By Steve DiLodovico | Smutlife
Casey Cumz was born to be a porn star, it’s that simple. Spend five minutes with her and you’ll know: this brazen girl is armed with a playful and intense sexuality that permeates just about everything she says and does. The one-time army brat and self-confessed sex addict is a bubbling, giggling party of non-stop sex and she is loving every minute of it. In the biz since 2011, Casey has racked up some impressive credits and memorable scenes. Her shoot for Kink.com’s Bound Gangbangs is beyond intense and proves that there is not much Casey isn’t willing to do on camera (and for that we thank God!!!!). She’s a rising star who is not afraid to get down and dirty with the best of them and if you haven’t seen her by now, chances are you’ll be seeing a lot of her in 2012. Smutlife got a chance to catch up with this petite little dynamo over brunch at I.H.O.P. and she did not disappoint.
Words by Steve DiLodovico | Smutlife
Most likely you remember Lisa Sparxxx from her world-record gangbang in which she took on over 900 dudes in a sloppy marathon of absolute filth and debauchery. Lisa represents for the BBW set; curvy and thick, this buxom firecracker has definitely earned her stripes as a Vet in the adult industry. It’s her longevity and her amazingly grounded earthiness that has made her a fan favorite for the past decade. Now Lisa makes her home in, of all places, Kentucky. It is there she balances an almost-normal family life of marriage and shopping and being a mom while occasionally jetting to Los Angeles to perform the unspeakable acts you’ve come to know and love so well.
SL: I’m going to be the first to throw it out there: you have managed a pretty legendary career thus far.
LS: Wow, legendary! Pretty cool. Read more
Words by Steve DiLodovico | Smutlife
Doap Nixon is the quintessential Philly MC: rough and gritty with a propensity for uninhibited realism and an ability to murder the English language with the sickest slang. Doap is a Pharaoh; part of a collective of heavy-hitters like Vinnie Paz, Celph Titled, Apathy, Esoteric, Reef the Lost Cauze, Jus Allah and a cadre of fire-breathing MCs and murderous producers. Doap specializes in that special, Illadelph brand of Murder Music. Fight Music. He is driven and, quite simply, kid knows no other way than to bring the real and let the fallout rest where it may.
To many uneducated Hip Hop fans, Doap is an unknown factor, and it is easy to consider him a new artist. Not true. Kid’s been on his grind for years and, in doing so, has honed a smooth craft that is naturally and organically steeped in realism and brutal truth. Gray Poupon, he’s second proper full-length release is the realization and culmination of years of work. The album has existed, in one form or another, for a few years now. It is only due to the same, tired old legal bullshit from shady record labels that Gray Poupon is just now seeing the light of day. It’s been a long, sometimes arduous journey for Doap, but no obstacle has stopped him. In fact, kid is so motivated that when I caught up with him he was already in the lab constructed his next round of bangers. You can’t hold him down. Read more
When it comes to dirty minded foul mouthed gals with looks that could make a blind man smile, Hunter Bryce ranks right there in the upper echelon of ‘sizzling hotness.’ This gorgeous brunette is definitely one witty little number with a tongue quick for conversation. And to be honest, she really just doesn’t give a fuck what flies out of her hot little mouth. She can throw down with the best of them with an added knack for shit-talking motherfuckers during her scenes. Blessed with natural beauty and a fantastic body, Hunter steals just about every scene that she’s in. She can skewer either man or woman with one sharp glance. Whether she’s blessing you with her on-camera performances or just chattin’ it up one on one, Hunter does not hold back and will completely grab the moment by it’s balls and deliver a good time all around.
Interview by Steve DiLodovico | Smutlife Read more
Written by Steve DiLodovico | Philadelphia Indie Music Examiner
Philadelphia’s deadliest crew has been killing it steadily for close to twenty years now. Saturday night the Jedi Mind Tricks squad invaded West Chester PA’s premier spot for live music: The Note. It was a homecoming of sorts for JMT as the Philadelphia-based group packed in friends and family for a one-night, sold out performance that was explosive.
Fellow Enemy Soil labelmates and long-time Jedi Mind Tricks/Army of the Pharaohs collaborators Outer Space opened the show with a quick set that was full of the duo’s trademark rapid-fire, tag-team precision. Rappers Planetary and Crypt the Warchild led the crowd through their rugged street-rap and represented North Philly with concentrated doses fire.
Then came time for Jedi Mind Tricks. Jus Allah, Crypt, DJ Kwestion and the indomitable Vinnie Paz walked onto the stage and surveyed a scene of raised hands and expectant faces. Their arrival was met with vociferous howls of welcome and anticipation. Within seconds Kwestion dropped in a thunderous beat and Vinnie Paz took his place as one of the most dynamic frontmen in Hip Hop.
Interview by Steve DiLodovico | Smutlife
Breanne Benson is a sleek kitten with a body built for sex and a perfectly dirty mind. Her outlying sweetness gives no clue as to what a firebrand this Albanian-born harlot is on-screen: she is voracious. At first meeting she is angelic, coy and almost shy; a light laugh belies the utter abandon with which she performs and her energy is scorching (and that body is frigging amazing, too). After a brief stint with retirement Breanne decide to return to Adult and her return is nothing short of amazing. She’s finally gone to the other side and has done some boy/girl scenes (after a few years of girl/girl action only) and the results are scorching. Now, with some new movies coming out for Digital Playground studios and a whole mess of perverted action for you derelicts to enjoy, Breanne is poised to explode all over the adult scene.
Give us a little background on yourself.
BB: I was born in Europe and I’ve been here for about 20 years. I got into the business after I met some people who were already in the industry. I kind of tagged along. My best friend at the time got into it first and it looked like fun, so I decided to try it. I started in 2003 and then retired at the end of 2004 and then came back in June of 2009. Read more
Words By: Steve DiLodovico | Philadelphia Indie Music Examiner
Under the threat of the latest teen craze known as a Philadelphia Flash Mob, Legs McNeil is every bit the cool customer one would expect a legendary writer and witness to be. Decked in faded leather the lanky scribe and original Punk chain smokes his way through a series of witty remarks and dead-pan drollery. The man is a walking history lesson in Punk (a term he coined): he was there for it all. From the MC5, The Stooges, the Velvets and the Dolls to The Ramones and the birth of CBGB (with a whole lot of debauchery in between) Legs McNeil has been Punk’s default historian for well over four decades.
His latest endeavor is a collaboration with Joey Ramone’s brother Mickey Leigh entitled I Slept with Joey Ramone: A Family Memoir. It is a funny, revealing, and sometimes sad recollection of one of Rock and Roll’s most revered frontmen. The book is the end result of a six year composition started by Mickey Leigh (whom McNeil referred to as “the lynchpin of the Ramones”) as an article for a New York magazine. Now the endearing recollections are tied together in a family memoir whose title (after a few others were rejected: Waiting for Joey Ramone and Surviving Joey Ramone) refers to the brothers sleeping in the same bed after indulging in B-grade monster movies like The Crawling Eye.
When you are 10 years old and aspiring to be a Heavy Metal burnout-dude in the suburbs there is only one place to go: the Park. Every little suburban community has one and they are all the same: seedy little out-of-the-way bastions of adolescent decadence that are populated by miscreants, deviants and stoner daredevils of legendary proportion. Ours was a scrubby little oasis of dense underbrush that made for perfect hiding from the sightlines of adults. In one corner of the park someone had placed a wooden picnic bench as an altar. It was anointed with spilled Budweiser and consecrated with bad stoner-dude graffiti carved with various switchblades and butterfly knives.
There was always somebody around with a pocketknife and eventually every person learned the ancient art of name-carving. It was another rite of passage and the better you were the further up the ladder of respect you moved. Most of the writing on the bench was as crude and rudimentary as the method in which it was inscribed. Blunt and shaky, there was never anything more profound than people’s initials and band logos. The most elaborate carvings were usually Satanic in nature: pentagrams, inverted crosses; that sort of thing. There was always a healthy cache of Playboy magazines filched from various fathers’ sock drawers for the curious and someone had even moved a giant trash barrel in there for lighting fires at night. It was amazing that they didn’t burn the entire town to the ground.
All I wanted out of life at that time was a mullet and a denim jacket. I was young; too young to hang out with the characters who normally populated the bench on Friday and Saturday nights. I had to sneak down to the clearing on Saturday afternoons alone. On days when the park was empty I would sit at the Bench and focus on the muddied aftermath of what looked like a crime scene. The morning after a good party was always ripe with clues that told the tales and misdeeds of wasted teenage nights: empty beer cans and cigarette packs, hamburger wrappers, partially vomited beer and chunks of hamburger that had previously resided in said wrappers. I got to know the ghosts who haunted the weekend night soirees by the relics and runes they left behind. They had all sorts of not-so-unique nicknames: “Psycho” and “Ninja” and “Meat.” Creative.
It’s very rare that one finds “perfection” in anything; let alone “art.” And yet, there are those few beautiful moments when, for whatever cosmic reason, art and perfection meet and meld into one crystalline disaster of intent and execution. Slayer’s epic Reign in Blood is easily one of those moments. At the time of its release there was nothing as potent out there; nothing combined the elements of speed and heaviness the way Reign in Blood did. Now, in the greater scope of things, it’s difficult to imagine something with as garish a title as Reign in Blood could even be labeled as “perfection” (or “art” for that matter) but within the world of extreme music Reign in Blood stands alone. The best example I think I can give is the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. While that album revolutionized the genres of Rock, Pop and anything else you want to think of (as well as really setting the high mark for recording innovation) Reign in Blood did the same thing for Metal. Rick Rubin’s masterful hand was as knowing and sagacious as George Martin’s. And, yes; I am putting Slayer’s Reign in Blood in the same category as Sgt. Pepper…
by: Steven DiLodovico [Philadelphia Indie Music Examiner]
by Steven DiLodovico – [via - Philadelphia Indie Music Examiner]
For over 20 years the band that was once known as Raw Deal (and is still thought of by many people by that same name) has been a mainstay of traditional New York Hardcore. Raw Deal was another branch on the living tree that was the Sunday matinee set of CBGB’s mid-80’s Hardcore heyday. Born from trace remnants of such seminal Hardcore bands as Breakdown and Token Entry, Raw Deal (who were forced to change their name due to legal conflicts) became Killing Time and set about blazing a trail of legend armed with an undisputed classic of a demo and a reputation for incendiary live shows. In 1989 Killing Time released its debut album Brightside and was at the forefront of a vibrant and vital scene of youth culture. By the time the 90s rolled around Killing Time was at a crossroads: at the intersection of “real life” and “responsibility” the members took different turns and went about the business of growing up. Singer Anthony Comunale went into the financial sector; drummer Anthony Drago became a police officer. Music was never far from their thoughts, though. Eventually they came back together a few times over the years to record and tour but in a lot of ways the scene which they loved and helped pioneer was just not the same. Violence, politics and trend-jumping fans had fractured what was once a very tight community. Still, it never deterred the boys from coming back to their first love: music.