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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part ten

chuck berry is on top

Part the tenth, wherein our humble narrator and questionable scribe makes forays into the low moments of his life, reveals the hurtful purges of his heart, loses charisma through his transgressions against the English Language and Her Grammars and Spellings, fights many urges to incorporate Burt Bacharach into the mix, fondly remembers a swimmer’s body, and ends with the exaltation of narcotics in powder form. Another good day in the office, another good day for our hero to become less and less.

226. AVULSION / LACERATIONSPLIT 7”. Avulsion takes their time, but Laceration rips through their side like their hair is on fire. My fave is Laceration’s “Rambo.” So Rambo, take a fucking hike!!!

227. SEEINREDMARINUS. One of hardcore’s oldest and truest veterans. Fucking awesome rage contained on 7 inches of wax is really something… really good release and a nice starter for you. On Ebullition Records.

228. SUICIDE COMMANDOSMAKE A RECORD. The reason why Minneapolis, Minnesota is on the musical map of the underground. This was their only record but it is available compiled into a discography of sorts. If you can find this (since I no longer have mine), we should talk. We should really, really talk. Crucial and necessary.

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miami neon

I am P. Scott Cunningham
and I refuse to shave.
My shoes are soft
but my step is strong,
strong and loud
and heard by philanthropists
and lovers of poetry alike.
I am P. Scott Cunningham
and I have a fox in my backyard.
My bestiary is rounded out by
weird little dogs who
disobey my command
and find sustenance in scraps
of discarded poesy.
My whiskey is good
and I share it after a few drams
have raged through me.
I am P. Scott Cunningham
and I give South Florida
her golfing sun,
the fish nibble on my spent flesh
and Lebron follows my tweets.
Clothes look good on me.
Soft plain white T’s and khakis
accentuate the gruff
of my xistera launching pelotas
with murderous intention
into the neon Miami skyline.


Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part nine

martha and the vandellas

Part the ninth, where our humble narrator commits acts punishable by death upon the English Language and her Grammars and Spellings, overuses the pathetic and pedantic contraction of “kind of,” declares his love for Martha Reeves and her fantastic Vandellas and follows it with a few entries concerning homosexuals in hardcore/punk bands. Burt Bacharach makes a few cameos. All is well in the kingdom.

201. MARTHA AND THE VANDELLASWATCHOUT! C’mon, how can you not love Martha and the Vandellas? These gals could really belt it out! This compilation of tracks has their best one ever, I don’t care how much you like to dance on the streets and shit, but “Jimmy Mack” is where it’s at! Hell yeah Martha Reeves! I fucking love Martha Reeves!

202. BIG BOYSLULLABIES HELP THE BRAIN GROW. Sad shame that Randy “Biscuit” Turner passed a couple of years ago, but the Big Boys, along with the Dicks and MDC put the punk rock stamp on the great state of Texas. Albeit a gay one, but hey, queercore’s alright if you like saxophones, right? Good album. Good humor or is it a good hummer?

203. PANSY DIVISIONFOR THOSE ABOUT TO SUCK COCK. Pansy Division, talk about your funny gay dudes. This 7” (no pun) is for recognition that I always get a kick out of their album art and it all started when I first saw this one. Gay guys have a sense of fashion AND humor. Wow. Fabulous.

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Poem: P. Scott Cunningham Clerihews

o miami

P. Scott Cunningham’s wife is a figment of his imagination,
or rather, the affirmation of a small,
well-paid cadre of people who attest her reality.
I’ve never met her because she supposedly travels a lot.

He’s rabid over Wade County and the LeBron fiasco,
he’s a typical whiteboy that way,
hoop dreams and double-dribbles that translate into
Facebook picture posts that betray fanboy sensibilities.

P. Scott’s generous when he’s thick in the drink;
lets you wander his tropical estate unattended
to help yourself to unpronounceable single malts he received
as wedding gifts that are cleverly hidden in his kitchen.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part eight

frank sinatra

Part the Eighth in which our lonesome hero confronts international punk rock demons, some easy listening, joins in a social call to early ’90’s crossover, and makes revelations about Cher and his sexual fantasies.

176. FRANK SINATRACOME FLY WITH ME. Aside from his awesome cover of “Brazil,” the cover of this album always intrigued me… is Frank piloting the craft? He looks sauced. Or is he inviting to ride along? At his expense? Ahh… the mysteries of easy listening.

177. CAETANO VELOSOQUALQUER COISA. Brazil’s master musical poet and tropicalista. Delicious album and always a reminder of how limited my Portuguese is… it would be a little more enjoyable that way.

178. THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOWSOUNDTRACK. I enjoyed the tunes from this production like anybody else back in my secondary school days. What I didn’t enjoy was having to be Eddie all the time cuz I had a leather jacket. Fun times with Tatiana at the old Riviera theatre.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part seven

safe as milk

Sorry for the delay but I am getting older and parts of my body are failing. Like my dick. My dick is failing so now you can go on with life since I saved you the awkward moment of devising a joke about my love appendage and its shortcomings or variations thereof. Anywho, here are some more crucial and socially-inclusive records for you to dig up, reminisce about or poke fun at. Whatever. What I can promise are more spelling mistakes by the digital footage than on last efforts. My grammar leaves a lot to be desired from too. There goes my undergrad degree pretty much. Oh well.

151. ATOM AND HIS PACKAGEBEHOLD, I SHALL DO A NEW THING. The cool guys over at Vital Music Mail-order [which I strongly recommend] sent this in one of my orders as a gift. Awesome Atom stuff, Rob Halford, the metric system… sweet little clear vinyl 7”. Good stuff.

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A Poem: Fat Man and Little Boy


(After Marcus Cafagña’s “Roman Fever”)
A poem by Abel Folgar


This was no honeymoon, no way,
not in this humid heat
of wet crushed bodies
tilting this bar.
Overtown and Parkwest
and Wynwood blur by like snapping limbs.

I fall back into somebody,
a move that began with
a friend’s description of
Japan’s demise,
detonating slowly in pulses
while I stand sweaty and oblivious.

I want to save the moment
from the ATM receipts
I won’t remember tomorrow
that will pile up like Miami’s
congested and afflicted

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Miami Music Week: a Pool Party gift for you

pool party

We here at The Heat Lightning know how much ya’ll love free shit because we too basically love free shit as well, and no week celebrating South Florida’s music can be complete without a) mentioning Iceland’s Breakfast Radio’s favorite band of all time, Pool Party, b) extremely long sentences and c) free shit in the manner of an MP3.

Those not yet acquainted with the dynamo of pop/disco/electro/punk/country that is Pool Party will not truly get a full understanding with this here track since its nuanced keyboard applications take a backseat to Creep Guirdo’s pussy-wetting voice and it’s quite frankly in my opinion the very first thing that comes close to a love song in their long and varied career.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part six

nirvana unplugged

Parts one through four

In this entry of the slow accident I amuse mostly myself with musical thoughts pertaining to a summer a few years ago shared mostly in the car with my good friend and artistic partner Patti HER as well as some punkstuffs from Florida and at-large. In any case… it’s all about poor grammar and questionable spelling in the end. In the end all we want is a hand on a thigh and a belly full of warm food. These are my wishes for Johnny Salton’s immortal soul.

126. POWERHOUSEDEATH OF A SALESMAN. Youth crew hardcore with Dan from Cavity on bass and basketball jersey. Good stuff though. ‘Nuff said.

127. CREAM ABDUL BABAREXCAVATION 1995 – 1998. Wow, Tally’s longest and greatest! A full blown punk rock experimental industrial hardcore indie rock band with a horn section! This one is special to me cuz it has the Buried in Broken Glass EP in it, which I had and lost many many years before in a process in which I no longer engage: lending vinyl. Awesome release. 

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part five

blue cheer

Parts one through four

Here we go again… purposeless, listless, listy, whatever you will, this is as much a waste of my time as it is yours. Will I really hit 4000 records? Should all accidents be slow so we can gawk at ‘em longer? Will I ever get more than 12 readers? Who knows. All we can really count on is my dismal grasp of grammar. Huzzah!

101. BLACK FLAGTHE FIRST FOUR YEARS. I got this after Wasted… Again and it further solidified the reason why I got the bars tacked on me. Brutal. “I’ve Heard it Before” is simply, perfect.

102. REDD KROSSNEUROTICA. “Ghandi is Dead (I’m a Cartoon Man)” sums up how these wacky brothers have tackled pop punk in a bizarre version of American Eater meets weird LSD trips near the beach. Wacky, funny, bubblegum-pop executed very well.

103. BLUE CHEERVINCEBUS ERUPTUM. Acid roadhouse blues done right. Am I wrong in believing that their cover of “Summertime Blues” might actually be better than the original? Their first and best, don’t even bother looking up the other albums. They lost something after this one, but on this one, whatever they got, is good.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part four

faith no more angel dust

Parts one through three

Four weeks in and here we are like good little children hitting the hundred record mark. Ahh… to live freely with no care for spelling and grammar. Enjoy.

76. THE MODERN LOVERSTHE MODERN LOVERS. Something about “Pablo Picasso” and “Roadrunner.” Regardless of what has happened since their early 70s heyday, this album is pretty much perfect in its own universe of steadiness. Sexy too. You’ll see I like sexy music a lot. And typos.

77. SEX PISTOLSNEVERMIND THE BOLLOCKS, HERE’S THE SEX PISTOLS. Punk rock or not, yadda yadda yadda, this here album is a very solid rock and roll album. And you know which two fucking songs I hate, right? But I fucking love “Pretty Vacant,” “New York” and my all time fave Pistols tracks, “Bodies” and “Problems.” Rock and roll!!!

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part three

REM document

Part One.
Part Two.

Howdy folks! Yet another entry of inflated egos and questionable grammar. Enjoy!

51. R.E.M. — DOCUMENT. Say what you’ll say, I’ll keep it brief. “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)” and “The One I Love” are great tracks. There. I’m done.

52. CHICO BUARQUE DE HOLANDAMINHA HISTORIA. My favorite bossanovaist of all time, Chico Buarque does it right. His haunting song “O Que Sera (A Flor Da Terra)” is on this and it is one of the few songs in the world that make my hair stand on end! Delicious. Worldly, Minha Historia sums up his work before and after… yes, he can see the future, his own! So fucking good! And danceable too. My goodness!

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part two

bad brains

Part One
The fun continues… sort of. Oh well, you get the picture.

26. THE WEIRDOSWEIRD WORLD (Volumes 1 and 2). All I can say about the Weirdos is “Solitary Confinement.” What a great track. This double CD attack contains all their glories, even their great cover of “7 and 7 is.” This is essential listening.

27. VENOMBLACK METAL. Before Tim Den starts talking shit, or Mandarin, or even Spanish I had “Black Metal” and “Raise the Dead” on a tape. Great fucking songs, great band, great album.

28. CELTIC FROSTMORBID TALES. I’ve always been under the impression that “Into Crypts of Rays” is their finest recorded moment. I freaking love that song! Broody, historic, epic and eerie. The rest of the album holds, but I kinda go on the repeat function a lot for that song. Oh well.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part one


A number of years ago, when listing personal tastes on social networking sites was the latest rage amongst twenty-somethings, I often found myself amidst taggings by fellow record collecting nerds (read: scum) and while the headaches became way too agonizing for short things like “Top 10 Records You’d Take to an Abandoned Island (But We Won’t Tell You There’s No Electricity There)” and “Five Songs To Fuck To” and blah blah blah, I decided to wield my mighty musical cock against these digital felons and trump all their bullshit lists by compiling the greatest 4,000 records of all time.

Clearly, I undertook this task while under the influence of alcohol and my inflated ego. This idea was completely stupid to begin with. But there was an angle to it. An angle that would make me look super busy during the day job and would allow me to revisit some choice cuts in a platform where grammar and spelling were willfully ignored. Three or four years later, I have completely abandoned this list (or note like Facebook calls them) on my FB page and tried rather unsuccessfully to do it in my personal blog Bonghits From Palookaville, when I realized only my brother was reading it.

But new things are underway! New things like The Heat Lightning where the editors assure me they have more than twelve unique hits every month! Clearly a 300% increase in readership from my FB and blog accounts! While my list is currently nearing 1,000 LP entries that have personal meanings, today you have the first 25 that started it all.

I hope you enjoy these vignettes as much as I’ve enjoyed the music and check back frequently for updates until I get all caught up and finalize The Greatest 4,000 Records of All Time! And I’m nearing 40, so please point out when I repeat entries… sadly, that is bound to happen.

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Album Review: The Reaction's "Right Now"

the reaction

San Francisco’s The Reaction are not only reacting, but they are a little bit like the delicious first sample of Black Flag, The Bronx, The Minutemen, Yma Sumac and your neighbor’s crazy dog. This trio manages to inflect a myriad of responses that may very well fall under the tenets of punk rock but they are so much more than that. Shit, there’s some real artistry going on here baby. But before I go into details, I must first say that this album came via way of a care package from Starcleaner Records who put out the deliciously awesome latest offering from our beloved Kreamy ‘Lectric Santa’s “Operation Spacetime Cinderblock” last year. That said, you oughta know how off-kilter, weird and over-all good this platter is.

And I’m a giddy aging punk rocker over this slab of wax like you wouldn’t believe! The opening triad of “Spet Thaig,” “It’s About Time” and “Right Now” set the mood good before they delve into the experimentation of “Rosemary,” a hollow-voiced acoustic piece that is paranoid and elusive and could have very well been left on your answering machine by a past lover with a mood disorder. And then they break it open with the raucous garage romp of “Hello At Last,” an instrumental ditty that lets you make your own words up as you go along; thank you band!

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Chicago blues legend Henry Gray at the Colony Theatre this Friday

henry gray

It don’t matter what type of blues you subscribe to, one of the few facts available to us now is that some of the true gentlemen of the genre won’t be around for much longer and the beautiful thing about bluesmen, is that it is in their music that they thrive. Peep legendary Chicago blues legend Henry Gray, seventy-odd years in the game, still donning snappy duds atop his trusty Kurzweil, bringing the only type of joy painful music can bring.

This ain’t bullshit blues, these are the real sour notes learned through fifty-eight full-length recordings, a life on the road and having shared the stage with demigods. To say Henry Gray hasn’t earned it is shooting oneself in the foot. Gray tenured for twelve years under blues legend Howlin’ Wolf and is widely considered the innovator of the postwar Chicago blues piano sound.

He is a man who will not go gently into that good night. He is a man who only knows peace through the dexterity of his able fingers. He has recorded with Muddy Waters, Hubert Sumlin, James Cotton, Koko Taylor, Billy Boy Arnold amongst others; he is a true line to a bygone era of honest musicianship we are rapidly losing nowadays. This is the kind of man you take your children to witness, so that they may know, for a fleeting moment, what it is all about.

Henry Gray and The Cats at 8:30 p.m. on Friday, March 11th at the Colony Theatre, 1040 Lincoln Road, Miami Beach. Tickets cost $35 for general admission and $50 for VIPs. Call 305-674-1040 or visit


Coke and Mantrap Open House at the Elks on August 14

coke and abel

Better than: A pool party at your cousin Hector’s new house.

It’s no secret that I am a big fan of Coke. From my Blast From the Past review this past February to my more recent interview with their keyboardist and musical director Joe Rubio, it fails me to accurately describe the feelings that I was having coming into last Saturday’s Open House concert. First, I can’t claim that I was there back in the day and secondly, I was a little wary of the venue being an Elks’ Lodge, but we can chalk that up to childhood recollections of Fred Flintsone in his silly bison hat.

Trying my best to score a free t-shirt, I arrived at 7:50 p.m. to find that I was probably the two-hundredth person to walk in and since I was banking on Cuban-time, apparently so were two-hundred other people. After quickly figuring out the Elks’ drinking system which included three bars and a table where one could purchase colored chips for drinks, I made my way around the rapidly increasing crowd.

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The Getback and Beings at Sweat Records
Miami, Saturday, June 26th, 2010


It’s kinda hard to imagine that it had been almost two years since The Getback took to a South Florida stage. Here’s a band whose first gig I booked at the now defunct Gables Pub almost eight years ago, and whose career I had tracked with glee. It isn’t so much being a fan, which I am, but just seeing their effect on the crowd cements it; these guys make good time rock and roll! Their balance of straight-up rockers and punk rock numbers have satisfied for many years and their CD Right About Now has spun many times in my player, as I’m sure it has in many players across South Florida, judging by the sweet turnout this past Saturday.

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