Unboxing Savagery

It had been more than 30 years since I last bought an issue of the original Savage Sword of Conan*, and almost as long since I read one cover-to-cover.

But just a few days ago I unboxed all my back issues and laid them out in their glory on my bar top. And began to thumb through the old pages. 

Why now, after all this time?

I don’t quite know, but here’s a few possible explanations.

I’m tired of screens and digital art.

I’m an old newspaper guy and love the smell of newsprint and ink.

The covers are glorious.

But I also felt the draw of something deeper … an urge to reconnect with my past, which is what these comic books represent. They are a little bit of who I am. We are at least partially our things, or perhaps our things are an outward reflection of who we are. 

I am a little bit Conan. 

There is something awe inspiring about this picture. Beholding all at once the output of so many talented artists bringing to life an old pulp character now passed into myth, moves me.

The greatest creation of Robert E. Howard will endure forever.

Question: How many adventures can Conan go on? 

Answer: Yes.

I have a lot of old issues of Savage Sword of Conan from its classic run, 1974-1995. I had forgotten how many, and surprised myself in this great unboxing. I own more than I thought, just north of 100 issues. Should you want to know the exact numbers:

1, 5, 6, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 62, 63, 64, 67, 69, 75, 76, 78, 80, 81, 82, 84, 92, 94, 95, 97, 100, 103, 104, 105, 106, 109, 110, 112, 113, 115, 117, 118, 121, 125, 126, 127, 129, 133, 135, 137, 144, 148, 149, 150, 151, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 177, 178, 184

And I have more than just SSOC.

You don’t hear a whole lot of enthusiasm for Conan Saga. It’s the red-head stepchild of Conan magazines, mentioned if at all as a vehicle for low-priced reprints.

There is a fair bit of truth to this. That’s what Conan Saga mainly did. But it wasn’t just SSOC reprints. The first nine issues are mostly reprints of Conan the Barbarian, black and white versions of the color originals—so original in a sense. Conan Saga also sprinkled in stories from Savage Tales and unexpected rares like “The Sword and the Sorcerers!” a non-Conan story from a comic I’d never heard of, Chamber of Darkness (1970), written by the great Roy Thomas and illustrated by Barry Windsor-Smith. Here’s the synopsis:

A writer who is selling barbarian stories of Starr the Slayer that come to him in dreams plans to kill off Starr in the next story because the dreams are putting too much of a strain upon his health. On his way to the office, Starr assaults him out of an alley with accusations of assassin upon his lips. The writer is unbelieving, even to the point that Starr raises his sword and strikes him down. Starr wakes in his own world and relates a dream to his faithful minstrel wherein he struck down a grave threat to his life.

Cool. I’m going to give this one a read.

Only when it hit double-digits did Conan Saga largely give way to mainly SSOC reprints.

I believe the first nine covers by Barry Windsor-Smith are all first run originals. They make for beautiful keepsakes.

For me Conan Saga was a Godsend. I’ve said many times that SSOC was my gateway to sword-and-sorcery, and I was not lying—save that I forgot to mention the role of Conan Saga.

I guarantee you can track these down at a fraction of the price of SSOC.

I’ve also got other cool odds and ends, of the same savage ilk. Kull and the Barbarians #2. Savage Sword Super Annual. And a really cool full color Marvel Super Special #9, starring The Savage Sword of Conan in full color.

I love the text pieces on The Hyborian Legion and the Conan comics chronology. 

Unboxing these issues opened a window into my past. If you notice the long (near) unbroken run—roughly issues 148-178—it begins in May 1988 and ends in August 1990. I was born in 1973, so that means roughly age 14-17 I was regularly hitting my local book store and buying new issues as they came out, rarely missing a month.

… until senior year of high school and college. My disposable income shifted toward heavy metal, beer, and chicks and I stopped buying new issues.

The venerable magazine wrapped its incredible 21 year run with the July 1995 issue, just a few months after I graduated. I find it comforting that SSOC was there for me, all the way through college, as I left home to wench and swill ale on a grand adventure of which Conan himself would approve.

Savage.

*My brother bought me a couple of back issues a few years ago, including SSOC #1 which I recently broke out in honor of Robert E. Howard’s birthday. I have also purchased the first half dozen of the new Titan run.

New email newsletter: Arcane Arts: Dispatches From The Silver Key

That email newsletter widget on the side of the blog, over there ==> ?

I'm finally putting it to use.

The first issue of Arcane Arts: Dispatches From the Silver Key has hit inboxes.

Important note to would-be subscribers: CHECK YOUR SPAM FOLDER

If you used this form to sign up, you might not have received the first issue.

I know this because the platform, Kit, tells me which subscribers are confirmed vs. unconfirmed. I've got 12-15 folks who signed up, but haven't clicked "confirm" on the auto-email that kicks out to confirm you've keyed in the right email address.

If this sounds like you, or you did not receive the first issue, check your spam folder. If you signed up months ago and/your spam folder is empty, try subscribing again. You just need to confirm once and you're on the list.

Issue #1

I published the first issue via email but also to the web, you can read it here:

 https://brian-murphy.kit.com/posts/what-s-brewing-with-arcane-arts-dispatches-from-the-silver-key-6

I'm still pondering what with I want to do with Arcane Arts, but suffice to say it will be something interesting and wizardly. I kick around some ideas in this first issue but welcome your suggestions here as well. 

It's not meant to replace anything I'm doing on The Silver Key (hence, dispatches from). I see it primarily as a way to keep in touch with folks who might otherwise forget to return to this dusty corner of cyberspace. It makes the blog a bit more sticky.

Trapped in the web... of Arcane Arts.

Struck dumb by Tolkien

So much in Tolkien “hits different,” to use a popular catchphrase of the day. I think because it comes from a place of deep wisdom, so deep it is simultaneously jarring to the ear (no politician could ever utter such words) and timeless, as true today as it was in 1954 … or 1754, or will be in 2354. You are struck dead in your reading tracks, and perhaps like I do, pause to take a photo of the page.

Asks Eomer:

“How shall a man judge what to do in such times?” “

“As he ever has judged,” said Aragorn. “Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own house.”

Doing something evil out of expedience does not make it any less wicked.

Here’s another, this time from Gandalf, speaking to Pippin about the hazards of looking into the seeing stones known as the Palantiri. Insert whatever autonomous technology you’d like here:

“Perilous to us are all the devices of an art deeper than we possess ourselves.”

I’ve finished The Two Towers and have begun The Return of the King. I’m treasuring every page of the journey and taking my time with it.

 

Anyone else take pictures while reading?

On seeing bands, of which you have no familiarity, live: A night with Opeth and Katatonia

Somewhere around 1998 I stopped keeping up with new heavy metal. I could not tell you precisely why, only that I gave up the ghost somewhere between Megadeth’s Cryptic Writings (June 1997) and Bruce Dickinson’s The Chemical Wedding (September 1998). It had nothing to do with those fine albums, just where I was with my widening life and shifting interests. And possibly, the rise of nü-metal (God I hate even typing those words, and the ridiculous umlaut, which those bands don't deserve).

No need for mourning, I had a good run. I fell in love with metal around 1987 and for a decade devoured everything I could: classic NWOBHM, thrash, progressive metal, power metal. Even though I very much preferred Maiden, Priest and Metallica I was a sponge, promiscuously consuming the new bands my friends recommended, or whatever caught my ear on Headbanger’s Ball or 107.3 WAAF.

Until suddenly, I stopped. 

What does that mean? I have huge gaps that will likely never be filled. An undeveloped metal palette, unable to appreciate the full breadth and complexity of the genre (which to the uninitiated has massive variety, from top 40 bubblegum hair metal bands to incomprehensible wall of angry sound death metal).

Yeah, I’ve got holes. One of which is shaped like an “O.”

Anyone here an Opeth fan?

Queuing up for the unknown...

I saw these guys last night at the Orpheum in Boston and started filling in some gaps. 

Now I’m not a total Opeth rube; I’ve heard snippets of them here and there. I certainly knew of them. I can’t say the same for opening act Katatonia, the first bars of which I heard in my friend Dana’s car on the drive in.

In case you’re wondering both are Swedish metal acts that have been around since the early 1990s. But looking back it all makes sense; Opeth’s debut album Orchid was not released in the United States until June 1997, somewhere around the start of my new and (nü) metal absence.

Love that stylized "O"

Did I enjoy the show? Yes. Interestingly both bands have death metal roots, a subgenre I don’t enjoy, but Opeth is now properly classified as progressive. They can get quite heavy and lead singer Mikael Åkerfeldt busted out the cookie monster growl on many songs. But the majority of their stuff was chill-ish, heavy and with a great groove but overlaid with clean, mellow, even soft-spoken vocals.

I’d classify Opeth as atmospheric and moody prog metal, creating a vibe akin to entering the vast pagan forests of pre-Christian Europe. I dug Katatonia too, which had a similar feel, and a damned cool backdrop of a deer with sentient eyes wreathed in ghostly flame.

I can’t give a proper review of course because I knew no songs and still don’t. Instead I chose to focus on the sound and the experience. It was nice seeing more (and more attractive) chicks than a typical metal show.

Am I going to become a raging Opeth fan? Will I track down their back catalog, binge Opeth YouTube videos, join an Opeth Reddit page? 

No.

But maybe I’ll check out Ghost Reveries (2005), which Dana recommended after I inquired about his favorite album.

We’ll see. I do know it made for a fun and different and interesting night.

Dig around in your past, see the band of which you're unfamiliar, if the opportunity presents itself.

Dana (at right) and I.

A couple of books I am looking forward to reading: The Tower and the Ruin; To Leave a Warrior Behind

I don't know about you but my TBR pile is the size of a telephone pole. I have a towering pile of books I want to read, or re-read, and have only one life in which to do it. I'm pretty selective in my book purchases but when I see something interesting, I add it to my TBR. The list outpaces my reading, and so grows ever larger.

There is no formal mechanism for how I prioritize what to read next. I can only say that some books make their way to the top of this figurative telephone pole faster than others.

Here's two that hit my mailbox in the past week and promptly jumped the queue.

I have read a fair bit of literary criticism and have reached the conclusion that storytelling and voice matter, even in this medium. Dense, academic jargon makes for a lot of work; even if it's got something illuminating to say the juice isn't worth the squeeze if comprehension becomes the equivalent of deconstructing a mental jenga puzzle.

Michael D.C. Drout wrote one of my favorite Tolkien essays for The Silmarillion: Thirty Years On, a personal and revealing piece about the impact that work had on him during a trying time in his life as a young boy at the height of the Blizzard of '78. I found it both illuminating and emotionally powerful, relatable on multiple levels (among them I lived through that blizzard). And so when I heard he had completed The Tower and the Ruin I knew I had to have it. 

Right now I'm in the middle of The Two Towers and desire a companion to share in my reading. I'm hoping The Tower and the Ruin and a pint of beer will reaffirm the magic that is uniquely Tolkien's. 

To Leave a Warrior Behind is the story of the late Charles Saunders, author of Imaro. Saunders passed away in May 2020 and was buried in an unmarked grave in Halifax, Canada. His life and S&S contributions seemed destined for obscurity, but a group of friends and fans sprang for a gravestone. The project funded in 24 hours.

Now it seems we also have a proper biography. Jon Tattrie worked side-by-side with Saunders at the same newspaper for years. I've been hearing good things and am looking forward to reading this as well.

I'm sure I'll get around to reviewing both.

Tom Barber post up on the blog of DMR Books

Tom with a couple of covers... he signed these for me.

Head on over to the blog of DMR Books for more of a formal introduction to Tom Barber's new memoir, Artists, Outlaws & Old-Timers.

Thanks to Dave Ritzlin for allowing me the space to introduce the work and for sharing a lot of Tom's fantastic artwork. 

That's talent folks, by a good guy who is still with us and still working.

Order Tom's book today in print or digital. I've got a copy myself and it looks sharp, with full color interior artwork illustrating a compelling personal story of self-discovery and overcoming addictions. With a lot of wild and memorable adventures along the way.

Brandon Sanderson articulates the exact problem with AI in the arts

A new video by Brandon Sanderson puts a finger on a point I’ve felt but hadn’t quite articulated.

I’m not a Sanderson fan so please divorce that from your counter-arguments. I’ve never read anything by him and have no plans to. His brand of fat, endless fantasy turned me toward S&S. I don’t care about his beliefs or politics.

I do know he’s dead-on here.

Sanderson explains why AI art is not art in this new video. It is worth the 18 minutes of your time.

Try to imagine a world where anyone can summon a movie or a book or an image with a few prompts.

There is no artistry in this. Certainly no struggle. No failure, no triumph. The result is a flattened, disengaged landscape where we’re all staring at our screens, consuming without thought.

When I wrote Flame and Crimson I pieced together a narrative of sword-and-sorcery that did not exist, or at least was not articulated in that manner. So I embarked on a journey 5+ years to tell that story.

I researched and read. Wrote and threw away a lot of my writing. I made missteps and went down cul-de-sacs that I had to abandon. Some days were agony. A couple times I despaired if I’d ever succeed. But I did.

And along the way I learned, and grew. Both my thinking and my writing. 

At the end I experienced an intense and lasting source of accomplishment and pride that has not dissipated. 

I became a better person.

None of this occurs when you just prompt a machine.

Gatekeeping is a curious counter-argument I’ve some make. “You hate AI because you’re a gate-keeper!” 

One YouTuber has made this argument (I won’t link to him; I’m not a fan). But his argument is that Sanderson is a gate-keeper, and this person can’t wait until the gates are thrown open and he can make movies out of his books (which are quite likely AI written) with a mere $200 annual AI subscription. 

What this person has let slide clear over his smooth brain is that he isn’t “making” a movie. And the one he “creates” will not be watched.

If anyone can create a movie with prompts, none will be popular. We'll all be able to "create" our own entertainment and keep ourselves endlessly amused, to our own quirks and specifications. There will be millions of movies “made” each day. I'll leave it up to you whether this is a good thing, for the artist trying to make a living or our species as a whole. 

When did learning a craft, and the act of performing challenging work, and overcoming obstacles, become gate-keeping? 

Writing is accessible to anyone who wants to learn it. Some are of course more naturally gifted or faster learners, but almost anyone can become a good writer, in time. 

Think of what becoming a good writer does to you, as a person.

Think of the skill acquisition. The feeling of accomplishment when someone compliments you on your writing, not a machine’s. Think about how many books you’d have to read to become a good writer, and how that reading would change you, expand you as a person.

This is what Sanderson is arguing here. The point of art is not the outcome, which is the receipt, but the struggle of making and how it transforms you as a person. The journey is more important than the destination. 

And he’s exactly, 100% dead-on.

I am not a luddite; I use technology all the time like everyone else. I’m not even anti-AI. I’m just anti-AI for the arts.

This is what art is all about, and why it must belong to people, not machines. Using AI to create art for you is not making art. It’s little more than turning on a television set, and about as transformational. 

Our name is on the cover of the book we write; even if it sells no copies you have accomplished something amazing. I high-five anyone who takes the time to create.

We are the art. 

Thanks to Brandon Sanderson for his clear articulation here.

Against the Demon World by Dave Ritzlin, a review

(Note: I was given an advance reading copy of this book, which comes out next week.)

It was a life of little but feeding, fighting, and fornicating, but Avok found it a good one. Which was just as well, because he could neither recall nor conceive of any other.

--Against the Demon World, Dave Ritzlin

Yes, that demon has a spiked metal head.

A plain truth about sword-and-sorcery: It can be elevated and thoughtful and literary …but most often you’ll find it spraying arterial blood in gladiatorial pits, or rolling around between the sheets with a lusty demoness.

Dave Ritzlin’s new novel Against the Demon World is this. 

It’s the second standalone novel by the publisher of DMR Books, and the first full-length work of his I’ve read.

If you like classic old-school muscular S&S, you’ll like it.

***

The story opens with two dudes in leather kilts and boots going on an ogre hunt. Straight in, no foreplay, into a well-rendered fight scene. Their names are Kratorr and Avok. Hard, muscular, badass. They fit the story.

Ritzlin tells the tale with a straightforward, easy to read prose style, sprinkled with some Clark Ashton Smith like vocabulary: Fuliginous, trilithon, strophium, sanguineous. But just lightly sanguineous, like sprinkled drops of blood. He’s also not afraid to use exclamation points.

And “thews,” which appears in these pages early and often.

Against the Demon World wears its influences on its sleeve. REH, ERB, CAS, and Lin Carter, predominantly. We have a CAS-esque Fount of Invigorating Flame. But the overall feel seems to owe most to Burroughs, with the demon-world a fantasy stand-in for his red planet of Mars. Weird races everywhere, weird tech. Half-living sky ships with pterodactyl-like wings.

We get Manowar references. The god Agloran, aka.  “The Hammer,” whose worshippers honor him with the Sign of the Hammer. We even get a “leave the hall!” commandment, barked at the cultists of Iljer. Us Manowar fans will know.

And of course, it’s loaded with S&S tropes. Demon worshipping cults? Orgies? Blood sacrifice? Check, check, check. “Human sacrifices were required for said rituals, as they invariably are where demons are concerned.” An unironic observation by Dave. Thunderdome like gladiator fights? Check these, too.

Who is our man Avok? He’s a hybrid Conan and Thongor. He worships Agloran at a Crom-like distance, and abides by a rough moral code of behavior (he dislikes stealing from honest men and doesn’t force himself on women, though he certainly accepts their ardent advances).

The plot is basic: Avok finds himself an unwilling pawn in a war between the barbaric free peoples of Cythera vs. the Cult of Iljer (“Hail Iljer!”). The latter wishes to convert and enslave all of Nilztiria’s free races. Avok’s sister’s entrapped immortal soul is the ransom, keeping Avok compliant. The conflict widens; Avok is pressed into something much more than typical S&S self-interest; returning runaway slaves trapped in the demon world to their homes in Nilztiria, where they can live freely and walk in daylight. 

But make no mistake, this is beefy men’s fiction, all the way. Easy reading. Action-packed. Mortal peril, demon-summoning, fight after fight. Fun! And funny:

Heltorya leaned forward, scrutinizing Avok with her lush jade-green eyes. “What is that jutting from his body? It appears erect.”

Avok glanced down at his crotch before realizing she was referring to the tentacle. It must have sprung to life recently without his awareness.

Nilztiria is a loose anagram for Ritzlin which I assume is deliberate. Dave gives his created world color and life through epigraphs leading off each chapter, written by a sorcerous chronicler. I like this device; it offers short dabs of world-building flavor that never detracts from the action. If Nilztiria feels a little generic, the demon world of Uzz is wildly imaginative. Here are egg-headed snake monsters, demons like spiky monkeys, wasps the size of mantichores wielding weapons in their tails. Gorgeous demon women who bathe in the distilled tears of their prisoners? Yep, that too. 

Here’s a description of one of my favorite demons:

This bestial specimen possessed the head and arms of a black bear, and a pair of squamous limbs which resembled headless snakes emanated from its hips. The lower half of its body was coated entirely in some type of scummy fungus. As it pulled itself aboard, it opened its jaws to emit incongruously high-pitched peals of laughter.

Avok’s chief opponent is Nelgasthros, a demon with a spiked metal head (this appendage can be used to parry sword blows. Cool). When Avok wants to ram his vengeance down the demon’s throat, his love interest quips that will be difficult, as Nelgasthros lacks a visible mouth. “Then I’ll make a few holes in the bastard’s head,” Avok replies. 

This is fun stuff, entertainment as fiction’s purpose (which by the way was Burroughs’ mantra). 

We read these kind of stories because they’re fun. Dave never takes grim matters too seriously: 

They were certainly an odd-looking crew, Avok thought: nearly two dozen hairy, disheveled men and women who appeared as if they knew not the touch of civilization, alongside a proud, noble lady whose captive was a full-bosomed demoness, all following a man with a thrashing tentacle extending from the base of his skull. Avok could not help but laugh, for it was his nature to find humor in the absurd, even when struggling to overcome grave danger as he was now.

I appreciated Dave’s small but steady injection of humor. We get high school locker-room, bro-like conversation about how to attract a woman. Avok is an unwilling mediator in a fight between two bickering women, one a princess, the other a demoness, rife with petty jealousies and insecurities and sexual tension. 

Avok stifled a chuckle. In a way, he was living out every man’s dream, sharing a bed with two beautiful women. When he returned to Cythera, he might boast of the feat to his friends. True, one was unconscious due to an injury, and the other was an evil monster, but he could leave out those details.

As is often the case with villains I found the demoness Heltorya the most compelling character. She possesses no morality, and views life (if she is even capable of self-reflection) as a thing upon which she can sate her lusts, consume and spit out the remnants.

“So the only measure of a living creature’s worth is how you can exploit it?” asked Avok.

“Of course,” said Heltorya. “Is that not self-evident?”

***

OK, Enough Talk! 

(BTW this line from Conan the Destroyer appears in the book; I use it here to cut to the chase).

Against the Demon World is muscular and fun. Good Saturday afternoon reading with a 6 pack of Miller High Life type of fun. At a breezy 200 pages and a top-notch cover illustration you won’t go wrong.

If you don’t like this muscular style of S&S, great—there’s plenty elsewhere to be found.

Kudos to Dave for telling a good story and for keeping this brand of S&S alive longer than any other publisher. 

A heavy metal rant: Stop the Di’Anno v. Dickinson, Ozzy v. Dio forever wars. Forever.

"Never, this is the end" ... of tired internet arguments.
So sayeth Dio.

Every so often I need to let out a good rant. It gets my blood going and my cold keyboard hot. Here’s one I’ve had on my chest for a while.

Imagine fighting a war that lasted 40 years, that had no resolution, and whose outcome was incalculable amounts of wasted time, wasted youth, wasted breath.

When would it be time to say “enough”? 

Some fans of Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath have been waging such a war for decades and can’t stop themselves from charging once more into the breach, going over the top into machine gun fire. Dying little deaths every day.

Wars of words fought over and over. A nightmarish endless war. One that finally must end.

They can’t do it. So I’ll do it for them.

No more Paul Di’Anno vs. Bruce Dickinson. 

No more Ozzy Osbourne vs. Ronnie James Dio. 

Stop now. 

It’s over.

It never needed to be a war to begin with. 

Paul Di’Anno was awesome on the first two Maiden albums. 

Ozzy Osbourne did immortal work with Sabbath.

Then their stories ended with these bands (Ozzy had a proper reunion tour). And when they did end, others stepped up. 

And also did immortal work.

Bruce Dickinson is Iron Maiden, as much as Steve Harris, and took the band to new heights.

Ronnie James Dio did awesome work on four Sabbath studio albums (The Devil You Know is a Sabbath album).

All four dudes are worthy.

That’s the story.

So let’s cut the shit with the comparisons. But you won’t, will you? Because you think you have some new cutting-edge argument that will finally settle the matter. That only you know the real truth, and the rest of the world needs to know.

You don’t know the truth. You just have an ugly opinion.

I’ve heard them all, all the arguments.

I hear them in my sleep.

But Maiden’s first two albums are so much better, and punkish, and cutting edge. If they had only kept Paul on…

Stop it.

But Dio turned Sabbath into something generic. War Pigs doesn’t work without Ozzy…

Cut the shit.

Here’s a 2,500 word Substack essay speculating what Maiden might have done in 1983 if Paul DiAnno only…

I said cut the shit! 

I hate counterfactual thinking. It’s a complete waste of time. 

No one’s taking away the old albums. 

More to the point, you were not there when band personnel decisions were made. Paul was fired, Ozzy was fired, and both with ample cause.

You have ZERO idea about band dynamics. Which is 10x more complex and nuanced than anything you can comprehend.

Find something else to fill your time than these tired, dead, arguments. 

When you feel compelled to type for the 4,268th time how Maiden with DiAnno was “better and Bruce sucked” or how “the only real Sabbath was Ozzy Sabbath” here’s some advice. 

1. Stop, take a breath. 

2. Go to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of water. 

3. Reflect on how pathetic your life is, and the wasted years you’ve put into typing nonsense.

4. Get your car keys or fob, drive your car to the local soup kitchen, help people in need.

You’ll feel better. The world will be better. And you’ll have saved the internet from clogging it with one more piece of shit.

The past is done and dusted, and we can celebrate it all now. All the iterations of our favorite bands. Stop with the black-and-white thinking. 

Three of these four guys are dead and gone…let them rest in peace.

Get out of mom’s basement, appreciate life and all its variety. 

I write this knowing it will not end these wars, but it’s my last word on it. 

If someone asks me my opinion I will send them this link.

Understanding The Lord of the Rings

Ambush by Justin Gerard.

Right now (with a brief diversion into REH for his 120th) it's all Lord of the Rings, all the time.

Last weekend I took my daughters to see Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers. Today we conclude the film trilogy with a viewing of Return of the King. I was able to switch the show date from tomorrow to avoid the incoming snowpocalypse. 

(It is starting to feel like The Long Winter. Wolves are at the door).

Besides the films I'm also re-reading LOTR. Which as always is an experience like no other. 

Here's a few thoughts after finishing The Council of Elrond.

***

The Lord of the Rings is a story of roots, and places.

It’s an origin story for people, from whence we came, in our mythic past. Because Middle-earth is our earth.

It is an expression of deep sadness for that which is lost, with the march of time and “progress.”

It is a moral tale, with maps of ethical behavior evinced by its characters. Some of these are loyalty, perseverance, charity, mercy.

Sauron is off-screen, a dark and sinister menace, and evil. His chief power is not in projected force (though he has that in orcs and wargs) but in domination. His chief tool is despair. The Ringwraiths’ power is in the paralyzing fear they instill. 

So therefore it is the rejection of domination and despair through perseverance and mercy that are the keys to understanding Tolkien’s moral framework.

It is an affirmation of the divine order of the universe, that there is a maker. That evil was there almost at the beginning. Iluvatar created angelic beings in his image with free will and Melkor rejected the offered order. From him came evil. But ultimately the universe is good, that there is light and high beauty forever beyond the reach of Melkor/Sauron and the shadow. 

These themes are the true magic of the story, IMO… and then there is the Lore. Which is awesome, and also magic, and intimately related to the themes. 

The Lore is the great family trees, the great Ages of history, the great stories of the past.

In Fellowship we learn about Beren and Luthien, the love of a man and elf-maiden. A man who dared to pluck a Silmaril from the crown of Melkor to win her hand (and lose his). With Beren dying in her arms Luthien chooses mortality, and the two meet again, after death--incredible. 

And from their union a line that shall never fail. 

They had a son, Dior, who sired Elwing the White, who marries Earendil, and from him Elrond and Elros.

And from Elros the Kings of Numenor, all the way down to Aragorn.

People and place and lineage, back to the beginning.

This union of theme and lore, married to a gripping adventure story, is the holy trinity and why it is the greatest work of fantasy of all time.

Judas Be My Guide, Iron Maiden

I'm old enough to have bought Iron Maiden's Fear of the Dark on tape, very close to the day of its release  in May 1992. If I'm correct my buddy Pete and I bought a copy at a long defunct Strawberries (RIP). Popped it in the car stereo on the drive home and listened all the way to the end, even after arriving at our destination. Our ears were alert to every note. This was Maiden! They deserved our full attention.

We were blown away by "Fear of the Dark," the last song on side 2. Which has since become a classic and concert staple.

... and unfortunately underwhelmed by the rest, and the album as a whole. A rare miss by Maiden.

Except for one other track on side 2. 

Take a listen and I think you'll agree about "Judas Be My Guide." 

Nothing is sacred

Back then or now

Everyone's wasted

Is that all there is?

Is that it now?

Short, barely makes it past 3 minutes. Powerful, almost no foreplay save for a bit of atmospheric guitar work, then straight in. I love Dave Murray's guitar work after the bridge between the second and third chorus. Bruce is singing at a high level here. 

It rips. A great little overlooked song that deserves more attention in Maiden's catalog.

In hindsight "Afraid to Shoot Strangers" is pretty good too.

Happy 120th, REH!

I live in the northeast. We’re in the middle of a cold snap in the dead of a rougher than usual New England winter and are expecting a huge snowstorm Sunday into Monday. 

Given the conditions, may I suggest “The Frost-Giant’s Daughter”?

It is a good day to read some Robert E. Howard. After all it’s his 120th birthday.

I read a bit of “The Frost-Giant’s Daughter” on the recently released birthday tribute video by the Robert E. Howard Foundation. I recommend the whole thing, but if you just want to see what my basement bar looks like here’s the bit at 16:37.

As you’ll see in the video I have SSOC #1 and it contains a kick-ass adaption of the story by the great Roy Thomas, illustrated by the great Barry Windsor-Smith.

As I noted the story contains a mythic quality present in some but not all of Howard’s stuff. It feels like myth and in a sense it was, adapted from the Greek myth of Daphne and Apollo.

But it feels like a northern myth. Atali is a Valkyrie gone bad, not collecting the bodies of the slain but instead leading men to their deaths, at the hands of her two hulking brothers.

Until they meet Conan, that is.

Hoist a tankard of ale or a glass of your favorite adult beverage in honor of the greatest pulpster ever. He lives on in literary Valhalla.

Happy early birthday, REH: Watch the Foundation video Jan. 21

Frazetta's frosty take, also a masterpiece.

Thursday marks the 120th birthday of Robert E. Howard. For the occasion the Robert E. Howard Foundation has assembled an all-star cast of REH fans wishing Howard a happy birthday and reading a bit of his selected writings.

Somehow I'm part of said cast. You can see me say a few words about "The Frost-Giant's Daughter" and then read the first couple paragraphs of that story. Which I think is an absolute masterpiece (yet somehow rejected by Farnsworth Wright? WTF).

The video premieres tomorrow at 8 p.m. I recommend watching it "live" if possible as I'm sure folks will be chiming in via the chat feature in real time.

Link to the video here.

Also, there is a fundraiser afoot to raise money for overdue repairs to the Howard home in Cross Plains TX, which is now a permanent museum. I made the journey to the mecca in 2023, it's a fantastic take that must be undertaken by every Howard fan at least once in your life.

I contributed to the cause earlier this year. If you have any money to spare please donate; the Foundation is a 501 (c) (3) organization and your donation is therefore tax deductible. And will go toward the greatest of causes this side of raising Atlantis from the deeps: Preserving the home of the Cross Plains bard, the man who delivered sword-and-sorcery to our shores.

JRR Tolkien, "On Fairy Stories"

"For my part, I cannot convince myself that the roof of Bletchley station is more 'real' than the clouds. And as an artefact I find it less than inspiring than the legendary dome of heaven. The bridge to platform 4 is to me less interesting than Bifrost guarded by Heimdall with the Gjallarhorn."

Tom Barber memoir, LOTR 25th, and more

A self-portrait from Tom's wild days in the west...

Tom Barber’s Artists, Outlaws & Old Timers

My friend Tom Barber has a memoir on the market.

Artists, Outlaws & Old-Timers: The (sometimes hazy) recollections of a wandering artist is the compelling story of Tom’s years out west, when he was living life on the edge as a penniless artist in the throes of alcoholism. It’s a personal, reflective story of a unique soul and a talented painter whose work graced many sword-and-sorcery and science fiction paperback and magazine covers in the 70s and 80s (and later, Flame and Crimson).

Best of all the book is loaded with Tom’s art, full color and black and white illustrations and photographs which accompany the story. More than 60, I believe, including stuff you’ve never seen elsewhere. 

I am pleased to help Tom bring this to fruition. I’ve never published a book through Kindle Direct Publishing but was able to get Tom’s manuscript through to the finish line. Due to the visuals we chose the highest quality print, which makes the price point higher. But I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. 

It’s also available as an affordable e-book.

Why read it?

If you are a fan of Tom’s artwork, or enjoy getting a look into how other unique souls lived their life, consider picking it up. If you know anyone who struggled with alcohol addiction this will resonate. And, Tom could use the support.

Much more to come on this. I’ll be writing some pieces here, the blog of DMR Books and elsewhere.

LOTR 25th anniversary on the doorstep

Twenty-five years ago I saw The Fellowship of the Ring on opening night on the big screen. I was so blown away I returned to see it again a month or so later, determined to catch it one more time before it left the theaters. This was before streaming and I had no idea when I’d get the chance to watch it next.

I can’t think of another time I’ve ever watched a movie in the theater twice. Maybe Return of the Jedi as a kid? Certainly never as an adult. Although a few years ago I did see Maverick twice, with two different sets of people. 

In two days I’ll be (there and) back again, with my oldest daughter Hannah who was not even alive when Fellowship came out. Same theater too. I can’t wait.

It will be a very Lord of the Rings weekend. On Saturday night we’ll return to see The Two Towers. Then wait a week for Return of the King next Sunday, Jan. 25th. 

I love these films. Not unreservedly, but I believe they preserve the core of the books, even if they diverge in ways both large and small. The amount of care and attention Peter Jackson and his crew put into them is absolutely staggering, they are beautiful, incredibly well-acted and scored, and they deservedly remain revered. I’ve heard differing opinions from some Tolkien fans, but it’s hard to argue with 11 Academy Awards for ROTK alone, Rotten Tomatoes scores well over the 90th percentile, and the example of Rings of Power to know what could have been, in the wrong hands. If your minimum standard is as good as Tolkien you’ll never be happy; his works were the vision of a genius whose like has never been seen before or since, and the odds of us having another JRRT are effectively zero. Tom Shippey thought the movies were great, with reservations, and that’s where I stand. Bring them on.

My stereo rocks

After years and years of tinny TV speakers I had forgotten what a movie could and should sound like. On Sunday I hooked up my Boston Acoustics speakers and Yamaha receiver to an improved DVD/CD player and proceeded to watch a bit of KISS eXposed, a faux 1987 “documentary” of the band at their KISS mansion. It sounded awesome. The chicks were hot.

My new/old stereo rocks. So glad this is now part of my sword-and-sorcery man-cave.

Jack by Andrew Sinclair, a review

Andrew Sinclair’s Jack (1977) is my first foray into the biography of a writer I consistently place in my top 10 favorites.

I greatly enjoyed it.

I don’t think it’s perfect. I wanted more analysis on the writing and impact of The Call the Wild and The Sea-Wolf, which I think every lover of adventure (that would be you, reader of this blog) should read. At 256 pages (albeit another 40 pages of notes and index), it feels a bit sleight on certain aspects of his life.

But what you do get in Jack is an unadorned look at London’s life, told by a dude with opinions. Jack is an even-handed corrective to the hagiography put out by London’s ex-wife and the baseless accusations of petty former friends. Sinclair is not afraid to criticize his subject. London had many defects as a person and Sinclair gives you those. But he also rightly places London as a greatly influential popular writer of occasional genius. 

I did not know the details of London’s life and death and Sinclair filled in some major gaps. For example, that he never knew his father and that absence dogged him his whole life. I knew London was a socialist but not as ardent as Jack reveals—nor as contradictory (London had ample cash and was not afraid to spend it lavishly and foolishly on himself and his retinue, not on socialist causes). Nor did I know London stepped away from socialism at the end of his life as well as his Spencerian beliefs in life as a biological survival of the fittest, and turned toward the mythography of Carl Jung. I did not know that London purchased more than a thousand acres of farmland in California and threw way too much money at a schooner that was barely seaworthy, nor served as a journalist and war correspondent.

London lived the equivalent of nine lives, both literally and figuratively, in his short 40 years on the planet. He packed in rags, riches, romance, adventure, wealth, debt, fame, success, and failure in four decades. He lived. London had at best a love-hate relationship with the writing life. He wanted to live a life of adventure and preferred material existence and working with his hands over the examined internal life. Yet he lived both. He wrote tirelessly and incessantly, completing 20 novels and some 50 books over his lifetime. He was quite different but also shared much in common with Robert E. Howard. Howard greatly admired London and both consciously and unconsciously imitated him, both in his writing and his beliefs and even mannerisms. I’ve noticed this prior and Will Oliver aptly points out the similarities in his recent Howard biography, but Jack offers even more parallels to the careful Howard reader.

I loved in particular the closing five pages, which sum up London’s literary legacy and read as though they were written to me by a guy who understands London like I do.

I was pleased to see Sinclair address the Jack London literary revival of the 1960s and 70s, which began to resuscitate his tarnished reputation as a flawed Darwinian racist and/or a children’s writer of simple dog stories. London was an incredible influence on writers as diverse as Ernest Hemingway, H.L. Mencken, Henry Miller and Sinclair Lewis. He pioneered the clipped Hemingway style and the Hobo/beat novels for which Jack Kerouac is credited. He was an early pioneer of the science-fiction genre. But for decades it became unfashionable to admit he was a first-rate writer, one of America’s greatest. Influential critics including William Dean Howells sought to diminish any of his literary contributions, dismissing London as a hack writer of adventure stories, and it took good work by the likes of Earle Labor to set matters straight.

Sinclair sums up these unfair appraisals (not helped by London’s frequent dismissal of his own writing) as follows:

“It was unjust, because his life had been experimental and questing, so that his dismissal as a totalitarian or a children’s writer was absurd. He had been his own worst enemy in his insistence that he was merely a farmer who needed a lot of money for the land, and who lit after inspiration with a club; but such a self-denying ordinance should not have dimmed the mytho-poetic magnificence of some of his books … no critical onslaught on him could kill off the affection of the masses for whom he had always said that he wrote.”

Read this.

Sinclair puts his finger on the complex figure of London with this brilliant observation: “He had a dialectic of appetites without a synthesis of satisfaction … in his books, he often split himself into two opposing characters, because he lived so uneasily within his single personality. In The Sea-Wolf, he was both Wolf Larsen and Humphrey van Weyden, the brute ego in conflict with the social being.”

London was a racist and Sinclair does not hold back there, though a glance at Goodreads confirms that you must take book reviews with a healthy grain of salt. Some idiot on that platform gave Jack 2 out of 5 stars because Sinclair “Completely ignores the racist bent that is a sad and pathetic black mark on London's past.” This is utterly, demonstrably false, and I left a comment of correction that platform. Sinclair repeatedly criticizes London’s racism and Anglo-Saxon mythologizing. But then again idiots read books too.

Anyway, I recommend Jack for any serious reader of London who wants to learn more about the man himself. 

Computer God, Black Sabbath

I suspect Paul Kingsnorth isn’t a metal fan but he has an ally in the late Ronnie James Dio. 

“Computer God” opens up the vastly underrated Dehumanizer with a bang. Dio saw what was coming, back in 1992, when he penned these prophetic lyrics:

Computerized God, it's the new religion

Program the brain, not the heartbeat

Onward, all you crystal soldiers

Touch tomorrow energize

Digital dreams and you're the next correction

Man's a mistake, so we'll fix it, yeah

My inconsequential machine rebellion has begun. I picked up this rig on Tuesday. A Yamaha RX-595 receiver with a pair of Boston Acoustics speakers and a DVD/CD measure for good measure. The price was right (zero). It sounds fantastic. I can now play my old CDs again. Remember what it was like to hear an entire album without commercials, comments, and digital distraction?

Name the CD for bonus points...

No internet, no algorithms, no copyright strikes, just metal. Dio would have approved.

Virtual existence with a superhuman mind

The ultimate creation, destroyer of mankind

Neil Peart, six years gone

Me and Scott (of Scott's thoughts) at the Neil Peart pavillion.

Six years ago we lost Neil Peart. 

I still remember hearing the news; on Jan. 10, 2020 I was home, in the kitchen, when my phone flashed. A text, then another. Several of my friends had started a chain, sharing their shock and grief. Later, we shared YouTube clips of his best solos. Neil was a very private man and his diagnosis of terminal brain cancer was a closely guarded secret. So secret that we learned he actually died three days earlier, on Jan. 7. 

His death was a shock, and hurt us all deeply. I still feel the ache.

Since then I’ve been to Lakeside Park in St. Catherines Ontario, the very one that served as inspiration for the Rush song of the same name. I stood outside Neil’s boyhood home. And walked the Neil Peart Memorial Pavilion (that's me at right, in the Spinal Tap t-shirt).

Against all odds Rush is playing again this year. They’re back on the road, touring without Peart. In his place is German drumming virtuoso Anika Nilles. 

I love the decision. Alex and Geddy have more than earned the right to keep playing music. They were itching to get back on stage but out of respect for Peart took a long leave of absence. I’m sure Nilles will be fantastic. 

I hate the pricing. 

Well over $500 reported in many venues for average seats. Which means I very likely won’t be going. It’s not too rich for my blood, but it’s too rich in a year with a lot of planned travel and other expenses.

I’m sure it will be a great event. A catharsis for the band. I will regret not seeing whatever tribute Rush has planned for Neil.

But it won’t be the same without the professor, so perhaps it’s best to keep my old memories of the original three intact.

I don’t know if Neil is the best drummer of all time; I’m very much not qualified to make that call. I am confident in saying that if he’s not somewhere in your top five rock drummers you’ve made an error in judgement.

Peart not only was incredible at his craft but wrote the lyrics to all of Rush’s songs. Dozens of classics, among them the quiet, delicate, wistful “Rivendell.” 

From that song:

Yet you know I've had the feeling

Standing with my senses reeling

This is the place to grow old till

I reach my final day

After a life marked by deep tragedy culminating with his own untimely death, I hope his soul has found peace in the immortal lands.

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!

Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!

Here’s to being weird

I like being weird. 

Most never see this side of me; they see a balding, middle-aged man with 20 pounds to lose (I’m working on it). A respectable dad who works in healthcare marketing to raise two children who are now young adults and nearly fully raised, but is now shifting responsibilities to elderly parents. A dude who lounges around a house in baggy jeans and a flannel shirt, at the balloon end of a respectable cul-de-sac in old blue Massachusetts. Who likes to mind his own business. Crack a few dad jokes and a few beers on the weekend.

Average, boring.

But if you look closely enough you might see a few cracks in this not-carefully crafted façade. 

I don’t watch sports (though I do hold an unhealthy relationship with the Buffalo Bills; please win one Super Bowl before I die). I don’t have a woodshop or a golf bag or fishing rods or a sports car.

I have a combination basement office and barroom hangout full of books. Fantastic artwork adorns the walls—here a Frank Frazetta print, there a Tom Barber skeletal warrior, and a tapestry advertising Iron Maiden’s Stranger in a Strange Land. In one corner, a CD tower of heavy metal music. A decent sized collection of Savage Sword of Conan magazines. DVDs and VHS tapes of The Lord of the Rings, Excalibur, Conan the Barbarian, Mad Max, Jaws, The Shining, Blade Runner, and odd horror films.

Scattered on my bookshelves are a few odd items. Skulls. Viking warriors. A painted candle carved as a dark wizard. 

All of this office stuff might give someone pause, my in-laws for example. But inside of me is where things truly get weird.

I am a hopeless romantic. In the old and true sense of that word. I am in love with stories of heroism and adventure. I see the world as enchanted (though that enchantment is largely vanished from sight, subsumed by modernity and the machine). I believe in the existence of objective morality, of good and evil, and that some type of omnipotent creator probably exists. 

I can’t explain the world otherwise. And so I’ve taken the inward journey, deeper into the weird than most. 

I once explored imaginary dungeons of my own making. Dungeons and Dragons and tabletop RPGs were a formative experience in my youth, and I played again in young adulthood. Video and computer RPGs are abandoned childhood pursuits. Even today I wouldn’t say no to either of them; I just prefer to read and write about weird things. In the pages of books I let my mind explore other’s creations and wander in strange worlds.

I have been to the steppes of the Hyborian Age and the deep woods of Middle-Earth. Prowled the dank streets of Lankhmar with Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.

Listening to the songs of Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, I am a Trooper charging on horseback in the Crimean War, a Sentinel in a postapocalyptic wasteland.

I have been these people, inhabited these places. Have you? 

I remember thinking in my teenage years that one day this would all wear off. That my musical tastes would soften to top 40. I’d drink Miller Lite and grill and play golf.

I hate golf. God is it terrible.

I do enjoying grilling and I’ll drink a Miller Lite if pressed. But I never gave up heavy metal or sword-and-sorcery. You can take my SSOCs when you pry them from my cold dead fingers. I know I’ll be weird forever.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be normal. More than once I wished I was born with a fix-it gene, but the physical world is sadly not my forte. I wonder what it would be like to be more interested in the events of the world, a political junky. To enjoy pop culture, TV shows like Ozarks or Breaking Bad, or take interest in the lives of celebrities. It would make awkward conversations easier. I hate those too.

I might have achieved more in my professional life if I made money my master KPI.

But in the end I could not do these things. The weird kept calling. 

For a short while I denied this, as I transitioned to adulthood. In college I tried to be someone else. It did not work; the weird came back. It never left.

I’m proud to be weird. Today I embrace it; I wear Conan the Barbarian or KISS t-shirts and listen to metal and don’t give a fuck. I write a dusty old blog about old shit very few care about. Because it’s who I am. Maybe it’s who you are, too.

We need weird people. The world would certainly be a lot less fun if everyone were normal. Maybe, interminable.

Here’s to being weird.

Happy 2026! Time to get after it.

Happy New Year!

I can get caught up in unproductive routines, doom loop cycles, and this time of year, overeating and overdrinking. I appreciate the fresh start the year affords.

It’s time to get after it in 2026. Renewed discipline, but also optimism, commitment, engagement with the world. I want to get outside more, walk, touch grass.

My reading is off to a good start with Jack, a biography of Jack London. I’m about a third of the way through and am greatly enjoying learning about a favorite author who typically falls in my top 10. These days I seem to be gravitating more and more toward nonfiction. The world, and its past, are so strange and full of wonder that fiction, even the weird, seems pedestrian in comparison. I do think both should be read, as fiction activates different parts of the brain, and good fiction connects us to myth and story in a way most non-fiction cannot. And I am starting to itch for a Lord of the Rings re-read. I like and agree with some recent advice from a booktuber to “read for quality, not quantity.” It does seem best to me to know a book a depth that it shapes you, changes you, rather than to read as many titles as you can for breadth and only be able to recall them shallowly, if at all.

I am going to publish my heavy metal memoir. This book bridges both fiction and non-fiction; it is the unadorned facts of my life, and observations and insights on the music that shaped it, but also told with what I hope is a driving and engaging narrative voice found in good fiction. I can’t wait to share it with the world and hope it finds readers for whom it resonates.

Speaking of heavy metal I’ve got a couple of Iron Maiden concerts on the docket for this year. 

I will in all likelihood be hosting one final heavy metal themed party here at my house, over the summer, with a live band. For years this was an annual event. Eight years after the last in 2018 I plan to bring it back one final time, a "retirement sucks" tour worthy of Ozzy Osbourne.

We’ve also got a trip to Alaska lined up, land and sea, which I’m greatly looking forward to. At 52 I am very aware of my steady advance into middle age and want to see and experience more of the world while I still can. 

What plans do you have for 2026? What behaviors do you hope to adopt, or drop? 

BTW I’m debating more posts like this, where I’m just sort of rambling not about any particular book or movie or author or trend. I enjoy letting my mind wander without needing to stop and reference facts or cite passages.