Wow, there is literally nothing worse than reading about how many of you “almost creemed” when you got issue 001. Please stop making this pun. What’s wrong with you?


You motherfuggers did it—what a huuuuge huge treat issue 1 is! (Huge in size, huge in stature.) It’s gonna take a few dayz ‘n’ nights (and weed) to consume the entire enchilada, but having read a few pieces already (and eyeballed and thumbed every sweet sweet page), it’s plain to see CREEM has indeed arisen like God’s cock on that first Monday lo those many eons ago. Glad to subscribe AGAIN (as I did back when I was but a tiny cherub), cannot miss an issue. Congrats x 100!!!

Every stop on tour in Europe (specifically Germany), we are paired with a self-proclaimed “egg punk” band on the bill. Aren’t we supposed to stop serving breakfast at 11? It certainly doesn’t taste fresh by the time they hit the stage at 22:00.


I’ve always been familiar with hedonistic folly, but never so much as when I’m travelling. What is it about being outside of the city you live in that turns (most of) us into unbearable monsters? A couple years ago I was in Copenhagen for a festival and ended up getting stopped by the cops after my debit card malfunctioned and I was unable to pay for a cab. They took my passport and told me that my photo didn't look like me. I grabbed the ‘port and realized that they were telling the truth, as half of my facial features had been erased from the photo of my head. Nose, mouth, chin, all gone - just a fleshy blob where they should have been. As I erupted in tears of bewilderment and confusion, the police told me that they would let me go if I left Denmark immediately. Seemed like a good option for someone who had a functioning passport, which I no longer had. After crying in front of a few airline employees, I managed to “charm” my way onto a flight to London, and eventually back to Canada. Upon arrival I discovered I had spilled a bottle of poppers on my passport, and that was what had eaten my face off.

I feel it’s become my personal duty to warn other popperpeople that they could potentially ruin their travel plans and/or lives over 20 seconds of lightheaded bliss. Harm reduction takes many forms.

We look forward to your self-help book. —Ed.


I live in Austin, Texas. Austin is guitar-themed. There’s a bus stop at the airport shaped like a large guitar. There are big LED guitars on the sides of the buildings. There are guitar murals. People have crappy metal guitar sculptures on their lawns. My local coffee shop has guitar-shaped cookies. There are people performing with guitars at the fancy grocery stores and at “ACL" (Austin City Limits).

But, being guitar-themed doesn’t seem to mean that Austin is rockin’. Ok, yeah yeah, it’s the “live music capital of the world.” Or you might say to me: “keep Austin weird!” and I would say “why me???’’

But, big brother, Austin is NOT weird. Austin is mostly a commercial cesspool of fedora beard rock. Sure, there’s some weirdos putting on cool punk shows and raves in the one or two remaining industrial warehouses. But so far everyone here fails the truest test: when you are driving your supposedly rockin’ friend to the eco-brewery to drink a beer beside a goat pen, and Guns n’ Roses comes on the classic rock station and they don’t even know the chorus to “Welcome to the Jungle," (it’s “welcome to the jungle,” idiot) you have a serious rock problem. It is not alright. Who are these people? Why can’t they rock?

Creem, is there a rock doctor that can help me? Is there a rock saviour that will promote chaos and rebellion, not electric-acoustic guitars and 11PM bedtimes?

You might also say: “but... you’re from Canada! What could you possibly know about being a rocker?"

That’s for next time. The answer is: not nothing.

What’s with the teeny tiny captions to the photos in the first issue?

You guys know you last published before the Internet even existed right? So, based on my math, your core demo is the folks in the supermarket that are holding their Shredded Wheat and Werther’s Originals as far from their eyes as humanly possible to read the labels.

And don’t tell me that the captions are the same size as before and my eyes just suck now. The magazine got bigger (and better - no more newsprint pages!). Why not the captions?

BTW, can I interest you in some hard candy?


Did you all increase the magazine format size to aid in reading for the older boomer readers and match their Jitterbug cell phones?

Writing about the band Surfbort in July, CREEM’s Mandy Brownholtz said, “Accusations of poser-dom feel antiquated in late-stage capitalism, an Orwellian existence where artists are ‘content-creators.’” Sure, it’s not nice to call someone a poser, but life is too short and the world is too fucked to make crappy art. While the infrastructure crumbles around us and the economy spins into crisis, we’re still subjected to sponsored content that uses the style from subcultures and language of progressive politics. It’s all spit back at us to sell cell phone plans and beer. Surfbort call themselves “cringecore,” but at the end of a long day of consuming content, all I want to do is listen to music that doesn’t suck and not cringe for two fucking seconds. In late-stage capitalism, not being a poser is all we have left.

That, and on-demand mattress deliveries. —Ed.


You’re kidding, right? Grand Funk? Rock for Dummies?

Yes, they were the go-to band for the faux-freaks in high school, they even looked the part-one had shoulder length hair, one the Afro, the other the goatee. They were as much a prefab package as the Monkees. And they survived only because of Todd Rundgren turning them into a band with hits. By the end of the line, even Frank Zappa couldn’t do much with them. They actually gave up making that last album with him.

Goddamn it, how many Monkees have to die before we realize their cultural worth? We’re down to just one, people, it’s time! They either had their songs written by the likes of Neil Diamond and Carole King and Harry Nilsson or they wrote them themselves, what is the fucking problem? That they didn’t always play their instruments? Uh, Pet Sounds, anyone?—Ed.

Can I write the next Greetings from Detroit?

Patient Number 9 is great. I love it. The song “One of those Days” really impresses me. Clapton hasn’t rocked like this since Cream. I lay awake at night hoping that they can record a whole album together and maybe tour. A live album? I can only wish.

Hey, Bill, we love Ozzy too! And we agree! Eric Clapton is most definitely, without a doubt, a guitar player! —Ed.

My 4-year-old was skimming your “article” on mosh pits titled “Counterclockwise” and as his father regaled him with empirical stories of the hardcore pit action of the mid 1980s, serving of course to reinforce the main points of the entry, my child called out the illegitimacy of all prior words and ideas when he stumbled upon a glaring factual oversight.

Page 17, fourth paragraph from the bottom of the last column, begins “The sun, planets, and asteroids? All rotate counter-clockwise, could that be the explanation?” My son and I could not believe what we were reading. How and why would this reboot of such a half-cool-45+ years ago dino-rock publication not take the time to confirm such a simple and completely off topic fact which is as follows.

2 planets in our very own solar system spin “backwards.” Venus and of course, Uranus rotate clock-wise. Researchers theorize that both bodies were subjected to a massive impact from another large body. Uranus was hit so hard by a massive object that it became permanently tilted on its axis. The impact also caused a ring system to form around Uranus making it one of the more interesting objects in our solar system.

There is nothing we can do now about your mistake so please be more diligent going forward when discussing planetary bodies in such a pointless and ill placed manner. All the junior astronomers who happen to be reading articles about subcultural things nobody cares about anymore will thank you.

Maybe we’re just not as interested in Uranus as you are, Dave. —Ed.


Hello snotnose editors, yer grand pap’s talkin’:

As a proud founding fan club member (and also a founding reader-1969 was a blink away) the relaunch issue got me all tingly in places that died from lack of rock journalism in the USA. Rap outsells rock, country music is pretending to be everything but what’s a Lester Bangs disciple to do? This ish was true to all CREEM rock and roll standards and physically it’s a beaut with it’s hefty stock and damn near life -sized cover. Disgustedly, it includes a rapper. It better be a rockin’ ass rapper is all I gotta say.


5 Australian bands that are better than amyl and the sniffers, The Chats, and King Gizzard’s wizard whatever who cares.

Why do all the crappy Australian bands seem to be breaking the American underground? No one’s buying Amyl and the sniffers are gonna save rock and roll and this whole sharpie revival thing is pretty trite and boring. The Chats are about as edgy as an open mic night at Margaritaville in Melbourne, Florida. Oh and let’s not forget King Gizzard are this generations Emerson, Lake, and Palmer but for people who still like Mac Demarco.

I’d honestly rather be kicked in the face by a red kangaroo than have to listen to one of these groups ever again but I digress. Here’s an alternative list of bands that aren’t strung out on Vegemite.

1. Total Control
2. Terry
3.UV Race
4. Dick Diver
5. The Stroppies

Please send letters to: Mail Department CREEM Magazine 240 Kent Ave Brooklyn, NY 11249 Or, if you’re lazy: mail@creem.com

Thanks for reading CREEM. This article originally appeared in our Winter 2022 issue. If you prefer to read in print, grab a copy 

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