“God, they were so pissed… I’ve never seen so many fucking middle-aged white dudes lose their minds like that, like someone had come up and spit in their mother’s face. Like, middle fingers, the entire time. Spitting at me, throwing food, everything in the fucking house. It was like a rain of trash. We get offstage and some guy gets in my face and starts laying into me, like, tall, drunk and pissed, and his wife’s right next to him, like, ‘Fuck you, you faggot!’ And I look down, and he’s got a police badge on. He’s an off-duty cop. Then more of them start piling up. Next thing you know there’s like fifteen or twenty drunk, psychotic white people who like smell like fucking rotten gumbo, screaming at me in the House Of Blues parking lot. I hadn’t been that scared in a while, to be honest. Like, I’m gonna get lynched at the House Of Blues. How perfect.”
Late last year, Steve Gullick and I met up once again with Joe Cardamone, frontman of The Icarus Line, probably the greatest group we covered during the lifespan of our Zine, Loose Lips Sink Ships. As Loose Lips is once again a going concern, and as The Icarus Line recently cut the most potent, snarling, electrifying album of their career, Slave Vows, there was no way we were going to ditch the chance to tell the story of Cardamone’s remarkable, cockroach-like survival through a shit-rain of drugs, violence, insanity, burnout, poverty and despair, to come out the other side stronger, saner and as spitefully brilliant as ever.
This is that story.