99 Burning on purevolume™

Rock / Grunge / Psychedelic

Buy Midnight In Americal (CD and/or Book)

Every generation's literature is fueled one way or another by its music. Classic lit grew in an era dominated by classic music, the golden era of the twenties had jazz, and the beats had jazz and rock. My generation had grunge... dispirited, listless, laconic grunge. Welcome to Midnight in America, the story of John Sterling. This is a tragedy from the back of a tour bus. John is a lost suburban orphan exploring existence itself, grabbing the world by the tail and then throwing it all away. Tearing into the darkness of alienation pushed by a crazed creative energy and will to succeed. Join his detached vision of the all consumptive world of rock, lit only by the faint glow of fame and fortune. Feel the high of performing and the euphoria of success accompanied by the hangover called addiction.

John's story races like a two fisted train wreck from his angst riddled youth to his consumptive rise to fame. Along the way he meets the girl of his dreams, goes to extremes to win his love in his all or nothing way, fights inner demons, and struggles to appease his muse. Midnight in America is a CD by 99 Burning and a book by Don Eminizer. Both are on sale now. It will be released the first week of September, 2007.

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Meet the Band

99 Burning is a band reignited. In 2006 they reunited after 13 years apart. During those years one member toured for a spell with Johnny Rodz, another wrote a book, went into broadcasting and got published, while others jammed and took their shots in different bands in different projects in different directions. Ultimately, though, there was always a calling to see what they missed out on more than a decade gone by.

After recording one album called She the band self-destructed, living a rock star lifestyle on a working bands budget. Thats a story in and of itself. Don Eminizer, a former pro wrestler, writer, and poet, went on to become a broadcast writer for more than 10 years. During that time he has worked for numerous sports shows, CBS Radio, and a number of regional television series'. He lives in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania. Back in 1991 he formed the band with James Frank, a guitarist who already had a decade of experience and who had gone to school for broadcasting. After a slew of changing members, an album, their own underground night club, and 2 years as a band, they ended up with a final roster including bassist Jason Young, and drummer Keith Thomas. Shortly thereafter they fell apart. Cut to 13 years later. They reunite and plan a celebration. They decide to make their run a the heavyweight title like an aged Rocky. With families, kids, lives and all, they made a pact to see what would happen if they really tried without all the self inflicted madness that surrounded the first attempt. They put on a festival called 99 Burnings Electric Circus, it was filmed by Skipstone Productions. The goal was to find the mythic American Dream, sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll, make it into a circus. Since then there have been divorces, replacements, rip-offs, and Hollywood. Keith is currently experiencing success with his band, Dead Men Sway. Jason has been forced to focus on his family life and is raising his beautiful daughter. Along comes bassist extraordinaire Jeff Zepp and young drummer phenom Jon Clark. Hell yes. My how things have changed. They've experienced live success and local acclaim, and the music is vibrant and alive. Midnight In America is now complete, the rock trinity, the story, the multi-media, and the live event.

For booking info contact Eddie Addams:
adams880@tampabay.rr.com or (813)765-8878
copyright 99BURNING

April 20

Meet The Boys

Meet the Band

Don Eminizer is lead singer of 99 Burning. Hes a former professional wrestler, TV and radio host, author, and has been a broadcast writer for the better part of two decades. During that time hes worked for numerous sports shows, CBS Radio, and a number of regional television series. He has been published hundreds of times including articles, interviews, poems, and fiction pieces in places as varied as Common Ties, The 19th tee, Thieves Jargon, The Baltimore Sun, and the Bleacher Report. He currently writes scripts for KSNN, has a book deal with Garth Gardener Publishing Co., and has a few film projects in the works.

James Frank is a co-founder of 99 Burning along with Don. James has played guitar for nearly 25 years, perfecting his craft, and is quite skilled with the instrument. Over the years went to college and a trade school to learn the art of recording, and to better understand the broadcasting industry.

Jon Clark beats the drums like they did him wrong when he was a child. Hes 23 but he still likes the geezer rock. He supposedly likes his drums but the way he abuses them bitches this statement is doubtful. He is, however, addicted to breaking cymbals. A new type of music, in fact, pushes him to break a lot of cymbals. They call it 99 Burning. Oh, and he likes to watch Don hurt himself.

Jeff Zepp has played bass for 20 years. He has played his 4 and 5 string bases in clubs in the Mid-Atlantic since the age of 16. Jeff was married for 15 years and has one child, but as with all musicians, the music and the road came calling. The bass is back in the spotlight, as is Jeff, the newest member of 99 Burning.

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February 2

Short Order

Short order By Don Eminizer

The second I made the decision I knew it was over, the finality of it settled in, and a serene, easy calmness descended upon me. In for a pound, in for some gene pool cleansing, this was it, all or nothing. I ordered a big-ass burger. I even super sized it, too. What do I have to lose anyway, really?

Life is only so long, you might as well take the special sauce while you can.

"You know that eating this burger sentences you to hell, right?" The pimply faced, pointy hatted teenager croaks as he hands me my change.

Kids.

"I think we all know that happened when I was born." I smile as I pull to the next window.

The next dumb kid hands me a sweaty cup, a straw, four napkins, some apostles, and a player to be named later, but no fricking drink carrier. Is it too much to ask for a fricking drink carrier every time you hit the damned drive through window? REALLY. I mean, Fer the love of God, four drinks, two hands, one wheel? Do the math.

So I pull out of the entrance with the arrow pointing the other way. Oops. I'd think I was an ass if I was somebody else but I'm not so it's cool.

What do I care anymore? I just ordered a juicy artery-clogging-heart-mortaring-may-not-see-the-morrow meal anyway, with cheese. I'll get high on the cholesterol for decades.

I cross four lanes mid-speed at noon on Friday-- first of the month. This is more dangerous than it sounds, as every other car is a fossilized Lincoln casket carrying old cranky timeless working stiffs on permanent vacation out shopping on pension day, and every other car carries some kid who just got paid on his way to try and get out of work so he can attempt to get lucky.

I make it home in one piece ten minutes ahead of schedule, j-u-s-t beating my funeral out by a couple of minutes.

I see they forgot to put the toy in the happy meal. Joy. God bless the happy meal, it makes kids materialistic and shallow while they're still singing Barney ditties. It starts them off right and wrong at the same time. Oh, and God help the guy that ever invented the happy meal if he ever crosses my path. I'll insert nickel priced toys by the handful into his rectum until his eyes bleed plastic mannequins of fuzzy characters from stupid kid movies with stickers in little plastic baggies. Amid all the screams and laments and wails and complaints-- my wife is loud-- my course becomes clear to me.

So back I go. I'll spend $10 in gasoline and 30 minutes of my life on a stupid toy that I could buy for a dime.

Hell isn't some destination in the afterlife. It's served fifty billion times a day in a toy-less TV dinner prepared in a building buried beneath golden arches across a four lane highway filled with cars full of people with nothing better to do.

I get back after the ten minute argument with the 10 watt manager over the ten cent toy. The police should be coming any minute now. Ill give the guy his teeth back, I swear. I hand my son the little stupid plastic doll, proud, in my fine hunter-gatherer fashion. His eyes get big as he spies the toy. Maybe this nightmare was worth all the fuss after all.

My son shrugs and throws the toy in the trash.

I already have that one Dad.

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February 2

The Competitor

The Competitor By Don Eminizer

They had all come out in the miserable November weather to see the quarterback. Well, he used to be a quarterback, but those days had long since passed him by. He hadn't taken an NFL snap in nearly thirty years, but they still came out by the hundreds in the rain on a cold Wednesday night just to hear the man speak about his glory days and his thoughts on the Ravens. The parking lot of Tully's was stuffed full of cars, most of which had brought people to see this man do his weekly talk radio show. Tully's was a nice little family restaurant in a suburb of East Baltimore called Middle River, and it was lucky to have this kind of turnout on the busiest of Holiday weekends, let alone on a weeknight. Of course these people weren't here just to eat crab cakes or to drink a few cold ones. They couldve easily done that in the warmth of their own homes. They were here to see Johnny Unitas, the quarterback, the golden arm himself. He was here to discuss football, present, past, and future.

Johnny Unitas was one of those rare athletes that changed the way the game was played. Like Babe Ruth in baseball, there are stats before Johnny Unitas played the game, and there are stats after Johnny Unitas played the game. Like Babe Ruth, Tiger Woods, and Michael Jordan in their respective sports as well, the rules of NFL football were changed to make the playing field more level after Johnny U set records in nearly every important quarterback statistic around. He still holds the record for most consecutive games with a passing touchdown, and still registers in the top ten in most important passing categories. Johnny Unitas is a sports legend in America, a Hall of Famer, but in Baltimore, God sits at his right hand.

The place was mobbed as I walked in, jammed to the rafters. Waitresses were hustling and bartenders were stressed, trying to keep up with all the business. In the center of the room there was an open space about thirty feet by thirty feet wide. In the center behind a mixing console sat the legendary quarterback, flanked by a couple engineers and the show's host, Tom Davis. People could have easily mobbed the stage, with the obvious lack of security, but I guess out of respect and reverence, no one did. There was an organized line of autograph seekers, seemingly endless, waiting for a few seconds of precious time with Johnny U. I was there on business, delivering footballs for the quarterback to sign from WJFK, the station that was broadcasting the show. They were to be Christmas presents for important advertisers. There must have been fifty of them.

I approached the stage cutting in front of the line and Tom Davis came up to stop me.

"TJ sent me." I said, raising the footballs for him to see. One of the engineers I knew from the station waived hello and Tom let me through, going back to his dinner as show time neared. I approached the great man and sat the balls gently at his feet. He looked tired, but smiled at me anyway. He was busy taking pictures with some young happy couple, and as tired as he appeared, he genuinely seemed happy to meet them.

"I see you brought me some work." He said.

"Yes sir. They're from TJ."

He nodded, picking a ball up. A woman a few years younger than Johnny rushed over and placed a Sharpie in his hands so he could start signing the balls. That was when I noticed his fingers. They were mangled. They were beyond mangled. He had eight fingers and two thumbs that pointed in fourteen different directions. He couldn't hold the pen or grip it. The woman had to slide the marker in between his crooked knuckles. His NFL years had obviously been rough. I wasn't sure how he could eat, much less sign with that grip, but he did. How did he ever throw a football? He began signing one ball after another.

"This is my wife Sandy." He said. Another fan was ushered before him, and he stopped signing long enough to take a photograph.

Sandy pulled me off of the stage and I followed her to a table in the back. There were a few guys from work and some friends and family of the Unitas'. We ate and drank and watched the show, and I was spellbound the whole time. After it was over Johnny came back to the table, sat down and relaxed. He was in his seventies at least and it was nearly eleven o'clock at night. It was really time to go and let the man be.

"I never had a chance to see you play other than on film." I said to him. What do you say to a legend? "My father and uncle idolize you though. They got to go out to the airport and wait for the team to return after a big game one year, and you took the time to acknowledge them. It made their year."

"Did we win or lose?" He asked.

"Lost to the Rams and just missed the playoffs." I said. I'd heard the story too many times.

"Ah, '67." He nodded wistfully. "We should have won that game." He leaned over and picked up a couple balls. "What were their names?" He asked. This time his grandson helped him with the Sharpie. I tried to tell him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted. It was the greatest gift I ever gave my Dad and my Uncle. Probably the greatest gift they ever received.

The next day we went golfing at a nice golf club in Carroll County. Again, Johnny insisted, and my boss, TJ, went with us. Johnny's grandson had to strap the clubs to Johnny's wrist because he couldn't grip them with his hands. He shot a 72. I shot 116, and I usually break 90. It was a tough course.

At lunch Super Bowl III was brought up and he grimaced at the mention of Don Shula, the Hall of Fame coach he apparently didnt like. I asked him if he would've won the game had he started. One of his friends said that he was injured, but Johnny just shrugged.

"I wouldn't have needed a full half." He said quietly.

I believed him. He was the greatest quarterback that ever played the game. He didnt need to lie to me.

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November 10

Exerpt from Down and Out...

Eddie G. was a slick old bastard. In fact, Slick Eddie G is what he called himself, apparently he was creative too, as he sat down and drank from your coffee, hed tell you how cold it was and how it needed cream and sugar. Irish cream in the little cups with a shot of 15 year old whiskey. Welcome to the world of radio and the slime pit of mass marketing that controls the airwaves. His sweat was expelled only in the proper saunas, and his improper fantasy of making it with a boy was allowed to reign free in the proper stalls fed by the proper channels for the proper cash deposit in the proper offshore account. Eddie G. smelled of money from five states away, he pissed change and farted annuities, and Steve and I were sweating having to be raped by him. REE-REE-REE, just like a hog, in the backwoods called boardrooms that Eddie G. called home. We had stayed up all night smoking dope and drinking beer and snorting speed. What else could we have done?

So you boys have a radio show? Eddie G. smiled. I might as well have bent over and kissed my ankles. My ass was about to be drilled.

Uhm, a wrestling show... Steve said.

I sensed deer in headlights, and decided to assume command.

We have a cushion of cash, and I think we can sell enough ads to purchase some time. I broke out a pie chart, the whole fucking nine.

How many weeks can you guarantee? Eddie G. of the greasy palms asked.

How much?

Mmmhmm. He harrumphed, eyeing us up. How old are you boys?

What does it matter?

Good answer. Eddie G. beamed. He circled like a rabid shark, like an oil sheik smelling a vein that he could tap into. One that came cheap and with a virgin to boot.

How much? I repeated. I had balls. I wasnt here for me, so I had balls.

Well, Eddie G. sighed, his gold plated sigh, it goes for $1500.00 an hour, prime time Saturday in 96 markets, that is.

I think he was pretending I wasnt there.

How much? I held my ground.

We like Steve and I like the idea. You can have it for $500.00 an hour if you can guarantee 8 weeks.

There it was.

I think I can guarantee 10. I replied. But Ill have to check and see.

- - - - - -

Whadaya think? Ed asked The Bounty Hunter. Bounty looked at me. I downed my beer. It was a bar for Gods sake. I had just laid out the proposal in reverse. What we could sell, 14 minutes of ads at $200.00 an ad if we could pull it off. The hour cost $500.00 in prime time. We could make our money back and more, except I had no money, it was theirs.

Ok. They agreed. Steve was playing chess with the salt and pepper shakers, using the equal packets as pawns and the straws and napkins for the other pieces. A red drink straw made a striking bishop. Steve was driving so he had to stay sober. He was laced to the gills on PCP.

Im a master salesman. Said Ed. Shit, I almost puked laughing inside. Im taking classes and channeling positive energy to achieve my goals.

Great. We can sell programs too.

Checkmate you bastards. Steve added.

Who is he again? Phil asked.

I work for the American Radio Networks. Steve said on cue, upright and alert. His military ailment had not fully left his system. My name is Steve. I engineer Saturdays overnight.

Okay. Ed smiled. Bounty nodded with his mane flinching like a kings robe. It was settled then.

Saturdays at 8:00 p.m. would belong to pro-wrestling and the AWF, at least on the American Radio Networks it would. We were in business, at least right then.

Steve offered an Equal pack to Phil, who was drinking beer and declined.

I think we had a deal.

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August 19

A clockwork napalm...

Ok boys and girls and wayward souls lost like me and even you straight fuckers that just like to poke their heads in the tent and stare at the freaks Here we come

Guess what we have in store for you A live Electric Circus a video of 99burning to be shot at a big old freak power festival twistoons and live music comedy poetry whacked out lit We have us an event, yes, thats it Not a phantom or a tale

We have 99Burnings Electric Circus On Saturday October 21st at The House Of Rock in Baltimore, Md. more details coming soon, but the thing is nearly booked and I have to say that my walls are melting so I better make this fast & Im seeing

Jimmies Chicken Shack headlining the event High is one badass tune, children Unfortunately JCS is not able to make this gig... so there's hassles.... bullshit... problems booking... but wait... I see Almighty Senators... YES!!! a local legend...

I see Voodoo Blue as well A fucking awesome band, already well on their way...

I see warped floors and thriving crowds and drinking and rioting no wait Thats the news I see 7 bands including Dead Men Sway, Skurj, Girls Like Cigarettes, and the 99Burning reunion I see mad poets and Mike Boyle and maybe some others too

I see comics headlined by D.C. Benny who's working radio with Jim Breuer right now... and a guest emcee to be named shortly off of local 98 Rock... WIYY

I should have the whole thing set in stone by mid week venue, event, whole nine yards, those interested in mass hysteria, joy, booze, tunes, laughs, and general freaked out weirdness need only check the 99burning front page, purevolume, or myspace spots throughout the week Tickets will be available shortly on Ticketmaster

Now back to these melting walls

Im trapped in a basement office with no windows this weekend working on interviews (got some good ones coming kiddies), this live concert playing phone tag and e-mail swap is no damned fun though you get some cool material to weed through in the mail and now Im finally working on Episode 11 I smoked frosted flakes this morning for fear of leaving the house to find something better and more mind altering to smoke they were good, although very hard to light and the milk kept putting them out

Anyway, before the shadows attack, & they are circling me now in a very menacing way, rolling across the floor as if to compliment the warping walls Lets get on with episode 11 Dave Scotese interviews best selling author Julie Kenner Billectric hits up Litkicks Levi Asher in part one of a two part seriesplus all the regular goodies Mike Boyle, Alexander Graham Death and his frizzy hair of doom, Jim Cherry, and Paul Madore plus a new writer Julia Q Well review Jimmies Chicken Shack since that seems relevant for some reason that burns inside me and yet haunts me at the same time

The phone is ringing, pipes are spewing out venomous streams of water into sloppy puddles which the old lady is bitching about, kids are screaming, dogs are getting nutted and high on doggy pain killers (tried one and it didnt do shit for me) and yap, yap, yapping at phantom noises

In short its time to go, so as I burn down-down-&-out like a candle flame, you forge on, forget about me, make it out yourself, and enjoy the show

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ipromisedu

LOVE UR SONGS!!!!

posted Dec 03

Guild Radio

We are looking for indie artist of all types to grant
permission for their songs to be played on our internet
radio station. Our station will go live once we have
reach a minimum of 600 songs (Hopefully no later than
January 1st). If you would like to grant permission to
use your material, please goto the link below and
follow the instructions there so that we can getyou on
the air. Thanks for your time and look forward to
working with you, and feel free to leave any questions
for me on our forums. Ozone Program
Director http://mmoradio.e107deluxe.org/page.php?5

posted Nov 11