Gossip, gossip, gossip. Celebrities, rock stars, and online personalities of no discernible talent all provide gossip grist aplenty. We here at Scene Police, the official CREEM gossip column, can’t get enough of that shit. That said, we are not peephole...uh, peepers? We endeavor to collect and discuss the dirty laundry that musicians are seemingly incapable of keeping in their gold-encrusted hampers. And we’re gonna put it all in one place, so you, our CREEM-y friends, can wallow in it too! Without further ado, let’s get carceral.

EeeOOOO weeeeOOOO weeeeOOOO—hear that siren? Close the tab of your ASMR kidnapping cosplay, make your “Defund Pop Punk” tie-dye hoodie kiss your “Defend Mitski'' long-sleeve T-shirt, and call the cops... ’Cos it’s the Scene Police!


Ted Nugent may think that deer are a disease and germs are a communist psyop, but that hasn’t stopped the two-hit wonder (if you count “Stranglehold” twice) from superspreading some scratch fever of the “catty” variant. The Nuge recently had a Motor City meltdown about Professional Rock ’n’ Roll Enjoyer Joan Jett being No. 87 on a Rolling Stone magazine top 100 guitarists list—from 12 years ago. While it comes as no surprise that a cultural warrior/footnote like Nugent might opt to cry about one of the few women mentioned in a decade-old piece of clickbait canon fodder, rather than finding common ground with a fellow bather in Dazed and Confused soundtrack residuals, Nuge’s complaints are petty even by his standards. Jett, with the confidence born from having successfully pulled off the same haircut since 1981 (not to mention having written and performed actual songs that people actually know), responded with suitable grace and contempt, accusing Ted Nugent of being the worst thing she could think of: Ted Nugent.

While getting mad at lists—even ancient lists confused for new by an internet-addled population immune to historical knowledge—is every true American’s patriotic duty, we here at CREEM Scene Police Headquarters were more shocked to find out (a) that Ted Nugent has the OK Boomer computer/mental fortitude required to load Rolling Stone’s online list pages and (b) that 12 years ago, Rolling Stone knew the name of more than one female guitarist.

(Yeah, yeah, cool, cool...we know: glass houses, etc. Whatever. The Scene Police dig a nice bay window.)


Mick Jagger
Jagger emerges from Liberace's closet looking fabulous. (Getty Images)

Speaking of Rolling Stone, we are lucky that Charlie Watts’ singer and Keef’s chief frenemy, Mick “The Lip” Jagger, has seen fit to bestow upon the world some “hot takes” on contemporary rock music. Talking to The London Times, Sir Mick talked about the cunnilingus-themed pop moppet Harry Styles as though the doe-eyed sex-doer was a Fergie-esque pretender to the “sugar is, like, a metaphor for pussy” throne. As of this writing, Harry’s fans, the “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense”-ically titled “Stylers,” have burned only 15 of Jagger’s 23 country estates to the ground.

Further filling out his rock-critic résumé, the original Mover Like Jagger also told The Independent that, “You have Yungblud and Machine Gun Kelly. That kind of post-punk vibe makes me think there is still a bit of life in rock ’n’ roll.”

Upon that interview being published, astronauts on the International Space Station reported hearing, rising from the Earth’s surface, a deep, sad sigh that sounded, in the words of one of the astronauts, “like a frustrated and bewildered ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ uttered in an affable Northern England accent.”

Without discounting any particular teen idol’s patricidal despair, we here at Scene Police couldn’t agree with Mick more. When we think of “post-punk,” three names come to mind; J. Lydon, J. Rotten, and M.G. Kelly. Just like when we think of “country music,” we think of “Far Away Eyes.”

(Scene Police has no jokes about the calisthenic crooner Yungblud. Scene Police believes in the importance of physical fitness.)


Evan Dando performing live.
He kinda shoulda sort of shut his mouth, but then he didn’t. (Getty Images)

Bohunk troubadour Evan Dando, after getting kicked off the Dear You 25th-anniversary tour for violating COVID-19 protocols, was looking to turn his brave ears into fists. Applying his legally blond understanding of objective truth to a bad scene (someone else’s fault), the former Lemonhead posted on Twitter to call the tour headliners “pussies... fact not opinion.” Seems our fair-haired friend-hater was more than willing to “Kiss the Bottle,” he just didn’t want to wipe his mouth afterward. What a world, where a tour whose theme was “Boys Who Didn’t Text the Next Day, Even Before the Invention of iPhones,” might end in hurt feelings!

EeeeeeNewwwww eeeeeeeNewwwww Scene Police!


In another case of Twitter sendeth-ing shade on the just and the unjust, there was real to-do when Hunter Hunt-Hendrix, the god-pilled black metal Liturgy druidess (but, like, for Jesus), took to Twitter for a transcendental pre–Mother’s Day sermon, declaring: “You’ll probably be happier if you don’t drink, do drugs, consume pointless entertainment or have meaningless sex (if any).” Then, to clarify, she said simply, “Find god.” The backlash proved to be about what one could expect. Black metal’s hatred of—slash slavering devotion to—rules is complex! To the trve, abstinence from all things fun is considered far less blasphemous than Hunt-Hendrix’s whole *cough* “deal,” starting with her decade-old stance on corpse paint (against) and jeans (wears ’em). Twitter being what it is, much of the backlash was framed as class warfare. Just because Hunt-Hendrix’s grandfather was the richest man in the world, initiated George Wallace into the Illuminati, and had JFK killed just for kicks.


We here at Scene Police promise to never act as though New York is the end-all, be-all center of the Rock ’n’ Roll Universe (especially since we’re contractually obligated to say the center is Detroit, while suspecting that it might also be Pittsburgh, Atlanta, or Tucson). That said, some New York Rock ’n’ Roll bullshit is so transcendently terrific that to not share it would be gossip column malpractice.

The facts, as we know them: Warthog is a NYC hardcore band. Warthog is a great hardcore band that you may be able to read about in the first new issue of CREEM magazine. Warthog’s drummer, through a friend of a friend, got a hold of a billboard beside the Williamsburg bridge to promote the band’s new Toxic State 7". Within two days, this billboard was almost entirely covered with graffiti that, in part, said “make punk a threat again,” “defend ATL forest,” and “NO COP CITY.” The vandalism was conducted by the NYC graffiti artists known as Wombat and Zigzag. A number of niche (even by the medium’s standards) memes ensued. Was the defacement—less a tag than a Sistine Chapel—an insult against Warthog? Was it the beginning of an inter-scene turf war that might tear Bushwick and a bit of Ridgewood apart, inevitably resulting in two young, star-crossed lovers, kept apart by their respective gangs of feuding kängpunkers, poisoning themselves while “City Baby Attacked by Rats” plays in the background? Or was it meant as a tribute? A loving addition to Warthog’s conversation, in the same spirit as Freddie Gibbs re-creating the iconic album art of Teddy Pendergrass’s Teddy, but using the contrarian love language of punk? Rumors abound of the graffiti being an “inside job,” or at least the call coming from inside the punk house. But since we’re not narcs (we’re Scene Police), and as Warthog’s mascot, Lawrence W. Arthög, covered up most of the graffiti (leaving the political statements intact) with a giant “LARRY,” and as, anyway, punks don’t make calls these days (they use Signal), we will respect the Ask A Punk ethos by just staring from a distance. 

WeeeOOOO weeeeOOOO weeeeOOOO Scene Police!