ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: TRIPLE SICK SKIN REVIEW; GRAVENHURST.

URSA MEGA AND CHEMICAL ROBOTIKS OF ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE WOULD LIKE TO THANK BILL ORCHARD AND JOHN PURKIS OF PSYCHO WARD CLOTHING COMPANY, TONY THEOS AND PETER WOODS OF TRIPLE SICK SKIN TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS, CHRIS CAMPBELL, THE BANDS AZENITH, RAIGN, MASTER OF WEAPON, AND GODKILLER.

AND A HUGE SCREAMER OUT TO MY BROTHERS STEVE CAIRNS AND KARL FLAGGAR OF SCDIGITAL FOR FILMING THE PROJECT.


STAY TUNED TO ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE AND PSYCHO WARD C.C. EVENTS AND ENTERTAINMENT FOR MORE COLLABORATIONS

The Wrestler

Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler poignantly and poetically presents a multidimensional portrait of a professional wrestler's undesired retirement. Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Mickey Rourke) lives life the hard way and when things come crashing down does his best to reign in that which he unfortunately let go during the more belligerent days of his career. Dashing dancer Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) and estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood) do their best to help piece together the puzzle, but it's a heartbreakingly byzantine panorama requiring a sincerely dedicated degree of patience to comprehend.

The film's strong and Rourke's performance is my pick for Oscar's best actor of the year. The grainy shots and promotional poster credits establish a prominent yet passionately melancholic aesthetic that aptly reflects The Ram's troubles. And it hurts to see him go through it, a spur of the moment man crippled by the financial and humanistic consequences of responsibility. Things happen, not everyone can deal, and not everyone chooses a comfortable career with a pension, regular pay, and wide ranging benefits. The Ram's predicament generally functions as a representative of the aging economic other, the dedicated destitute artist doing what she or he can with what little he or she possesses to bring a bit more cheer to the members of her or his community. And each particular performance electrifies and holistically humanizes what it means to live according to your own individual rules with their own attendant predilections.

There are feelings and points of view that get lost in the rush as you travel from one dimension to another in order to reconstruct daily routines, get by, important pieces of your personal constitution that lie dormant in the unconscious waiting for a specific smell/game winning touchdown pass/deal breaking decision/surprise dinner/work of art to bring them back to life. And The Wrestler really made me feel a lot of the convictions that I had been simply thinking for who knows how long (providing them with an outlet to be revitalized) and that's just one of the reasons why I found it to be such an exceptional film.

Rourke's powerful portrayal of a dislodged, dominant demon, stalwart yet dainty, determined yet spellbound, vigorously demonstrates what it means to succeed while simultaneously pointing out the lesions of loss. Aronofsky once again provocatively illustrates his evocative chops, presenting another infinite requiem for a courageously clandestine character.

ISSUE ZERO: ChemicalRobotiks: Paper Zombies

*Fold on the Dotted lines
*cut along the solids

Its easy to assemble and makes a creeping looking zombie when finished. If you find yourself bored, and near a printer give it a whirl. Its pretty funny.

Enjoy

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: THE ISOSCELES PROJECT @ SNEAKY DEE'S. FRIDAY THE 13TH 2009

The first time I met Eric Euler... actually, I don't remember the first time. but around the second and third time I'm sure was in the alley behind the Elmo on Spadina. The Issue Zero Magazine triad was ripped from pounding "road-pops." I can't verify this, because, I myself, the person actually involved, was pretty twisted when I smelled the weed.

If it was Eric Euler smoking weed, the guitar player and duck-stepping, mop head-banging front man of the Much Music-raping Isosceles Project, then I am even more impressed than I was when I wasn't sure.
Ob(li)viously.

On Friday the 13th, at Sneaky Dee’s, at College and Bathurst, three guys without a singer got more people rowdy than a band with two singers. The Isosceles Project headlined their CD release party for “Oblivion’s Candle” after the performances by a brit-punk combo I don’t remember the name of, and a second act with some ska that made me feel like it was summer, (some sick saxamaphone actionamon) and made me drink the same too. I don’t remember their name either.

But by God in heaven, when the Isosceles Project got on stage, the whole place went to Hell. Fifty people at the front holding their thumbs and fingers into Isosceles triangles, and the second the was an excuse...Slam-o-Rama. I’ll just start off by saying, I like mosh pits. I do, really. Usually I leave them completely unharmed, part of God’s cruel design, minus some neck pains and some liver issues. But this time, I left with a couple of real nice goose eggs, and somebody’s blood on my face. That’s what I call a good show.

They performed their new song (a Chrono's-melting 15 minutes long) “March of the Obsolete” where some douche bag knocked out the bass feed. They fixed it really quickly, but not before Scott informed us all someone was gonna get it good if they fucked up his chords again.

A stocky 5’10”, easily 180-pound, fully-bearded Scott didn’t have to pound anyone, but it wouldn’t have taken long to do it by the looks of him. They started their "March" again, and it was like there wasn’t ever a cloud in the sky of glorious epic heavy metal and tossing your good friends on the floor and thrashing around all Superdrunkass.

I've seen some killer drummers in my time. Oh, you better believe it, (Ryan Chalmers wrote out bass tab for me once, while playing, a complete mindfuck,) and after that night, I'm putting Justin Falzon in that category, under "unstoppable force of nature." That kid kills it, but good.

Five bucks. I’m not gonna lie, it was the best spent since my LSD days. And in all fairness, I got enough food and beer into me downstairs before the show to justify drinking the good old C.C. I “found” at the liquor store and brought in with me.
I bought the Isosceles Project’s CD. For ten bones, you get it all. The sound is level and strong.

My insulting them in categorizing their actual musical style is more like a fond fantasy of mine where a transport truck called Tool and a full load of Frank Zappa is high jacked by a screaming mad man, who falls asleep at the wheel and drives full speed into Funky Town, slowing for nothing, taking everything out on its magical ballistic and euphonic trajectory.
Oh yeah.

The songs come on a disc that has some sick texture on it; I don’t know what it is, but that shit wont come off. When you pull the CD off the case, you see some Dante’s Inferno artwork that immediately reminds me of a bloody fistfight in a fire pit. (This is a compliment.)

And, finally, when you turn that album on, you can kiss off forty-five minutes of your life you ain't gonna want back.
No fluff.
No bullshit.
No filler repeated chorus’ (there’s no fuckin lyrics AT ALL.)

GO TO
WWW.ISOSCELESPROJECT.COM
AND ORDER YOUR HEAVY METAL VACATION SOUND TRACK.

You wont be disappointed.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE WAS PROUD TO BE A PART OF THE FRONT LINE AT THE ISOSCELES PROJECT’S CD RELEASE PARTY.