what do we all think about henry rollins?? i love the guy, from black flag all the way through to his spoken word stuff
Henry is one of my favourite spoken word artists. (The other is Jello Biafra) Black Flag are awesome and my favourite Black Flag "Henry" record would be Damaged, although, I must admit that I prefer his Rollins band work more, where he had more say in the music. Have you read any of his books? Get In The Van is a great bunch of stories about being on tour with Black Flag.
henry rollins is the fuckin man. his stuff is hilarious. im a fan of black flag. heard any of his rollins's band stuff...thats some good shit right there. henry rollins rules.
i love the fact that hes always popping up in movies when you least expect it like in jack frost and johnny mnemonic and he always plays his roles perfectly!!
haah nice to see some love for rollins its funny when you get all the 'sellout' stuff, i bet they wouldnt say that to his face haha has anyone else here read his article about weightlifting 'iron and the soul?', its really deep and inspirational, and always reminds me what im going for "Iron and the Soul" I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like you parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. Completely. When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me "garbage can" and telling me I'd be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn't run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy. I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn't going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you'll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn't think much of them either. Then came Mr. Pepperman, my adviser. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn't even drag them to my mom's car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly. Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.'s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn't looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn't want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in. Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn't know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it. Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away. You couldn't say **** to me. It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn't want to come off the mat, it's the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn't teach you anything. That's the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you. It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a ceratin amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can't be as bad as that workout. I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn't ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you're not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control. I have never met a truly strong person who didn't have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone's shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman. Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.
The End of Silence is amazing. BTW, best show I have ever been to: BeastieBoys, Rollins Band and Cypress Hill
he's an asswipe a friend of mine thoroughly humiliated him at a black flag show the incident showed up in that book about the loser friend that died but rollins lied about it and claimed he kicked my friend's ass liar, liar, liar all of his musical reputation stems from one good record [damaged] and the rest is posturing
Lol did anyone else wonder why Henry was in that Ps2 game Def Jam Fight for NY when def jam is a rap thing?
I love Black Flag, into loads of the older punk bands. They aren't may favourite, The early Misfits take that crown, but they are incredible. Saw Henry's spoken word show at Reading a few years ago, was fun. And just a final thought. Liar, the song, is some wicked stuff.
I like Black Flag, but I love his spoken word. And on most days, I would rate it even higher than Jello Biafra's (another of the Greats).
Loved his collaboration with William Shatner on I Cant Behind That https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KM6pYG1DQ4s"]YouTube- William Shatner's Beatnik Cafe - I Can't Get Behind That
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iM7MR5_v47w"]YouTube - Henry Rollins: A Love Letter To Ann Coulter I love this.
I think Henry Rollins was the worse singer that Black Flag ever had..his spoken word is pretty good, just never been a fan of his singing..Rollins band is worse
