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Jimmy James Blood: An Interview with Missy Anne

Amazon Renewed Refurbished products with a warranty. Inside my head, there is a silence that overcomes each moment. Inside, there is a hush that invades every thought.

There is no one at home waiting, and I often leave for weeks on end. I work in the rain and the dark. I work in the cold or I work when my hands are frozen. I work when my skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.

I drive to strange towns where fish are dying—where rare plants and mammals and amphibians are isolated and holy. Let me start over. I've always been this way. There is something inside that is only alive when I'm out there. Eventually, rocks and rivers and trees absorb my daydreams. But that's not all. There's also this secret: I write them down. In this depressing narrative darkened by doom, she knows only poverty, drugs, murder and incest. The sense of despair weighs heavily; perhaps too heavily for some readers.

Drugs and absent parents are mostly to blame, according to Anne, although unexplored causes, like technology and culture on a larger scale, could also play a part.

The scene was dead. All that shitty corporate wank-metal was making good time rock'n'roll seem obsolete. Nobody needed to hear anymore of those awful power ballads with pitch shifted vocals, and deedle deedle guitar solos. I lived with my girlfriend at the time, the Plate Hurling Songstress Who Can't Be Named, in a tiny, shit-box apartment on Cherokee and Sunset, and got a lot of flack from the neighbors about my make-up and sequined trousers. She worked at a high-end sex shop that sold over-priced double-dongs to the stars. Bleeker Bob always pulled a vanishing-act on pay-day. He liked to hire Brits with immigration issues, and white trash Midwestern kids he could avoid paying as long as possible.

My amigo, Bruce, from the Jeff Dahl Group, had just produced the Ultras, and made me a really swank resume' so I could maybe land a job that paid me, in time to pay the land-lords, but getting paid has always been a problem for me. I was startin' to write some songs with various guitarists, and was in band-negotiations with various members of Black Cherry, Spiders 'N' Snakes, Gene Loves Jezebel, and Darling Cruel.

The angry girlfriend always sabotaged my band practices by getting sick, or throwing me out the night before an important audition. I still have these green fliers Gio and Divo gave me for their show with some group called Rocket They were nice guys.

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When I moved back to Boston, after nearly dying from severe alcohol with-drawl convulsions in U. In spite of my semi-annual requests to interview the mysterious and elusive poet-front-man, Giovanni Vitanza, for some crummy fanzine I either published, or contributed to, throughout the years, I was never able to pin him down for an interview. Even in Hollywood, people would tell me he was just here at Boardners, or Rajis, "You just missed Gio!

Me and my now-departed guitarist, Kentucky Mike, used to blast Coma-Tones favorites like, "Sexual Intellectual", and "Three Dollar Dress" on his car stereo while drunk-driving in the filthy midwestern snow, back when we were both still outcast and despised hellions, scorned by the neutered and unimaginative rich-kid local-music scenesters for dating strippers, and having bad tattoos, back when they were all still slavishly aping Brainiac, or Stereolab, or Sonic Youth, or whoever. We were loud and drunk, with a small circle of eager enablers, and big rock-star plans, dancing like bad girls, in our speed and whiskey sodden skulls.

Kentucky Mike died after relocating to San Fran and becoming a singer. So did the Coma-Tones drummer, Grant.

Every few years, there would be rumors that Divo, Gio, and Jimmy James were reuniting with various cohorts, and I got to hear some new studio tracks, a few years ago, that were supposed to see eventual release on a pretty cool California punk label. Stories about the Coma-Tones notoriously bad luck and ramshackle flirtations with fame and fortune, continued to filter-in, every so often.

Maybe you heard the one about how Gio was supposedly arrested for jumping a subway turn-stile, while on his way to deliver the retrospective's Master Tapes to his label guy: Divo was last seen in a Florida bar band called Purple Mountain Majesties. Recently, I was able to ask Jimmy James some questions about the Coma-Tones, on a borrowed lap-top computer. We'll hopefully be getting him to do a follow-up feature on the Rock City Angels, in the near future.

Jimmy James, where do you hail from, what was your early life like, and how did you first discover rock n roll?

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Florida when I was about 9. We moved around a lot, so I didn't have many friends, just me and FM radio which brings us to Then I kinda stabilized for awhile, and met some guys in their teens that had a band and played covers of like Thin Lizzy, Zepplin, you know. That's when I got guitar fever, the sound was just I guess among the first stuff I ever bought was ZZ Top, James Gang, metal stuff, I just didn't have the chops to play metal, then I picked up a ten inch Yardbirds singles comp.

Oh yeah, and of course, Steve Jones and the Sex Pistols-great shit. Origins of the Comatones Well, it started like this, I was just getting home from an east coast tour that went sour with this roots rock band called the Preachers their guitar player Nick Kane-real badass, left to form The Mavericks soon as I got home my phone was ringing, it was Divo, who I'd known since we teens. Apparently his really weird glam band broke up, and he wanted to start something rawer with me, and his old drummer, Chino. It was pretty cool, and we started to write and learn songs together, so we knew it was gonna be a great thing.