October 11, 2010
Justin Pearson is a busy guy, and has been for more than 2 decades. Not only does his creative output include bands like The Locust, Swing Kids, Struggle, Holy Molar, Some Girls, The Crimson Curse, and recently All Leather, all the while running one of San Diego’s most influential and consistent labels, Three One G.
While working on Touchable Sound, which features a grip of Three One G and Peason-related records, as well as an original essay from JP on his approach to and experiences with Three One G, he told us about his latest undertaking, a memoir entitled From the Graveyard of the Arousal Industry. We waited anxiously for this book to be published, and finally it has. Gripping, honest, visceral, and at times hysterical, the book is a must read not only for those familiar with Pearson’s work, but those interested in the experiences, memories, and thoughts of a man whose life you simply couldn’t make up. As Nick Zinner states, “JP’s writings are as inspiring as they are brutally honest, filled with amazing tales of beating odds and getting beat. A true punk legend.” We asked Justin if we could share an excerpt, and he graciously said yes.
From Justin:
At times I wonder if I’m really a musician. And lately I have definitely wondered if I’m a writer. Needless to say, I wrote and published a book since I have stories to tell about some absurd and some not so absurd things that pertain to my life. Anything from getting beat up by “Nazi” skinheads, to some bullshit Jerry Springer TV prank that I can’t seem to shake. If it’s not The Locust starting a riot, it’s a baby cockroach flying in my ear, but no matter what it’s never boring in my world. I just contributed art and words to the book Touchable Sound and with that, I would like to share an excerpt from my book, From the Graveyard of the Arousal Industry, which was published by Soft Skull Press earlier this year:
On The Locust’s next tour, we hit the East Coast and managed to get a show at a typical all-day festival featuring one crappy “play on the floor” band after another in the fine town of Who Really Cares, North Carolina. It was a clever mix of straightedge and white trash. We stuck out like a sore thumb—a beaner, a towelhead, and a couple throwbacks. Everyone thought we were total fags. And we were stuck there. We broke into a nearby church and stole a bunch of mics to ease the pain of that long, hot day. I slept in the baptismal tub for a few hours to avoid the blistering heat and humidity. But when it was time to play, it got a lot worse than we expected.
Our set was about four songs long. During the first three songs, the audience was as hostile as they could be. This shithead in front of me kept kicking the mic stand. When I went to sing, it would smack against my teeth and he’d laugh. After the third song, I told him if he did it again, I’d fuck him up. As the next song started, he kicked the mic stand and I headbutted him without missing a beat. When the song was over, I noticed blood on the floor in front of me. His girlfriend was yelling at us. Joey spat at her, Gabe gave us a four count, and we went into another song. But some people in the audience were trying to physically stop us from playing. We decided our set was over. Gabe ran outside to get some fresh air since the missing sound guy could not give us oxygen in the stage monitors. He came back to inform us our van had been vandalized. I threw off my mesh vest and started to charge outside, ready to fight, but Gabe stopped me. Apparently the brother of the guy I had headbutted punched our van’s headlight; his fist broke the glass, which slashed a major artery in his wrist. Blood spewed all over the front of the van, and the paramedics were called. It was probably good that I didn’t make it outside to fight the guy since I was only wearing hot pants and sneakers.
Our roadie went to the van to make sure it wasn’t getting completely destroyed. We packed up our gear, and tried load it into the van through the crowd. By the time we were loaded up—if you can call throwing everything in the back and hoping the doors would close “loading up”—the cops had showed up and started arresting people. There was a police helicopter in the air and police dogs on the ground. People were demanding money back for our merchandise they’d bought. Some even threw the stuff back at us. Everyone was yelling at us, but we weren’t taking their shit.
We managed to pull away from the parking lot without getting arrested or beaten up. On the drive out a car followed us for a while, but we lost it by running a couple red lights. We ended up at some guy’s apartment in the next town over. We’d become friends with him earlier that day while trying to pass time as the plethora of crummy bands played. We woke up in the morning to find our van’s tire had been slashed. We just changed out the flat with our spare and were on our way. I never understood why someone would only slash one tire. If you really want to be a badass, you should slash all of the tires. But I suppose a badass would have just kicked our asses in person.
The tour was absurdity from there on out. Another show, somewhere upstate New York, was the same old run-of-the-mill mockery from a predictable audience. I knew that we were Jedis when some dickhead talked shit to us before we even played a note and got nowhere. Our lack of response resulted in him spitting on me for no apparent reason. As the spit dripped down my chest onto my mesh vest, I spat back without a thought. Now, this shot I took was without aim, concentration, or hesitation. It was exactly like the part in Star Wars: A New Hope when Luke blew up the Death Star. My spit went straight into this heckler’s mouth as he was leaning back, mouth open, cracking himself up after making a string of dumb comments about our band. I spun around toward my amp, amazed, tense, waiting to get socked in the head. I stood there, only a few feet from this guy, wearing my uniform, which consisted of a mesh vest with reflective stripping, hot pants, goggles, and sneakers. Nothing happened, and I then knew that the four of us Locusts had evolved.
Our fifth (and final!) edition in the Vinyl is Forever series is out now, designed by the always incredibly 
We are thrilled and very thankful for the incredible turn out at our past events for our new book, 
Our entire 2010 collection is out and shipping now! The collection, featuring 5 renowned design studios / fashion designers and designs for 10 supremely talented and influential bands, is just what you’ve come to expect from us – one-of-a-kind designs printed on quality, limited edition garments. The bands and designers featured are:
