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from RIP magazine, February 1990 (Fresh Blood)
[If you read between the lines of this short feature, you'll understand why I hate being called a "metal" journalist. My heart was never in the Sunset Strip — most of the Strip's inhabitants were just too dumb and too cheesy for my taste. I much preferred heading over to Raji's — the club I pay tribute to below, and which closed down after the 1994 Northridge earthquake. I was really an Eastside gutter chick, not an empty-headed glam rocker. We Eastside rockers may have been dirtier, but we actually read books and understood social issues, even when we chose to ignore them. The Hangmen were one of the best East Hollywood-bred bands, and I've always thought of frontman Bryan Small as the Bob Dylan of gutter rock. The Hangmen have had some of the worst knocks of any band I know, and although Bryan recently admitted that some of it was his own fault, I still think his talent should have brought him further, and his songs should be heard by more people. Although the line-up is different now, the Hangmen are still around after all these years, putting out records and touring when they can.]
In the grime-ridden section of downtown Hollywood, far away from the hairspray and glitter of the Sunset Strip, there's a small club called Raji's. Only beer and wine are served there, and the well-worn stage is lit by a couple of minimum-watt fixtures. However, many rockers brave the bums and beggars that inhabit this part of town because Raji's often features some of the best young bands in Los Angeles. Before they landed their record deal, this was the perfect place to see the Hangmen. The group's stripped-down sound and snotty, off-the-cuff attitude frequently blasted through the club's smoke-filled rooms.
The Hangmen began with Bryan Small, a punky kid from Boise, Idaho, who started off playing drums before he decided he wanted to try his hand at singing and playing guitar, "'cause I was the only one stupid enough to try it! I just started fooling around on guitar and writing songs and stuff." Back in '84 he packed up his belongings and headed for Tinseltown. "I was really into the L.A. scene — the cowpunk, hard-rock-type thing," he recalls. After a few auditions he wound up with guitarist Billy Catterson and bassist Johnny D. Holliday. Drummer Lenny Montoya was a California native Bryan had met up in Boise. "We didn't give a shit about the Sunset Strip at all," the singer shrugs. "We were just into trashy rock 'n' roll — Johnny Thunders and stuff like that. It didn't matter if we were courted by major label or anything. We just wanted to write songs and have fun."
Nevertheless, the group wound up on Capitol Records. Its self-titled debut album is no-frills rock. The Hangmen don't ooze speedy riffs, nor do they shove themselves down your throat with forced aggression. They give it to you straight, and let their power speak for itself. As for subject matter: "A lot of our songs are centered around some kinda party atmosphere... gone wrong," relates Bryan. "'Rotten Sunday,'" he explains, "is just the way we were living at one time in West Hollywood. All the Hangmen used to party there, all the time and get so drunk! Then the next morning, everyone would still be there, waking up, and it was just living hell. 'Kiss From You' is the same party, just earlier in the night." Many other tunes, such as "Desperation Town" and "Lonely," capture the Hangmen's other side — their haunting sense of alienation. The quartet never whines about it though — they merely toss it off with a chip on their shoulders and a fierce glint in their eyes.
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