Jeff Luppino-Esposito EDITOR



Stefan’s maroon and black flannel lay open across his tattered white t-shirt as he and his bandmates seemed to make a statement by just walking through my office door. Devin’s frayed sleeves dripping down beyond her wrist, covered the soon-to-be famous shaker within her palm. Before I could ask a question or even properly introduce myself, Troy’s drumstick shot up to my face to silence the thought and Devin stepped forward, all three eye to eye with me now. “If anything we say or show you in the next 45 minutes is released to the mainstream media, we will write a song that will ruin you and your petty career faster than you can say ‘westernized social construct’”. I fell back into my seat and tossed my notebook in the trash. Devin removed her mask and smiled. This was going to be an interesting interview....

“I want you to imagine the face of Mediterranean Grunge,” said Devin with a sigh, “…and now imagine that same face SLASHED by the claws of big business, BEATEN by the strong arm of government, and COVERED in a steaming hot peppermint-white-chocolate espresso macchiato from STARBUCKS.” Troy, already squirming in the leather chair where he reluctantly sat, let out a moan of apocalyptic agony. Devin tried to calm him with a quick twitch of her shaker, but still looking up at me, I could see her holding back tears from the weight of her own imagery. Stefan stood up and put his hand on her shoulder, striding forward with newfound conviction, “We’re going to clean those wounds. We’re going to wipe every bit of the sticky whipped cream off that face. And damnit we’re gonna do it with purely organic-based soaps.”

I felt the fire within all of them swell up with fair-trade-trumpeting glory. They were all standing over my desk now, those very flames burning in their eyes, ready to pounce as if at any moment I could transform into a money-bathing Walmart executive. White-knuckled, I held tight to the seat of my chair while their seldom-washed bodies emitted a foul odor that could’ve been bottled into a bold new line of perfume called “the redolence of revolution”. Of course it could never be mass-produced though. Thinking quickly, I tempt them with the prospect of getting backstage privileges at the upcoming Ron Paul rally with my press pass. This calms them momentarily and I take the rare silence as an opportunity to invite them back to their seats and go on with the questioning.

“So tell me, how and why was this band formed?”
"how?? WHY??...ha.. Ha. .. HAA,” Stefan responds maniacally from the corner.
“What’s wrong?” I ask incredulously.
Suddenly the three angsty apathetics snap to attention as in a dream upon waking.
In unison they rapidly profess their creed--
“We Rustathorians solemnly swear to uphold and protect the merits of natural goodness while simultaneously restoring all that has been marred by the hand of man. On January 10, 2008, the coming of the Rusty Thorns, our life long dream was finally realized, and shall live far beyond our years. For more songs and information go to www.myspace.com/therustythorns. Grunge is our God, in dissent we trust”

As their last four words seemed to resonate throughout every office building in the tri-state area, I allowed them a few moments of prayerful silence before moving on... and a few more moments... still no movement...a couple more...

“uhhh, soooo, aaaanyway... that’s really interesting. Just a couple more questions and we should be good here, if you don’t... mind?”

They glare back at me as if I were Courtney Love.
“Sooo, tell me about your new song?”

“Yeah sure no problem, I thought you’d never ask!” Troy excitedly squeals as his stunning curls pop the bandana off of his head.

“We think this song and the video are a good way to show the American people that there is hope, and that it’s coming in the summer of 2008.”

Troy, wide-eyed, channels the ghost of archenemy Ronald Reagan, waiting for my response as if he had just commanded to tear down the Berlin Wall.

I lean in closer, anxiously anticipating more details... but before I can ask a follow up question, I see that fire again, those flames burning in their eyes, fueled from their vegan souls. I know his spartan response is the only answer I will get, the only answer I truly need. I am an ignorant product of George Bush and his oil-extorting, baby-killing cohorts. His words are enough for me now.

But just as a smile forms on my face upon this realization and I stand up to shake their hands, Troy slowly rises from his chair with an outstretched finger pointing down angrily at my feet. Devin starts screaming wildly as Stefan tries to hold her back. I look down and see the source of their tree-hugging dismay. Across the side of my white shoe lies a small Nike swoosh that marks me with a scarlet letter of capitalism. The three show restrain and walk out of the room in dead silence. As the door slams closed I can still hear Devin’s cries from 50 feet down the hall. I am not a Rustathorean yet, but I am on my way.

Three days after the interview the band sent me a letter which I wrongly assumed to be an apology, and instead was a blank piece of paper with nothing but the "Eight Commandments of Thorn" scribbled on the back. They are as follows:

EVERY SONG MUST:

1. explicitly counteract the SOCIAL CONSTRUCTS of government, big business, 'the MAN’ and any of his affiliates. Subtlety is for the WEAK and the submissive to the SYSTEM.

2. be WRITTEN and RECORDED in its entirety within the first 45 minutes of CONCEPTION. Our thoughts can only avoid the CONSTRAINTS of society for so long until we too fall victim to the frighteningly inevitable thoughts of CONSUMERISM beyond the 45-minute mark.


3. feature STEFAN on the Bouzouki and bass drum, singing only in the bridge and the final chorus, TROY playing snare drum and singing, and DEVIN singing and, only occasionally, playing the SHAKER.

4. begin with the CHORUS so that our TRUTH will be brought to you as quickly as POSSIBLE before the man can GOUGE out your ears and keep you under his CONTROL.

5. be 3 minutes or LESS in duration so that our message SPEAKS to even our potential brethren who have become SLAVES to the instant-GRATIFICATION lifestyle.

6. always be done with at least one member wearing FLANNEL during the recording.

7. include an UNPLEASANT vocal solo to prevent the MAN from playing it on his “FREE” radio networks and honing it for his own TWISTED causes.

8. be a VEHICLE for change. Preferably a HYBRID or a LOW EMISSIONS vehicle, hopefully NOT an SUV… and DEFINITELY not a MINIVAN.

The Rusty Thorns - Machine Man.mp3
The Rusty Thorns - Burn The Radio.mp3