924 Gilman St. Berkeley, California

I have seen one Accused show. One day in '90 or '91 I was rifling through the pages of some hardcore mag (probably MRR) and in the back there was a tiny little ad for the an Accused gig the next weekend at 924 Gilman St, Berkeley. And HOT DAMN! I was spinning the 'Grinning' ten times a day as it was, and I wanted to fucking GO. FUCK the fact that it was 330 miles away! FUCK the fact that the midget bitch landlord from the Depths of Hell was riding our asses! Just pack up the Dodge Dakota convertible pickup and HEAD the fuck OUT. It took me way too long to convince my bassist Colin to go with me, but since he was also a long-time Splatter-maniac, (and I had 400 quid in my pocket) I finally broke him down. The night trip up the I-5 North freeway was laden for most of the hundreds of miles with the wafting, odoriferous foul stench from mountains of cowshit and huge windshield bug-splats; then further north, the potent & sweet pungency of garlic gone wild. I remember wishing we had taken the coast, but would make up for that on the way home, in daylight. Upon arriving in Berkeley, (after much roadway confusion) we hit a liquor store and set up camp in some cheap, sleazy motel room down the street from Gilman. This room was just like the ones you see in the movies; stains on the walls, flashing lights outside the window, musty carpet and the nasty pong of what must once have been dead whores in the closet. We then set up the Accused-filled boom box, broke out a quarter and a coffee mug and commenced to drinking quite heavily - which is why for me, the details of the actual show are murky at best. I could refresh these memories if I could find Colin, who has been MIA for some 4 years now after announcing his departure to Amsterdam, Holland for some sort of ~sticky buds~ festival. I worry about his well-being, to tell you the truth. The man probably smoked himself into Oblivion. 924 Gilman St. I can tell you that the pit was RAGING, the music was pure Splatter, the elbows were flying - and they definitely played M is for Martha. Josh, by the way, is God's drummer and Satan's personal percussionist. I also remember before the gig we rolled up and saw Blaine darting across the street with a case 'o' Henry Weinhard's under each arm toward the front door of 924. I also know that we gained ourselves another passenger for the trip home. Yes folks, we met a German lass by the name of Steffi, and she not only rode all the way home with us, she spent the next two months or so living at the Vapo Slob Manor, with her days spent boinking (mostly) Colin on his futon and her nights getting hammered with the band. I often wonder what ever became of Stef. We finally left her on the doorstep of Disneyland for some odd reason... Hmmm... perhaps Colin (alive?) and Steffi in their seperate little worlds will hear of this reunion and meet back up with me here on the site someday. Oh yeah, somewhere in there we went over to Fisherman's Wharf in Frisco and saw the Ripley's exhibit, had the best sushi & sak`e ever, and entered a bizarre museum full of Medieval Torture Devices and excruciatingly brutal mocked-up death Scenes; which fit in perfectly with the underlying theme of that strange Accused oddysey. ~ Tangento - October, 2003