HATED our guts! One time Batz offended him, probably by cursing Ron Arad (an Israeli pilot held captive by Arab terrorists for, like, 8 years now, currently presumed dead), and after we finished our set the guy was lurking by the pit with a clutched fist and a song - the executioner's song - in his heart, waiting for an unsuspecting "U.S.F." singer to pogo just a little too close to him. I rushed in and literally saved our singer's life by warning him! Well, maybe not his LIFE, but surely his abdomen... Well, maybe not his abdomen either - but at least I did something...
Or how about the time we played in Caesaria, on some HC kid's birthday? We had hitch-hiked North on that lovely carefree day from Tel-Aviv to the outskirts of Haifa to see "Useless I.D" play for the first time since their triumphant return from the States. We didn't know the birthday boy, only that his parents were rich and kind enough to throw a party - veggie-burgers n' all - at their estate. We neither came as a band nor planned on playing there, but somehow, as it was usually the case, we ended up behind the musical instruments, and standing there in the Israeli heat, by the shores of the Mediterranean, in the back of a festive Caesarean mansion whose owners had been nothing but nice to us - somehow, the first thing that came to Batz's mind was to engage in a long series of class-war slogans & sailor-talk wishing all rich people nothing short of death. Circumstances being that our hosts were rich, the emphasis (as you might imagine) landed heavily on the word 'ALL". I stood there, bass in hand, and watched those kind-and-rich parents' faces turn aghast cold in the corner of my eye. Needless to say - the power was mysteriously turned off a few minutes after we started playing... Officially, "the neighbors complained".
Then there was this Earth-Crisisesque song "U.S.F." had against a certain Israeli scenester who, it was rumored,
was seen eating meat after years of vegetarianism. The song - which was never released, maybe only in the Belgian congo - talked about putting a 5.56 caliber bullet through that person's head, and resulted in that person writing a 2-copies-only flyer about the whole thing, one for "U.S.F."s singer and one to keep for himself. So what did Batz do with the copy he was given? I dunno. To put it mildly, I suspect it ended up in the sea, where the sewers kiss the waters. I was lucky enough to be a curious little monkey so I DID get to read the flyer (don't ask me what it said, though). Shortly after that, said scenester's name was dropped, and a different name inserted into the chorus - this time the name of a rip-off show organizer. Then that name was replaced yet again, this time in favor of the name of a punk turned-rave D.J... Yeah yeah, I know...Oh, and you probably heard about that little problem we have in Israel of Buses exploding and stuff, right? Well, one time, when a Tel-Avivian bus exploded in a terrorist attack, we played that very same night and while all Israel was knee-deep in tears about the incident we opened our set with a traditional children's song whose lyrics had been changed to something more along the lines of 'whoopee, buses are exploding, body parts are flying - let's par-tee" . Miraciously, no one pelted us or turned off the power this time... Uh, this might seem a small & insignificant act to you, but believe me; in Israel, making those kind of jokes is serious health hazard. Ask your Rabbi.
And who can forget the Shenkin St. fiasco?!? You see, there was this animal-rights march one time which ended in a half-baked rally in the 'hippest' street of Tel-Aviv: Shenkin street. So the rally's grand finale was, like, this miniature chorus of 10 year old boy-scouts singing 'please don't hurt the animals', and after that "U.S.F." were scheduled to play (!). The thing is that, due to equipment problems, they (I wasn't in the band yet) ended up playing late on the stairs of some community center by the park, improvising 30 second songs with a 15W amp to the sounds of cans and plastic bottles flying past them almost as fast as the snobbish, puzzled looks of the hip coffee-shop inhabitants of Shenkin (NOTE: I threw an empty "R.C Cola" bottle myself there). But at least "U.S.F." can now say they "played Shenkin" and were hip cats for a brief period of time, which can never be erased, he he...
"U.S.F" even went so far as to be the first punk rockers to embark on a national tour all across Israel's 7,978 square miles - did you hear about that?
"Anonymous"(a radical animal-rights organization tired of having it's activist's civil rights trampled by ignorant cops who, whenever a demonstration took place, insisted that "any gathering of more than 5 people requires a permit" as an excuse for dispersing everyone) came up with an inspiring plan to bring both animal-rights AND the right to protest to the public's attention: a bus with 50 activists was to tour Israel's hinterland for 5 days, stopping along the way to demonstrate, irritate the unsuspecting inhabitants of Israel's various ghost-towns and hell-holes, and of course exercise the right to protest. The small scuffles that were bound to occur with unlettered local police authorities (and village idiots) were to be used as bait for local and national media to further our rebellious agenda, and last but not least, 50 punks, hippies and miscellaneous youth were to enjoy 5 days of being cramped together inside a bus, develop new, exciting nervous twitches, and let's not forget getting spat on in desolated and strange, nameless streets by Joe six-pack for being the 'bleeding hearts' that they obviously are. Cool; We could hardly keep our pants on.
We at "U.S.F", being both affiliated with "Anonymous" AND professional opportunists (not to mention unemployed drifters, vagrants and transients), saw the opportunity and immediately seized it: the "Anonymous" bus was to be used by us and our eccentric followers (a.k.a. the "Flotsam & Jetsam" crew) to instigate the first Israeli punk rock tour ever! We were to play in every major city, draw large crowds (of angry people, of course - who else?) and thus earn our place in punk rock history for all eternity... We were about to become legends in our own time, riding to mythical destinies on the back of a great white bus - Oh yes we were...
But, apparently, some things were never meant to be. Shortly after we boarded the bus on one chill Sunday morning, as a frightened Tel-Avivian sun rose hesitantly from between the hotel buildings by the beach - we realized we didn't bring any type of instruments. Strangely enough - no one really seemed to care. At our very first stop, disoriented, dehydrated and covered in my own filth, I took some hippie girl's acoustic guitar to the back of the bus were all the mischief was going down, and we started blasting familiar "U.S.F" hymns... Finally, the realization of our life-long dream was set in motion; nothing could stop us now. About 5 minutes later, however, we lost interest in that whole stupid tour thing and opted for food fights & the loud, overly-trebled sounds of the "Dead Kennedys", bringing the driver yet one step closer to the brink of insanity. Yep, as suddenly as it was born - the master-plan had vanished into thick, carbon-monoxide fumes. As one George Tabb would say, 'Punk rock'.
Y'know, as cliche as it may sound, "U.S.F." were more than a band - much more. At least to me. And don't bother rushing to the turntable to try and figure out why I say this. You shan't see it in the music... Not to say that it isn't there, because it sort of IS; Just not inherently. See, "U.S.F", dare I say, were THE FIRST ISRAELI PUNK ROCK BAND EVER. No, I didn't say they were the first band to play punk rock in Israel - I said they were the first Israeli punk rock band. All - or almost all - bands before them took foreign elements from 'punk' as it had been defined on distant landscapes across the great waters and sought to weave them into the Israeli fabric: Unsuccessfully. The result had always been an Israeli "punk" more reminiscent of the "UK/DK" movie than of what I could see on "Erev Khadash" every day at 17:00. For many years, during what became known as "the clubs era", punk in Israel was stripped of all it's social, political - and especially - it's everyday cultural relevance, and remodeled into a weekend sanctuary in which everyone practiced at being a walking Hebrew translation of U.K punk or U.S hardcore.
But "U.S.F" were different. They didn't enter the import business of local punk sophistry. They weren't punks who happened to live in Israel - they were Israeli punks, and there lies the difference. They worked with hard, raw material, with nothing but the grim, cynical, blood-soaked and in-your-face Israeli humor and all it's maxims: second rate celebrities, military slang, TV comedians, local scenesters, caricature Politicians, Israeli rock bands, street stereotypes and what-have-you... They didn't write songs in English about New York or fighting Nazis, because, quite simply, none of these exist in Israel. I mean, why use the thespian British 'punk' accent when Israel's charnel-house culture is so damn colorful?!? Why use punk transplants when homegrown fury is thick, rich and abundant? Why make our lips shine with praise of Sid Vicious' name when right around the corner on 'Allenby' street are drunken Roumanian weirdos howling at the moon?!?
"U.S.F." were the epitomy of a 20 year long, subcultural osmosis, of a punk rock genuinely absorbed into the Israeli experience. In their knee-jerk music, their knee-jerk lyrics and the Saint Vitus dance they - and may I say 'we' - projected onstage. It's hard to explain this to an outsider - but to put it in a short and somewhat more inflated way: "U.S.F" were pioneers. Yes. They were punk rockers in a way no one in their country had been before, and regardless of musical taste - that's an achievement. In fact, it was such a great achievement that it was overlooked by most punks, who by now were so accustomed to travesty & cheap imitations that our non-pretentious reality check simply eluded them.
Usually, when I listen to Israeli punk, it brings back memories - and it is THESE memories, never the music per-se, that bring me back emotionally to certain times & places I've been in. No melody or sound is rooted deep enough in middle-east's sturdy reality to do it all by itself, without the intermediary memories. No sound, that is, except "U.S.F".
"U.S.F"s rawness is as powerful and as Israeli as the taste of Falafel, the smell of Hummus and the sound of Uzis. It always kicks me back to lazy afternoons in the "Anonymous" center on "Ben-Yehuda" street (a place listed in the last "Book your own fuckin' life"), which originally was an animal/human rights info-center run by Anarchists, but de-facto served as a hangout for the kids to write 80's Hardcore band names on the walls, blast 80's Hardcore music on the stereo (until we blasted the stereo ITSELF) and watch "The Simpsons" on the VCR. Hmmm... Now that I think about it, I'm surprised that place still exists!
At times these songs also bring me back to 'Merkaz Hit'orerut' - the 'Awakening' center in Tel-Aviv, another one of Israel's kooky political projects and a landmark in "U.S.F"s losing-it streak, as well as in my own personal life.
That center (which was also listed by me in the last "B.Y.O.F.L") was a side project of "Green action" - the more or less Ecological sister of "Anonymous". It was a four-room ample apartment on "Nakhalat benyamin" street (quite appropriately, a pedestrian-only street) not far neither Geographically nor spiritually from the "Anonymous" center. It was a resource center rented with Deutschmark donations from the German Green Party - yes, but that didn't stop your humble narrator from weazling his way in as a free tenant, promising his help in exchange for a couple of carpeted square feet to sleep on. As usual, I got more than I bargained for and ended up sleeping in an airless, windowless hidden compartment in the ceiling which became known as my 'Sarcophagus'. It might have been a non-ventilated, 3 feet high, piano-box sized Sarcophagus - but it was MY Sarcophagus. Whenever I'd hear the thunderous roar of the approaching footsteps of "Green Action" activists on their way to the center, I'd quickly climb to my Sarcophagus and hide - I'm still not sure what from. Many a times, long, dry and seemingly endless meetings in the center would trap me up in this cement box for hours, gasping for air, yet it was a small price to pay for my rent-free and (therefore) carefree days.
The 'Awakening' thingy was a side project which was meant to take on life of it's own rather than weight heavily on the brains of "Green action"s leaders, who were busy enough as it was with their own organization. It was supposed to originate a dynamical process that would bring forth a new group of people who'll take care of business - an awakening. It never did. Slowly but steadily, us anarchist-types started to realize that, as we say in Hebrew slang, 'Ein ba'al bait' - no one was in charge. Add this to the fact that, like the Trojan horse in Homer's epic tale, I was already sleeping there, and you'll see how the conquest of the place by the anarkhistim was inevitable. As mentioned earlier, we were professional opportunists (as well as unemployed drifters, vagrants and transients).
First, as to mark our territory, we brought shady furniture we picked up nightly from the streets and unlocked school yards - furniture that was originally meant for a squat we tried to open but now was no more (the cops came like 3 minutes after the official opening - the fastest eviction in the history of the squatters' movement!!!). Then we proceeded to spray the walls of the center with our slogans and banners. After that we took control of one room and made it into a kitchen & shower, then another room became our storage room, and thus we proceeded until only one room was left for actual 'Awakening' activities - the rest of the apartment had become OUR demesne. Now we could go on Friday afternoons and dumpster-dive bags of donuts from "Dunken donuts", only to bring them back to the center and have childish food-fights with them all over the place... Some 'awakening', huh? Anyway, that was when we hellions finally decided to make a rehearsal space out of the small room below my Sarcophagus, and HERE is where the "U.S.F" connection lies (you were probably wondering by now what the hell all this obliqueness has to do with "U.S.F", right?).
Our soon-to-be rehearsal room was the same size as my Sarcophagus chamber, only that it wasn't hidden and was also high enough for a person to stand in. With the drum set and our small amps inside, there was barely enough room for 4 people, and of course any type of body movement while playing our instruments was entirely out of the question. Although the walls were covered with mattresses and other sound-proof junk we found in the streets, still - the acoustics of the room were quite mysterious: It wasn't sound-proof enough to keep our racket from annoying the neighbors, but it was definitely sound-proof enough to prevent us from hearing the neighbors throwing rocks at our window while we were hulabalooing inside.
Oh, and how could I forget the most vivid of all memories, the most characteristic of all that room's qualities: Asphyxiation.
Like my beloved secret chamber above, the rehearsal room had no ventilation whatsoever, and once the door was closed, whatever oxygen that was trapped with us ran (out) for it's life - as fast as it could! Every 20 minutes or so we had to take a break, struggling to breathe, and as we'd stamp out of the room steam would rise off our sweat-covered clothes. Fede, our drummer (which we nicknamed 'Sweaty'), would walk out of there and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that his shoes were full with water - like when someone gets thrown into a pool with his shoes still on. I mean, maaan - Imagine having YOUR band rehearse in a sauna the size of a bathroom! At times, I couldn't help but feel that time stood still whenever we played in that room, as if some deity actually tried to have us suffocated, to kill us. And if that was the case, then believe me - there is no music more suitable for dying than "U.S.F" (that deity might have been Shiva, since I know Kobi our guitarist really offended the Krishnas while eating their food one time at the temple).
But hey, it wasn't ALL bad. First of all: it was a free space. Second of all, we'd often use asphyxiation as a source of encouragment and motivation. For example: while working on a new song, we'd say something like "Okay, if we manage to play this song without any fuck-ups at all - we'll go outside for a break", and of course we'd succeed. Even in the recording of the songs on this 7-Inch - which was carried out inside said room - lack of oxygen was our driving force. Our Catharsis. I really think you can hear it.
Such baleful recording conditions would normally fail to capture the essence of a band's sound, but with "U.S.F" it was exactly what was needed. The spirit of this demented band just couldn't be captured in any other way. "U.S.F" was a knee-jerk band, and what better way to bring out the restive knee-jerkness of a band then robbing them of oxygen, forcing them to literally play for their lives?
So there you have it - the "secret" of USF's sound. We sculptured masterpieces of crushed emotion, smothered hope and broken dreams from the Adrenalin of Asphyxiation; from the passion that goeth before everything turns black. Or red (no Anarcho-syndicalist pun intended). And hopefully, by now they have been put here in this site for your dowloading pleasure.
Sothira (of Crucifix fame) had told us it's our choice: "peace or annihilation", and we - taking it as we always did into a different context - chose the latter. Civ (of Gorilla Biscuits fame) had told us that "Respect and humor don't always go hand in hand". He went one way - we the other. USF's 7-Inch record (which will be out soon on Volkstaat Records) is all that - all that and a bag of bamba; proof that evolution CAN reverse direction - that individuals, under certain circumstances, CAN undergo the difficult devolution from human beings to primitive invertebrates.
Our music is a Futurist cry of death: "The world is dying. Catch it! Kill it! No, wait!". The 7" plastic sleeve will be death's baby carriage. The vinyl will be the destruction of art by the art of destruction. And this short eulogy you are reading is a 20-word story padded, about a band that had always stood on it's own, meaning: in bad company.
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun; but the wine and the song, like the seasons have all gone - and I'll be DAMNED if'Requiescat In Pace' sneaks under my breath. If anything, I want "U.S.F" to toss and turn eternally in it's shallow grave - NEVER resting in peace.
And... Well, that about sums it up, doesn't it? I mean, there is still a lot to be said on top of these 44 Paragraphs - the story of "U.S.F" HAS to be told someday, properly, and hopefully it WILL - but, like I said before, I don't think it should be done by moi.
Be it as it may - I find it hard to stop writing. Visions race across my mind every time I type in a period. As if I was dying. There's just SO MUCH more "U.S.F" related stuff to tell! I still haven't told you about the "Winter militia", their zealous battle against the Imperialist forces of Mediterranean heat and their shameful downfall - lured by the false promises of a summer's beach on a sunny afternoon... I still haven't told you about the 'disappearing squat syndrom', through which we'd find a good house to squat, maybe sleep in it a night or two, and come back the morning after only to discover it had completely vanished - upturned soil and rubbles laying where it's foundations firmly awaited us the day before... I still haven't told you about the 'Pupil's Municipal underground" group, it's anti-school agitation tactics & it's unforgettable surrealist May-day march through crowded Tel-Avivian streets, where the opposable thumb is still considered a new and dangerously radical innovation... AND I still haven't told you about "U.S.F"s American Tour - probably the most relevant thing I could have mentioned here. This last matter, methink, deserves a little explanation:
On the 30th of July, 1997, "U.S.F" arrived to the United Stated of America. Kobi, "U.S.F"s master-at-arms - legendary guitarist and self-appointed insane criminal genius - was left behind. the Sergei-Nechaev-meets-'weird-Al'-Yankovic aura around us was no more. We were flogging a dying horse, or some other unfortunate creature - perhaps even an Ewok. We played (& edified) Boston, Albany, New York, Delaware, Philadelphia, Pittsburg, Lima, Grand rapids, Chicago (twice), Menomonie, and would've played Saint Paul if the cops had not shut down the show after the first two bands (the only reason we tried to play Saint Paul was that the cops shut down "The Bombshelter" in Minneapolis - our original show - too!).
It was fun - GREAT fun - but I kept getting this attrition feeling along the way. Where once we possessed the ability to live the ABSOLUTE present onstage - we now were simply drunk on our own past - I repeat: PAST - neurosis (call it 'eccentricism' if you will); Still having a blast, only now holding a paper knife. Calliope, that great muse of eloquence (and poetry, only that poetry is the French Poodle of the arts so I'd rather not associate it with us), deserted us somewhere between Israel and the US, and there's no telling where she is currently residing... Be careful - she might even be with YOUR band now!
But the main reason I won't tell you about "U.S.F"s tour is that, to be honest, it just wouldn't be fair; both to them and you. See, "U.S.F" did not come to the States alone, they came and toured along with another Israeli band - MY ORIGINAL BAND; the band whose very existence I have intentionally left out until now so as to avoid casting it's shadow on my perspective of "U.S.F" as a band, for I am a biased eulogist. During the tour I played in both bands -bass in "U.S.F" and guitar in the other - but it was no secret that my heart was, and still is, with the other band, where it had been for the last 6 years. I experienced the US tour mainly, if not only, through the eyes of that other band, hence telling you about it would feel wrong, misleading - repugnant, even. I wanted to keep this thing focused. Torn between a band-member and an outsider's point of view, I'd only end up cross-eyed and maybe even dislocate my shoulder - who knows... That's yet another reason why I should not have been the one to write this Eulogy.
So now, even though you know all the reasons why I should have never written this - you have already read it. It's too late. If Ted Kaczynski had not killed all of the world's greatest scientists, we could've had by now the cheap technology with which to paste moving video images onto paper, so you could watch clips of "U.S.F"s shows here and see that all I've written so far is absolutely 61% true. But you know how Anarchists are - they have to ruin it for everyone...
And with that last sentence said - which applies equally to both the Unabomber and the Urban Skate Fanatics - I will end what, in fact, I should've never written in the first place.
