The fiery killer

Monica, Sex and Rock 'n' Roll

Monica, Sex and Rock 'n' Roll  

The army, as mentioned, was a terrible waste of time for the band. So it's true that we wrote lots of new songs, we were creatively inspired by the depression we absorbed there, and it is true that we slightly improved our playing ability (nothing like practicing a quick finger run on a rifle barrel as a guitar replacement, or drumming on giant pots during kitchen masts) - but the bottom line was Grief: A loss of three years.


Good things happened to us during this time as well. For example - punk poet Kobe Or found his way to us. Can't remember exactly how, but it must have been about the fanzine we spent. In general, many important connections with characters that later became prominent in the sphere of punk and rock in the country began to make him "nasty". Kobe Or had a beautiful and stylish reporter. Each letter from him was a celebration of fine and interesting text. We also got to talk on the phone quite a bit. His soft, feminine voice greatly worried my mother. He, for his part, reported to us in his letters about the women visiting his bed. Shebede later admitted the stories from his feverish mind. The character of "Bear" in the novel "The Ride" I wrote a few years later is based on it.


Kobe played an important role in the band's development. He was a 30-year-old at the time, and we haven't scratched the 20 yet. His very interest in punk music in general and his son in particular, at his remarkable age, gave us the legitimacy to stick to what we did. We were also thrilled to discover someone who knew - and in fact, in a much deeper way than us - all the bands we admired. At that time it was really rare. We gleaned in Pinca people who knew and loved the punk heroes and their characters. In Israel in the late 1970s we were few and unusual. We felt like an elite unit.


Kobe Or was interested in what we did and recorded, and encouraged us to keep going. To this day I keep all his letters he sent to me. In fact, I keep almost every paper and document relating to Killer. Including posters and ads from a later period, which we used to peel from souvenir billboards.


As part of the military service, my paths intersected with Meir Levy, who was then commander of the Military Police (Investigating Police) South, and of course - also with the amazing Monica Friedman, who was then a military soldier at the headquarters. It kind of stunned me that the commander (then still a regular in the post, then he advanced on the ranks and also on the command scale) obsessed with rock music. Meir told me he had many hundreds of records. Almost every record I could think of. An innovative Yamaha synthesizer CS15D, one weekend he invited me to his parents' house in Petah Tikva, where I was amazed at the looks of his huge collection, his records arranged in exemplary order, like disciplined soldiers. In a strict shop.


Meyer's musical tastes turned out to be much wider and varied than mine. I went through the records with a tight look on my eyes, some of them pulled out and patted my hands as well. very carefully. I was obsessed with records. And Palm was like me, too. The ultimate pastime for us in our teens was to spend hours in record stores in Haifa and Tel Aviv. We made friends with the sellers, and hungered for their recommendations on new records or artists we d