Category: Renfield’s Resurrection

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On A Serious Note…

This week I need to speak from the heart and address a topic that I’ve seen come up more than a handful of times on Twitter, Facebook, and various horror websites in the last week. Please excuse the stronger tone that I carry through this article and the lack of my dark humor this week. This is something that I’ve always felt strongly about and experienced firsthand, but now my little freakish ghouls; I need to share a piece of my ancient wisdom with you.

Horror is, has, and always will be discriminated against for nothing less than what it is. What else would you expect of a topic that exclusively deals with a controversial issue such as the supernatural? When you step into this genre, do not expect respect or admiration from other genres outside of it. What we see as fun in means of vampires, ghouls, werewolves, and witches the rest of the population sees as tacky, blasphemous, and immature. ). Rolling Stone magazine, film producer Jon Landau wrote that the Exorcist was “nothing more than a religious porn film, the gaudiest piece of shlock this side of Cecil B. DeMille (minus that gentleman’s wit and ability to tell a story)”. Linda Gross of the Los Angeles Times called Texas Chainsaw Massacre “despicable” and described Henkel and Hooper as “more concerned with creating a realistic atmosphere as with its plastic script”.

“They think I worship the Devil, they must be stupid or blind” – Rock and Roll Rebel, Ozzy Osbourne.

The purpose of horror is to provoke a response from the audience. This response may be emotional or psychological, it may shock or disgust, but by whatever means it needs to move a person out of their comfort zone. What the majority of the population does not appreciate is the use of metaphors in the genre. They are too worried about not being able to sleep after reading or watching something that just scared the shit out of them (but was probably nothing more than a social statement against famishing crop productivity in third world countries.

“Some people prefer the finer things in life, I’m alright hanging out with the ghost of Vincent Price” – The Ghost of Vincent Price, Wednesday 13.

How many times have you used the word “horror” as an answer to a question, whatever it may be, and the other person looks at you funny like you are either childish or a freak, or both. I love that look because I know have found an opening that I can use to either manipulate them into become a horror fan, accepting the horror genre by a better understanding, or if nothing else works, use their ignorance against them in a passive manner. If they still do not understand, leave them. The only person that you have to convince is yourself. You owe them no explaination.

“You would see if only, you hadn’t taken things out of my hands. Only, you never wanted to understand” – Only, Anthrax.

I attend annually a rather large horror convention here in Texas (name withheld to protect the guilty). A couple of years ago I wrote to them complaining of the quality of “horror” guests that they had lined up. Let’s just say that that year’s headlining guests included a little person who was made famous by Austin Powers movies, and a brat pack member from the 80’s John Hughes films. When I vented my frustration via email (since I had to travel over 400 miles to attend) that they could do better as they did in the past with real horror personalities (Alice Cooper, Clive Barker, George Romero) they told me, “If you look at their IMDB pages you will see that they did appear in a horror movie, some several in fact. This was an open book test and you failed. You are officially kicked out of the horror club.”   (Yeah, that was what they told a paying customer. I kept the email. I carry it with me at all times to remember that. Well, one year later and I’ve got a couple of published stories, a short film in the works, and a weekly article section. Congratulations assholes…you just made this one!) Stand fast to your enemies my fiends. When they say that living well is the best revenge, they aren’t lying.

“We’re not losers all of the time. We march and we fall, we’re one and for all. It’s just evil all of the time. We are the fiend club,…Not you!” – Fiend Club, The Misfits.

I write for what I can get out of it. Neither Poe nor Lovecraft was recognized for their association with the genre during their active careers. (The fact is Lovecraft was more shunned than anything else due to his odd subject matter.) I know that horror disassociates people and nothing anytime soon is going to change that. It is something that we have to learn to accept. When we accept things that we cannot change, internally we grow our patience and tolerance. Do not get upset and let your temper control your emotions. Personally for me, I don’t think I have to justify my choices.

“You don’t know what is in our hearts, this is our time, we’ve made our mark. Can you understand that we’ll fight til we fall.” – The Last Command, W.A.S.P.

If you feel you have debate them let’s take a lesson from literature that is non-horror based for a moment. Alexandre Dumas’ “The Three Musketeers were named Athos, Porthos and Aramis.  These were all names based around a play on words of the modes of persuasion in conflict. Athos (Ethos) was a character based on emotion and ethics. He appealed to others through an honest presentation of his character. Porthos (Pathos) was a very suave dresser and used his looks as leverage. He used his looks to play on other’s “sympathy”. Aramis (Logos) was a deep thinker, the “logical“one, and would try to logically reason with his opponents.  Later they added a fourth member, d’Artagnan, a hot headed youngster. This represented the belief that if nothing else worked, resort finally to violence.

“Time out, let’s get something clear, I speak more truth than you want to hear. Scapegoat to cover up your fear” – You Can’t Bring Me Down, Suicidal Tendencies

What I’m getting at is this. Use your knowledge, sympathy, and emotions in check when confronted with prejudice against your beloved genre. Keep your standards high, as they should be, but do not expect the Academy to be knocking down your down for movie of the year; do not expect your book to be on the Oprah book club list. Enjoy horror for yourself and not the acceptance of others. Make a movie or book that is for your pleasure and for a handful of others that will enjoy the reaction it brings.  I don’t want to be the next Steven King. That is not the high standard I have for myself. I want to make my mark by having a small cult following that is ecstatic for my few works rather than mild for my many. I wasted 30 years to learn to not give a damn about what others think and I wish I would’ve learned that sooner.

“What do ya mean I’m not kind?…Just not your kind” – Peace Sells, Megadeth.

Do not allow for people to piss on your parade. If you like horror, be proud of this choice. Be comfortable in the shoes that you wear, for it is those that will take the journey with you for miles.  Do not allow for other’s taste to sour your meal, for it is your food that will fill you and nourish your body. Do not expect recognition for your work from those who are too busy seeking the approval of others. Finally, do not waste a knock on the door of a neighbor who is not home.  They will offer the least amount of company.

Until next time, rest in pieces…

Renfield Rasputin

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Sympathy For The Decibel

Horror has always found a way to weave itself into other threads of our lives outside of movies and literature. My casket maker and I were sitting in a bar (no this isn’t a joke, the jokes will come later and will hopefully be better than any punch line I could dream up here) discussing horror bands from past, present and future. I’ve seen horror in every genre of music including rap and country (see Gravediggaz and Those Poor Bastards).

My first inspiration to horror rock came in the form of a cassette from Kmart when I was in 6th grade. It was Alice Cooper’s Constrictor album. I remember staying up till midnight on Halloween in 1986 to catch his comeback concert “The Nightmare Returns” when it premiered live on MTV. During which he paraded his pet boa constrictor around on stage, lacerated his guitar player’s arm with a sword, and impaled a pesky camera guy with a microphone stand. And that was only the opening song!

When I was a teen, I saw King Diamond play live. His stage was set to look like a sitting room inside Disney’s Haunted Mansion. During the encore King took his bow, shook a couple of hands, thanked his family and friends for the support, picked up the roses that were tossed on stage and exited.

No wait that was the Michael McDonald concert I was forced to watch in the doctor’s waiting room the other day. This was King Fuckin’ Diamond we’re talking about here! He lay down in a coffin at center stage while the stagehands, dressed as executioners, nailed and chained it shut as they proceeded to light it on fire! After the flames engulf the casket in its entirety, the sides collapsed and low and behold, there is no one inside. The King had defied death.

Seemed easy enough. Now I knew what I wanted to do with my life. So my shock rock career began as my friends and I began working on the build of my coffin the next day. Seriously, how hard could this have been? I saw how it worked the night before and I can assure you it would’ve worked too if my damn neighbors would’ve kept their freaking mouths shut and stayed out of my damn business! Pricks!

Hitting up the school battle of the bands was another stop block in path of becoming a shock rock god. With everything I learned from the Coop, the King, and Black Lawless I was ready to rock my high school and star as the villain in the next big horror film! We set up the amps, drums, refrigerator box coffins, and the makeshift guillotine. The guillotine was actually a road block sawhorse that we stole, nailed a couple of vertical 2x4s to it and painted it black. The “blade” was cardboard wrapped in aluminum foil. Hey, it was going to be dark and if you squinted a little…We then introduced ourselves. So apparently Mrs. Jacoby, the 10th grade Spanish teacher, somehow took offence to our name, “Venom Enema” for some unknown bullshit reason that she wouldn’t give. (Alright, quick band huddle.) Then she didn’t like our alternative choice “Hātefűk”. She taught Spanish for God’s sake, what the hell does she know about good music? (Another quick band huddle.) So they agreed to accept our third choice; “The Whistling Dixie Cowboy Monkey Band”. But it was hard to announce that was our name with a straight face as we were wearing in black denim, Slayer t-shirts and corpse paint. At this point I thought we just might as well do some weird Frank Zappa covers because none of this was starting to make sense.

The audition lasted about 30 seconds into our first aria, “Whose Bed Has Your Blood Been Under” until our bass player got dizzy from headbanging, tripped on one of the “coffins” and knocked the guillotine off the stage, breaking it on the floor. I have to say I was a little surprised because of the near Amish carpentry work that went into making it in the parking lot.

I felt like Marty McFly’s when his band was trying out in Back to the Future. Only we weren’t cut for being too loud, we were cut for being “Too bad”. And then they didn’t apologize for cutting us, but I did see Coach Sydlik high five Mrs. Jacoby. Some people just don’t understand art.

By that time our drummer started crying and it made the grease paint from his corpse makeup run. “There’s no crying in death metal!” He said he wasn’t crying but rather it was the grease paint burning his eyes. I heard a few years later he was singing in a boy band. I guess he is the sensitive one in the group.

I made a couple of bucks off of selling our song rights to Shania Twain. She changed the blood reference to “boots” but I got my $10 royalty check so I didn’t care.

Going back to the late 1700’s, classical musician, Niccolo Paganini could have been the world’s first shock rock star. At only five feet tall with long black hair, he played violin while dancing madly to his music which led to rumors of him being possessed by the devil. In 1968 Arthur Brown introduced what we know as corpse paint to the music world while his head was on fire (you’re welcome Rammstein). Screamin’ Jay Hawkins would put a spell on you as he came onstage in a coffin (I should’ve tried that and probably the neighbors wouldn’t have meddled). The Misfits want your skull, while King Diamond wants your soul…please. Marilyn Manson (even before he was the asexual nazi dope fiend that we know and love today) scared us and our parents, as well as bands such as Rob Zombie, Cradle of Filth, Type O Negative, Cannibal Corpse, Wednesday 13, the Bronx Casket Company all sang about Halloween and the love for all things dead.

I’m thinking of putting the band back together and going out on a Venom Enema/Hātefűk reunion tour. I’ve even got a good name; The “Enema Fuk Tour”.  Oh, imagine the concert shirt art!

This week check out an oldie but a goodie movie, “Session 9”, and “Life After Sundown“ by Ghoultown.

 

Until next time, rest in pieces.

Renfield Rasputin

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“Where Do You Get Your Ideas?” or “You Really Should Talk to Someone”

 

Have you ever read a book or watched a movie and thought “Now that was original! Who thinks this shit up?” Re-imaginings (as Hollyweird would prefer you to call them) are fun but an original idea is what gets people off. These days everything has been done before, heard before, remade before and an original thought is few and far between. It is a challenge to shock or scare someone.

 

Here is what I think goes on in the film industry. There are probably six or eight executives sitting around a table smoking cigarettes in a dark room, with a single uncovered light bulb hanging down in the center. Then one brainiac says “I got it! There’s this house right? And it’s haunted. Now these teens go into it because…uh…fuck….anyone want to help me out here?” Then a second guy pipes up “Because they are getting out of the rain?” Then the first guy says “Yes! There you go! It’s raining! Fact is, make it a storm! So there is this escaped teenager killer inside because it was his childhood home.” A third guy tries to intervene “Uh, sir. Hasn’t this been done before? I think you are thinking of Halloween and every other horror movie ever made.” Then the first one retaliates “Fuck you Phillips! I’ve been asking for ideas all day and the only thing you can add is ‘Hasn’t this been done before?’ I haven’t heard shit from you until now! Screw it. Let’s just remake some shit. The younger kids will never know.”

 

If and when I do that, please put a stake through my heart (remember to use either Ash or Hawthorne wood only kids) and close the casket on me.

 

When you are starting a story, start writing about a location you know. Anne Rice is great about that. I learned about detail from her. Her locations are so detailed in her stories that you can spot them when you walk down the street! It adds realism to your story. Stephen King has Maine, Anne Rice has New Orleans, Lovecraft had Massachusetts and I have Texas.

 

One thing is for certain, and that is Texas can be a very creepy place. With a history of cannibal Indians, Bigfoot, ghostly lights, UFOs, chain saw murderers, pirate ghosts, the chupacabra, grave robbers, the first and only recorded case of poisoned Halloween candy, the Kennedy assassination, the Branch Davidians, Bonnie and Clyde, the UT clock tower shootings, the only known funeral museum in existence, Mexican satanic kidnapping cults, (great place to raise a family, don’t you think?) there are plenty of weird things for a goth kid to have a field day.   Did I forget to mention that King Diamond chose Dallas to call home? That alone should speak volumes.

 

Next, write about something that scares you. You want to know what scares me? The 5 o’clock news! There is nothing more frightening than listening to your local news report. If the one story about the home invasion doesn’t scare you, join it with the next couple of stories. I bet the story about how the police chase down the freeway where the suspect jumped out and invaded a home before going upstairs where he finds the family dog eating the remains of two corpses wrapped in plastic, will. (See how I did that right there kids?) If that doesn’t work you’re going to have to just watch reruns of Charles in Charge and wait till shit comes to mind.

 

Lastly, if nothing else is working, think about giving the Phantom a new opera house. What I mean by that is, don’t rewrite something, reinvent something! That is the reason that shitty stories like Twilight have done so well. Everyone has seen countless vampires sleeping in coffins and walking around at night, but we’ve never seen them walk around during the daytime, hold down relationships, and drive BMWs. (Don’t hate because you didn’t think of it and you’re not cashing in. Everyone can come up with a bad idea and sell it for the right amount. Remember, “You can’t polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter!”)

 

Join me next time when I preview my newest tale that CNN inspired; “Lesbian nazi biker zombies with unlimited calling plans rallying for tougher immigration laws and prefer eating pancreas to brains”. Chilling!

 

This week’s album I’m jamming to is the Cold Blue Rebels’ “Love of the Undead” , and movie is “The Conjuring” (not independent, not entirely original, but a decent flick). SUPPORT INDEPENDENT HORROR!

 

Until next week, rest in pieces.

 

Renfield Rasputin

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“Why Do You Write Horror?”

 

The short answer to this bullshit question is “Have you ever seen what I look like? I’m not exactly a male model. You would have to be bat-shit crazy to read a self help book from someone who looks like me.”

 

I didn’t set out to write horror, hell I didn’t set out to write. When I started writing, horror was the only natural choice for me. When I first started exploring my creative side, I was originally a musician. Music allowed for me to transform my thoughts and feelings into an emotionally electrical form that would be conducted (pardon the pun) to other people. After all, song lyrics are nothing more than POEtry. (See where this is going my fiends?)

 

Years later I was on a haunted tour in New Orleans when I heard the legend of Delphine Lalaurie. If you are not familiar with her now is a good time to Google her. (Who says horror isn’t educational?) I didn’t think much of the story at the time but years later I heard it again and I could not get it out of my head.

 

One part of the story really stood out to me and I thought “That would be a mother of a scene if it was in a movie!” I later found out that a movie has never been made about it, but in my opinion there needed to be. Well you know what they say, “If you want something done right…”

 

I started writing the screenplay “LaLaurie” but each kill scene brewed up other sinister idea for more stories. Only these ideas didn’t fit into the legend but like hell if I was going to let these be forgotten! Maybe they would make for a good song…or short story.

 

And that is how my cerebral sewage that I call short stories began.

 

Someone was interviewing me over a few drinks once about this topic (okay actually, I was just drunk and thought the dog was asking me rather deep and reflective questions) and I realized something. Horror is the only literary genre that is named after the human feeling that it provokes when it is read. Think about it. Sci-Fi/Fantasy? Nope. Fiction? Never felt it. Romance? A noun yes, but not an emotion. (While I’m on this topic please allow me clear something up right now. I’m probably going to get my man card pulled for exposing this but here it goes. Ladies, men like reading romance novels and watching chick flicks too. We just call it “Penthouse Forum” and “porn”.)

 

Horror when done right has always elicited an emotion in me that I appreciated more than any other. It cannot be a cheap pop, done with transparent blood, and God forbid CGI effects that are used to drive the whole story (insert a potshot at any recent action/paranormal movie here). I take horror seriously. The horror genre has the most exclusive fans. Not everything is allowed to get by because we know what we like and we don’t like is people screwing with it (insert most opinions on horror remakes here). Ask any horror fan and they will tell you “I like this, but I can’t stand that. That is scary, but this is not! That book/film sucks but this one is great and I can tell you why!” Who wouldn’t be proud to be in a group that can rationalize intelligently, amid dialogue pertaining to their own delectations? And if you didn’t follow that, you can Google that while you’re there also.

 

So that is the long answer to as of why I write horror. It is what I’m qualified for, it’s what comes natural, and most importantly, it’s what I enjoy. But now that I think about it… Actually I am rather damn good looking. Well, at least compared to Little Wayne.

 

This week Renfield’s choice of movies is “JON” by William Instone, the album “Walk Through Exits Only” by Phil Anselmo. SUPPORT INDEPENDENT HORROR!

 

Until next time, rest in pieces my little ghouls.

 

Renfield Rasputin

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How I Got My Start In Horror

I need you to think about this for a moment. To get the idea just right, picture first the early 80’s and a little shaggy haired kid in corduroy pants. He is around the age of five and wearing a Ben Cooper clown Halloween mask. Now let’s put him in the house of his strict Southern Baptist grandparents that do not appreciate Halloween, rock music, or horror movies. There was no hope in hell that he was getting to go trick or treating. He could be dressed up in a stupid cheap ass Mickey Mouse costume while he watches “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”, but anything past that…not a chance in hell. Besides, his grandparents told him that “They poison Halloween candy anyway.”

 

Well that was Wednesday, and on Friday that little kid gets to go to his single mom’s house. She didn’t really have time for shit so she’s going to plant his ass in front of the television, unlike his grandparent’s house and thanks to the lack of parental supervision he gets to watch whatever in the hell he wants for a change. But lucky for him it is October and John Carpenter’s “The Fog” is on following the Exorcist, so this should be a good weekend. He can wear the Ben Cooper clown mask if he chooses, because in his head he was a “killer clown”. However one could expect his mom to think it is a little weird and she doesn’t know the proper way to tell him other than to just say “Normal kids wouldn’t act like you.”

 

Yeah, that happened. This was my life. Now settle down, there’s more.

 

Thank God mom drank. That just gave me the chance to watch more TV the next morning while she slept her hangover off. Now the Muppet Show is on and it is not the usual guest. This guest is some guy with long black hair, black face paint around his eyes, cobwebs all over the set, and he’s singing to Muppet monsters! But what I can’t figure out is why is HIS name Alice?  Who the hell cares? This shit is cool!

 

“Did he just get out of a coffin? Welcome to his nightmare? I’ve never heard such songs on Mom’s John Denver nor Grandma’s Tennessee Ernie Ford albums. He’s scaring the shit out of me and…and…I think I like it!”

 

A few hours later I’m still watching TV. Now there is a movie on about these four evil looking clowns in a band with superpowers chasing a phantom around an amusement park. I’m digging the one called “The Demon”. He’s got the coolest makeup. I wonder if I could get into my Mom’s makeup and paint my face like that while she’s laid out.

 

Well my mom and Jack Daniels had a date that night and this was my chance to find that black pencil thingy to paint my face into the scariest creature I could think of and deliver that fantastic emotion of fear to someone else that I most recently fell in love with.

 

Well that shit didn’t happen.

 

My mom got up and found me in the bathroom drawing black lines all over my face and commenced her bitchfest. This in turn resulted in a call to my Baptist grandparents. This in turn landed my ass in the counselor’s office at school talking about “what angers me”, “do I ever hear voices”, and “boys don’t wear makeup”.

 

Skip ahead a few years. I’m reading above my age level (thank you Reading Rainbow), and I take up an Edgar Allen Poe collection. My grandparents were elated. “Oh that’s good! He wrote a poem about a bird!” (Yeah, that’s it.)  Then there was my mom’s response. “Well who the fuck is that?”

 

Nevermind those stories that everyone else knew about, I wanted to read the ones with titles like “Never Bet the Devil Your Head”, or “Bats in the Belfry”.  Sign my ass up! I wanted the shit scared out of me. And that it did.

 

As a teen, metal music didn’t exactly help my horror hunger either. Seeing covers like AC/DC’s “If You Want Blood”, Ozzy’s “Diary of a Madman”, Iron Maiden’s “Piece of Mind” just added to the strife in my household between myself and the parental units. The neighbors got used to seeing albums and cassettes flying out my bedroom window and breaking on the street below. But I think the song that wrapped it up nicely for me was by a little Texas band called Dangerous Toys. The song was called “Scared” and it was dedicated to my hero, Alice Cooper. If you ever get a chance check the song out. I think you’ll feel the same way that I do about it even today.

 

That my little boils and ghouls is how your buddy Renfield found his way into the wonderful world of horror. I was told “You can’t watch that” and “You aren’t going to listen to that shit” as well as “We doesn’t celebrate that devil shit in this house.” And that drove me closer to horror and Halloween every time I heard it. I moved into “The Last House on the Left”, it’s “The House by the Cemetery”, at “1313 Mockingbird Lane” ever since and don’t foresee myself ever moving out.

 

I was engaged on Halloween. My pets are all named after horror movie villains. My man cave is decked out like a gothic dungeon filled with screen used horror props and original pressing autographed movie posters. But the best thrill comes when my neighbors volunteer to help out with crowd control at my door every Halloween. Every year a handful of parents will tell me “We come from two neighborhoods over to see you. My kids ask to drive past your house every year to see what you are doing this year.”

 

Today, since I did not choose a career as a mass murderer, the family doesn’t say much to me about my choices of music, movies, and literature. I’m sure it would still make them cringe, the same way “Rocky Mountain High” makes me cringe.

 

Grandma is now in a rest home and thinks it is great that her once blonde haired, blue eyed little man is now a long raven haired author and musician. And my mom, well she’s been on the wagon for 15 years.