Broken Pencil Review of Fake Life #3

Tallahassee punk rag Fake Life is a rather take-it-or-leave-it production. Here is a representative excerpt from an acid- dropping anecdote by principal writer Rabbit: “I am a magnet for bad trips and or drunken weekends. If I show up, please ask me to leave. It will be better for all of us and you won’t have to see a grown man shit himself.” Something of a time capsule, the zine has a very distinct worldview, a sort of pre-millennial obliviousness that is hardly dispelled by an Iraq-Vietnam comparison. Fake Life is as mid-90s as Mad About You, and nearly as white. Show reviews, which provide the bulk of the content, frequently devolve into anti-reviews because the writers seem too burnt- out to adequately describe or even remember the bands. The closest thing to an actual description of music is disappointingly prefaced by “I hope this doesn’t sound too gay”. Female performers are rarely referred to as anything but “bitches” or “sluts,” which is more than a little tedious. The Q-&-A with Henry Rollins is fairly coherent (if not particularly probing), but the stream-of-consciousness band interviews occasionally read like transcribed benders. The zine’s purpose, according to Mike Baker, is “to get people listening to Tallahassee punk, Florida punk, going to shows and helping these bands make a living,” but--despite its undeniable energy--Fake Life is too haphazard to persuade the uninitiated. (Daniel Marrone)