Freddy Frogs (R.I.P.)

A legend and close friend of the family Freddy "Frogs" Toscano died suddenly of a heart attack yesterday 3/10/09 in Florida. He is uncle to Anthony Roman of RADIO 4 (formerly of GARDEN VARIETY) and as close to an uncle as can be to Anthony "Saturn Missile" Rizzo of VTSM (formerly of GV too). All of us in our extended music family here in NYC viewed Freddy as the "elder statesman" of rock and roll. You could listen to his outrageous stories all night, a master storyteller and ALL TRUE! He fronted several bands that recorded on major labels (The 4th Dimension, Mr. Flood's Party and The BMT's), played around the world and kept playing in multiple bands (most notably 4 ON THE FLOOR with Roman, Rizzo and Bill Tello) until the day he died at the age of 66 (and hadn't lost a step). You will be DEEPLY MISSED FROGS, WE LOVE YOU FOREVER and UNTIL WE ROCK AGAIN IN SPIRIT!!!!!

To learn more about this Amazing Man check out the following sites:
www.freddyfrogs.com
www.myspace.com/freddyfrogs

Vic Thrill at Starr Space

IMG_0954, originally uploaded by aphotogroove.com.

Nice pic by super hand-model Ashly Covington with video backdrop by Bam I Am at the Miami Ice Machine record release party - Starr Space (Bushwick, Brooklyn), 11/16/08.

Mt. Bliss

This is the chance I've been waiting for,
I am the guy I've been looking for,
blessed with the gifts that I've been praying for,
ready to prosper in the love on war,
falling asleep after fighting it,
made not a peep after writing it,
pitching my tent on the highest peak,
so by the time you're upon me you'll be too weak,
to pilfer my valuables,
heart and head among them,
instead I stop my heart,
and unscrew my head,
keep turning the other cheek,
counter-clockwise-intuitive-in-spite,
power my rig off of Ben Franklin's kite and key,
with my pungi, I charm cobra strikes of lightning into biting me precisely,
copper fang extension chords of lightning lords,
hiss bliss into my contemplative abyss.

Porterhouse Thrills

Been aging myself like beef,
standing idle until I'm ripe for extraterrestrial abduction,
broadcasting on a frequency of low self-esteem,
a welcome guest to a sissy race of clammy-skinned, space dweebs,
deep inside I hide the truth,
in the White House of my soul,
in the locket of my heart,
there lies a whole new start,
a mustard seed of unborn art,
kicking like an atomic fetus inside my heart!

Transformation Sans Gratification

Comfort has brought horror to the suicide shaman,
has the stallion spunk of VIC THRILL been forever slumberized?
Hara Kiri with a spring-loaded rubber knife, NO!
Every so often a sleep walking soldier wakes up after having put on 30 lbs with a feedbag on his or her face in the conformity ward,
smoldering faith in the Super Being that is a whisper-like fuse into a head full of dynamite!!!
I am too weak and blind to roar and have any effect,
be still,
slowly fill a blimp with the air from your lungs,
a visual aide for your reverse contemplation,
pumping consciousness,
like hydrogen into a vacated will,
a whisper of hope into his ear,
like dope disarms his fear,
toothpick jostled in teeth a chatter,
ignite tongues of fire in the soft shelled sleep walking soldier delivering a hydrogen bomb!