|
The Devil By Any Name: Rhoades D'Ablo |
|
|
“Men become less willing to submit to the moral
standards of a community, less worried about being punished for breaking
society’s rules…”
“Are you sure this is a good time?” he asked. Apparently, me sitting in dirty underwear on the
couch was enough to trigger concern for Smutty’s well being. Meanwhile, he’s darting through lanes in New
Orleans intoxicatingly with his foxy lady in the passenger
seat while another car was following him. On their way
to an after party at the Suplecs, Wendy Nelson pulls up
beside him. Great, I can only imagine now he’s
drag-racing on cobblestone streets. The Voodoo Fest attracts a
rather different breed. Take for example, Rhoades D’Ablo and his band,
The Devil’s Right Hand, that has recently
added some honorable additions. As for this son of the devil,
he wasborn under a hexed moon. He’s a man whose voice is
more chilling than the dark eyeliner he shrouds himself
in. His pale complexion hasn‘t seen the sunlight since who
knows when. By surrounding himself with guitars in
complete seclusion has taught this man how to write music
at times. |
|
|
Even his previous bands, such as Rock City Morgue and Mustang Lightning, couldn’t prepare for his solitaire stare on things. Originally from Florida, he relocated in LA and then to Denver only to find himself a regular on the bar stools of New Orleans. It is here where he roams the streets and tunes his string to an eerie ghost cowboy speed, ultimately conducting his current album, “Trucker Speed & Other Vices” which is, also, in the works of being put onto screen. “I wrote a short story that goes along with the CD, andI’m in the process of converting into a screenplay with a director named Belxiou.” He continues on about the weekend he had in New Orleans, with Velvet Revolver taking the main stage preaching politics to an audience that already has a PHD on diversity. From the drunks in the ditches, to physics and the witches, R’hoades himself blends in rather easily. Most likely, he packs a flask whenever he feels the need, but the Rolaids are for the gutter punks he deals with regularly. |
 |
|
“They’re all down in the French Quarter and full force this year. There was an article in Rolling Stones about them months ago. It was kind of weird, when I read that article and knew half of those punks that bug the shit of me. The cops tried to flush them out last year, but this year they have doubled and becoming uber-violent for change. ” Besides having a girlfriend who dances and knows her ghouls and movies, R’Hoades has everything else that it takes to be a band. Dark dreads, cowboy hat, and a whiskey grin, not to mention his analytical opinion on our cross-eyed government that's about to draft this trench rock reporter off to foreign lands. “After I get off the phone I’m going to go fuck my girlfriend, then we’re going to fuck so more, and after we fuck all week, I’m going to the voting poles to Fuck For Kerry, Smutty!” -FIN- |
|
| -Smutstrutter | |
| _____________________________________________________________________________________ | |
With one boot on the pedal, one hand on the horn,
and another on his cell phone, Rhoades D’Ablo gave me
a ring the weekend before Halloween.