What The Hell Is Punk Noir Magazine?

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Find out over at DO SOME DAMAGE.

‘Paul D. Brazill quite possibly cements his place as one of the hardest working writers in crime fiction with his latest creation, Punk Noir Magazine. Paul stops by and tells us all about it. – David Nemeth

And so it came to pass . . .

I started blogging around 10 years ago, mainly inspired by Cormac Brown’s late lamented blog. My blog called You Would Say That, Wouldn’t You? And it was fun. Around the same time I started reading flash fiction sites like Six Sentences and Powder Burn Flash. And I even started submitting yarns to those sites. Which was nice.

After a while, I had a few books published and moved over to WordPress from Blogger. The focus then seemed to me more on pimping my own stuff than blogging. Which wasn’t as nice.’

Read the rest HERE. 

She’s Out

she's outFrom Wikipedia:

‘She’s Out was a British primetime television crime drama. The six-part series was produced by Cinema Verity for Carlton Television and screened on ITV in 1995. Written by Lynda La Plante as a sequel to her 1980’s seriesWidows, She’s Out takes up the story of the central character, Dolly Rawlins, ten years after the events of the previous series. Ann Mitchell, who played Dolly, and Kate Williams, who played Audrey Withey, were the only cast members from the original series to appear in She’s Out. The executive producer for the series was Verity Lambert, and the series was directed by Ian Toynton, both of whom had worked on the original series.’

 

Fiction: A Secret Place Written by SamHaiNe Spoken by Theo Copeland

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Written by SamHaiNe
Spoken by Theo Copeland aka The Broke MC 
Recorded 10/2018″A Secret Place” was originally written in 2014
Winner of a best written flash fiction award by Chamberton Publishing.
ChambertonPublishing
P.O. Box 82432 Bakersfield, CA 93380 USA

credits

released October 31, 2018
“NATURAL CITY” the new album from Hainesville
2019′ will be released online with a limited edition cassette run via The Jade Palace Guard @ thejadepalaceguard.bandcamp.comTheo Copeland a.k.a. The Broke MC @ theocopeland.com
brokemc.com

The Hunt For The ’60s Ripper by Robin Jarossi

60s ripperA serial-killer nicknamed Jack the Stripper murdered eight women in London during the mid-sixties but he was never caught, despite an extensive and expensive police manhunt.

Was it because the woman were prostitutes and the general public had little sympathy for them? Or maybe the killer had inside information about the investigation? And is he still alive?

In The Hunt For The ’60s Ripper, Robin Jarossi takes a close look at the police investigation, the policemen involved, and tragic lives of the killer’s victims.

This is a fascinating look at a series of crimes that were very much a product of their times. Recommended.

UTOPIA by Martin & Bell.

utopia

On Martin & Bell’s elegiac An Alternative Ulster (2018), writer turned spoken word artist Gavin Martin’s words find a perfect match in the music of multi instrumental melodic master Martin Bell. Incorporating a wistful rumination on teenage glory days, the passing of time and current day Northern Ireland, An Alternat- ive Ulster 2018 is titled after the punk fanzine Martin published in Bangor, Northern Ireland back in 1977. The year after the ‘zine’ first appeared local band Stiff Little Fingers borrowed the Alternative Ulster name for what became an Irish punk anthem.

40 years on, Martin expounds on the meaning of the original ideal expressed in the title. Bell’s stately, neo classical arrangement gives wings to the track providing a marked contrast to the pair’s acclaimed, ballistic and energising debut release, Roman Totale’s Death Song, tributing The Fall’s Mark E Smith. Celebrating an artistic legacy and relationship spanning 5 decades (Smith was an early Alternative Ulster fan and contribut- or), RTDS was written and recorded earlier this year in the week following The Fall legend’s death and re- leased days before his funeral.

tiny worldBoth tracks trail this release of the Martin & Bell debut album. The pair partnered on social media after Bell expressed enthusiasm for The Revolutionary (For Rory Gallagher), the lead track from Martin’s acclaimed 2017 debut release Talking Musical Revolutions, which had won plaudits from publications such as Classic Rock (8/10) and Record Collector (4 stars) as well as praise and airplay from broadcasters including Tom Robinson, Gary Crowley and Ralph Mclean.

Bell cut his teeth playing fiddle in the northern club circuit of the 70s supporting the likes of Roy Orbison, Billie Joe Spears and more, while punk rock raged across the nation. After a move to London he played in the house band for Willy Russell’s original production of Blood Brothers followed by stints in various indie bands from the London pub rock circuit of the early eighties, later filling the position of multi-instrumentalist in The Wonder Stuff and working as a composer and music editor in film and TV.

Bell’s consummate musical scope has now given full range to Martin & Bell. The widescreen cinematic sound-tracking gives the album its depth, variety and grandeur, coming to bear on the synapse-slicing and splenetic Anti Social Media and the see-sawing sea shanty groove of the death defying When They Were Young.

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“Martin was quite ruthless with the lyrics I sent him, if he had no interest or thought I could up my game, it was back to the drawing board,” smiles Gavin.

But when the words captured Bell’s imagination he went to work – check the twinkling magnificence and sea borne rushes in the deep longing and creationist meditation of Tiny World or the riotous clamour and attri- tion stalking No Arms Factories In Tottenham.

“The first poems I ever wrote came to me in Cornwall,” Gavin recalls. “Mr Bell’s scenic social media posts remind me what an awesome and inspirational place it is and it’s a great connection for me that the music for our album has been created there. “But during the time we’ve been working together I’ve never gone down there to meet him. That may seem a little odd, but then again – why spoil a wonderful partnership?”

UTOPIA by Martin & Bell

Release date: February 1st 2019.

Lead Track: An Alternative Ulster 2018. Release date: January 8th 2019.

Martin & Bell at Facebook.

SEVEN HELLS by Frank Westworth

FB 7Hell Street

A terrorist atrocity will occur today on the crowded streets of a British city. The authorities have been forewarned, and tactical squads scramble to likely locations. They’re playing a waiting game with a deadly opponent, a religious extremist with a lethal message in mind. But who will make the first move?

JJ Stoner – the ex-military man with a sideline in silencing people – should play no part in this operation. But an old opponent from the times of the Troubles has other ideas. He knows who to manipulate to lure Stoner into the killing zone – and into conflict with his closest friends and allies…

A slow-burn political thriller; intricate and unpredictable. Recommended for readers who enjoy Trevanian, Robert Harris, David Baldacci or Don Winslow

‘The black man stumbled, fell, parts of his head were somehow separated from the rest of him, a curiously unpleasant blend of grey and pink, with darker tones mingling, tangled on the pavement where randomly firing nerves twitched his soul-free body, although not for long…’

SEVEN HELLS is published 29 November 2018

Amazon UK: www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07KN2WMM5/

Amazon USA: www.amazon.com/dp/B07KN2WMM5/
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/book/show/42856971-seven-hells

Author site: www.murdermayhemandmore.net

Author FB: www.facebook.com/killingsisters

Seven Hells is a novella, an afternoon’s intrigue and entertainment. It features characters from the JJ Stoner / Killing Sisters series. You don’t need to have read any of the other stories in the series: you can start right here if you like.

As well as a complete, stand-alone short story, Seven Hells includes an excerpt from the full-length Killing Sisters thriller A Last Act of Charity.

Please note that Seven Hells is intended for an adult audience and contains explicit language and opinions.

Hard Knock Life: On the Films of Abel Ferrara by Michael A. Gonzales

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Nobody loves New York films more than a native. From the time I was a kid growing-up in Harlem during an era when the city wasn’t pretty, I’ve always had a thing for moviemakers who were able to capture the grit of my town on celluloid.

Of course, there are exceptions, like my favorite Woody Allen flicks Annie Hall and Manhattan, as well as the Neil Simon scripted The Goodbye Girl, but for the most part the movies I got the most pleasure from were the ones that showed the Big Apple’s rotting core, worms and all.

Over the years, I have repeatedly watched The French Connection, Super Fly, The Warriors, The Education of Sonny Carson, Taxi Driver, Serpico, Death Wish, Gordon’s War and Dog Day Afternoon, all films that perfectly fit into my aesthetic of what constitutes a great NYC film: raw, gritty and somewhat unpredictable, much like the city itself.

In the early 1990s, the two New York films that had the most affect on me were Abel Ferrara’s double dose of big city sleaze The King of New York (1990) and The Bad Lieutenant (1992). Ferrara was himself a native New Yorker born in the Bronx in 1950. Like my favorite Bronx Boy creative folks writer Jerome Charyn, director Stanley Kubrick and rapper KRS-One, he is a no bullshit kind of guy.

Ferrara started making flicks in the early 1980s, B-movie fare with cool names like Driller Killer, Fear City and Ms. 45, but it wasn’t until 1990 that I was introduced to his bleak worldview and neo-noir sensibilities.

King_of_new_york_ver1Staring at the poster for The King of New York outside a Times Square theater, where a few feet away hookers walked the block and three-card monte cats ripped-off tourists. I wandered into the movie house not really knowing what to expect. Sitting amongst a typical neighborhood crowd who screamed at the screen and smoked weed openly, as the movie began it didn’t take long for me to block out the distractions and become absorbed by Ferrara’s dangerous visions of thug life in our hometown.

Released at a time when “the drug game,” primarily crack and powered cocaine, ruled the streets of the city, Ferrara’s film introduced the viewer to recently released kingpin Frank White (Christopher Walken) and his gang of black henchman led by Jimmy Jump (Larry Fishburne). Determined to take over the drug trade, as well as giving back to the hood by building a state-of-art hospital in Brooklyn, Frank unleashes a blood-bath gang war on everyone from the Italian mob to the Chinese gangs.

Never one to do any acting halfway, Walken is at his best as Frank White. Whether talking shit or gazing out of the window in his Plaza Hotel suite, the audience cheered for that troubled man who has so much on his mind. Yet, as good as Walken was, he was no comparison to Fishburne’s role as the bugged-out, blow-sniffing, gun shooting Jump, who had more swagger than a million Jay-Z’s.

Looking like his daddy might’ve been a Black Panther back in the day, Jump is crazier than most cokehead gangsters are, but he still he reminded me of a few cool, but deadly dudes I knew in Harlem. Fishburne doesn’t walk in the film, he moves swiftly as a dancer, quietly as a jungle cat. Screenwriter Nicholas St. John also gave Jump some of the dopest lines in the movie. “Trust isn’t one of my stronger qualities,” he says, moments before killing a drug dealer.

One can imagine Fishburne today, all flabby and stone-faced, turning on the telly and seeing himself more than two decades later and wondering, “What happened to that brilliant motherfucker?”  Additionally, the film also featured wonderful co-starring performances from Wesley Snipes, David Caruso, Paul Calderon, Steve Buscemi and Roger Guenveur Smith.

Since many of those actors had worked together in other New Yorkcentric films, the ensemble acting was seamless as the robbers, cops and various baddies battled for supremacy while ducking bullets. Yet, while King overflows with violence, there are many dimensions to the film, as though Godard, fairytales and gangsta rap, also inspired Ferrara equally.

The Schoolly D. songs used in The King of New York, especially “Saturday Night,” only added to the hip allure of the film, an aural black cherry on top of a cake made out of dynamite. A few years later, when other MCs were still quoting Oliver Stone’s overrated Scarface script as though it were the holy grail of gangster movies, an overweight rapper named the Notorious B.I.G. showed his love for The King of New York by dubbing himself “the black Frank White.”

While obviously influenced by Martin Scorsese, who’s Good Fellas came out the same year, Ferrara’s perspective in The King of New York of our beloved sin city was more twisted. Shot by cinematographer Bojan Bazelli, the film has a strange texture that works perfectly. Between he and Ferrara, the nighttime streets, rides on the subway and various shoot-outs, including the brutal climax where damn near everybody dies, feels like something Frank White might be actually dreaming while he’s dying in jail.

Like most of Ferrara’s films, The King of New York was shot on a tight budget, but the director still managed to master mix a calm art-house sensibility with a manic pulp vision that was dark, dangerous and intoxicating. However, if King scrapped the surface of the scum that drove cabbie Travis Bickle crazy, then The Bad Lieutenant dived in deep and just continued swimming to the bottom for infinity.

Harvey Keitel played the title character, a cop so damaged that even his fellow officers were disgusted by his behavior. The cops give him sideways glances when he accidentally drops a kilo of coke he stole from a crime scene, a part of the movie that always makes me cringe, or talks badly about the Catholic Church putting-up a $50,000 reward for the capture of the “boys” who a raped nun. Still, that is small stuff compared to the rest of the inspired decadence of the ninety-six minute movie.

The Lieutenant, who wasn’t even given a name, was perhaps one of the most damaged characters in ‘90s cinema, filled with enough dread and pathos to fuel six David Fincher films. As he smokes crack in tenement hallways, masturbates in front of two teenaged girls and shoots-up with a hooker, we almost feel sorry for this pale faced mess of a man. Embracing those dark and scary places, Ferrara shot The Bad Lieutenant, which he co-wrote with Zoë Lund, as though it were a modern day horror movie.

bad_lieutenant_movie_image_harvey_keitel_02Yet, if the King of New York was a dream, then The Bad Lieutenant was a nightmare. The movie’s unintentional (I think) comic relief comes when he is at home surround by crying babies, an oblivious wife and a old, white haired mother-in-law who says nothing, but stares at Keitel fearfully. She seems to be the only person in the house who actually looks at him, but she has enough fear for everybody.

While the thin plot concerns the raped nun who refuses to identify her attackers, Ferrara’s masterpiece was in actuality a brilliant study of a man who no longer believes in anything: a Catholic who doesn’t believe in God, a cop who doesn’t believe in the law, a man who doesn’t believe in death because he’s already living in hell.

Keitel, unlike his friend Robert DeNiro, never stopped challenging himself when it came to taking difficult roles, and in The Bad Lieutenant, he played the ruined character with the rawness of a pus-oozing sore. Unlike other scary cat directors, my man Ferrara (the tainted saint of cinema, the outlaw auteur, the Hubert Selby Jr. of movies) captured it all.

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Harlem native Michael A. Gonzales has published short fiction in Brown Sugar (Random House), Bronx Biannual (Akashic Books), Crimefactory and Needle: A Magazine of Noir. He lives in Brooklyn.

 

Fiction: One More Chance by Michael A. Gonzales

22519426_10155031025497717_6031561382650838239_nEverybody remembers the first time they had a gun pointed at them. Although it’s been months, sometimes I’ll be lying next to my woman and suddenly flashback to that black nine millimeter aimed at my skull.

It was the summer of ‘88 and I was still living uptown where shattered glass crunched underfoot and the bustling boulevards were electric with vice. To strangers unfamiliar with the wildness of Harlem, my decaying tenement on 145th might’ve looked dangerous.

Yet, no matter how many crack cowboys and toothless hookers sat on the stoop, I was never scared. My girlfriend Zoë was a different story. Every time she came to Harlem, she acted as though poverty was contagious.

Zoë and I were 22-years-old seniors at the School of Visual Arts. Wanting to be the next Robert Mapplethorpe, but without all the dicks and homo shit, I was a photography major. Zoë was an abstract painter with a loft on Gramercy Park.

Coming from Detroit, her rich mother paid the bills. Though she proudly talked about, “Da D,” it was obvious from her Goth make-up and all-black wardrobe that she was more of a Depeche Mode suburban chick than an inner city Motown girl. “I don’t know why you can’t just let it go, Andre. Your old neighborhood died years ago. There is no renaissance, only ghosts. You should just move downtown with me.”

“You don’t understand, I was raised up there. Uptown, that’s where my peoples at.”

“Your peoples?” Zoë laughed, shoveling the last piece of sushi in her mouth. “Why you always talk like you’re more street than you are? When we met, you were reading Kafka and talking about Wim Wenders. Now, you Mr. Ghetto? Mr. Keeping It Real.”

“I’m just saying, it’s going to take more than a few whores and dope boys to make me move.” After knocking back a few sakes, I stumbled to the A Train and nodded out until reaching 145th Street.

According to the subway station clock, it was almost midnight. Walking the two avenue blocks to my building, I was shocked when I ran into my old buddy Darryl Jenkins sitting on the steps of the abandoned school PS 186. Recently graduated from Syracuse University, Darryl was one of the few old friends not in jail or the graveyard.

“Man, so good seeing you,” I said.

“I just came down for a few days. Figured if I hung-out in front of this dump long enough, I’d run into you.”

Darryl pulled out a phat sack of weed and a few Phillie blunts. Like old times, we decided to go to my building and smoke.

Standing in front of the door, I realized I’d left my keys at Zoë’s and randomly pressed the intercom. Somebody buzzed us in and we ran up the back staircase; since I rarely wore sneakers, my hard-bottomed dress shoes click-clanked on the marble steps.

Sitting on the top stair rolling the blunt, I faintly heard something downstairs, but when I looked over the banister there was nothing. “Ain’t even smoked and already paranoid,” Darryl laughed.

Lighting the blunt, I thought I heard creeping footsteps, but before I could say jack, a midget murderer everybody called Inch was aiming his burner at my head. “Word Gotti, you got to stop ringing my bell! I thought you assholes were cops.”

We had all grown up together, but last I heard, Inch was serving a stretch in Rikers for blasting three drug dealers a few years back. Word on our street was he dragged the corpses into the closet and stole a suitcase of bloody money. How he got out so fast was beyond me.

“Yo, we’re sorry,” I stuttered. Darryl was silent. “Believe me, it was an accident.” From the way Inch’s left eye blinked, it was obvious he was doing everything in his power not to kill us. Blinking a few more times, Inch finally put the gun down.

Scrambling down the stairs, I ran to the payphone. Fishing a quarter out of my pocket, I dialed Zoë. “I changed my mind,” I yelled. “I’m moving downtown. Tonight.”

Copyright © 2010

Photo by Carl Davis.

Harlem native Michael A. Gonzales has published short fiction in Brown Sugar (Random House), Bronx Biannual (Akashic Books), Crimefactory and Needle: A Magazine of Noir. He lives in Brooklyn.

Recommended Read: William Ryan’s Korolev Trilogy

William Ryan is deservedly getting a great deal of positive attention for his latest novel, A House Of Ghosts, but his first three novels – featuring Captain Alexei Korolev – were also more than somewhat tasty and are well worth checking out.

the holy thiefThe Holy Thief.

The first of the Korolev trilogy, The Holy Thief is set in Moscow in 1936, at the start of Stalin’s deconstruction of the city. Korolev, the star detective in the Moscow Militia’s Criminal Investigation Division, is sent to investigate the unusual and brutal murder of a woman whose body is found in a desecrated church. And, of course, this is a far from simple case, especially as it is carried out in the chilly shadow of the NKVD’s Colonel Gregorin, who believes that the case may well have political implications.

Korolev is a good man trying his best to complete his investigation whilst dealing with corruption, paranoia and the tangible fear of the times. A world that Ryan evokes very well indeed. The rich atmosphere of The Holy Thief is, in fact, one of its strong points and the book’s historical details all help move the story forward rather than bogging it down, as is common in some historical crime novels.

The Holy Thief is a deftly paced and constantly involving mystery with an interesting cast of characters and an immensely likable hero. It is a cracking good story, very well told and it confidently kicked off a deservedly successful series.

the bloody meadowThe Bloody Meadow.

It’s 1937 and at the close of a particularly harsh winter, Korolev receives an ominous knock on the door in the dead of night. Despite recently being decorated, he expects the worse – to be dispatched to certain death in one of Siberia’s frozen prison camps. However, he is, in fact, sent off to a film set in Odessa, to investigate the apparent suicide of a young woman who was a ‘very close’ friend of the Commissar for State Security.

The Bloody Meadow throbs with a sense of paranoia and fear, as Korolev carefully negotiates the tangled spider web of Stalinist Russia while trying to get to the bottom of the case. The Bloody Meadow is an immensely satisfying murder mystery that is packed with great characters -including some familiar faces from The Holy Thief – and strong on atmosphere. Korolev himself is a particularly likeable protagonist who constantly struggles with the duality of his position and the need to do the right thing.

Ryan’s great descriptive skills are really to the fore in The Bloody Meadow, which is sometimes so richly cinematic the it makes you wish that Carole Reed were still alive in order to faithfully adapt the book for the silver screen.

The Twelfth Department.

the-twelfth-departmentParanoia and tension once again permeate 1930s Moscow in The Twelfth Department.  The tightly-woven story kicks off with a fast-moving prologue, as Korolev and his cohorts capture the head of the Grey Fox gang in one of Moscow’s parks. This is a neat little scene with a great sense of time and place and smartly introduces us to some of the major players in The Twelfth Department’s cast of characters.

After this case, Korolev is supposed to be on leave, taking care of his estranged son Yuri for the week, but this is interrupted when Professor Boris Azarov, Director of the mysterious Azarov Institute is shot dead in an exclusive apartment, in the shadow of the Kremlin. Almost as soon as he starts his investigation, however, Korolev is taken off the case. So he heads off to the countryside with Yuri but there is a knock on the door in the middle of the night, Korolev is dragged back to Moscow and Yuri goes missing.

The Twelfth Department is an engrossing and satisfying follow up to its cracking predecessors. The story is a compelling, twisting and turning investigation and Korolev and the other characters are very well drawn- especially Count Kolya, leader of the Moscow Thieves.

All in all, fantastic stuff.

Find out more about William Ryan HERE.

Crime and Publishment Creative Writing Courses

crime and publishment

Crime and Publishment creative writing courses are designed for budding crime fiction authors of all levels.

Not only will delegates be taught some of the essential writing skills necessary to produce a novel, they will receive tips and advice on editing, goal setting, preparing to pitch their novel to an agent or publisher and they will be given a unique opportunity to have a five minute pitch session to a publisher.

All of the creative writing courses will be led by established authors or industry professionals.

To date ten attendees of Crime & Publishment have gone on to sign publishing contracts.

Find out more about Crime and Publishment HERE.