Interviews
by Mark Sieber

Call him the Comeback Kid.

Back in January of 1986, the names John Skipp and Craig Spector became household words for horror fans when their debut novel, THE LIGHT AT THE END, sold a million copies in its first weeks of release.

Their story of a punk vampire, prowling the streets and subways of New York City, brought a cinematic rock 'n' roll ultraviolence to mainstream horror fiction. It wound up being a major influence on horror's next generation (including BUFFY's Joss Whedon, whose character "Spike" was inspired by LIGHT's spiky-haired vampire antagonist, Rudy Pasko).

In the process, Skipp and Spector - along with Clive Barker, David J. Schow, Joe R. Lansdale, and a handful of others - revolutionized a graphic, fast-paced, no-holds-barred hardcore horror style that came to be known as "splatterpunk".

Over the next eight years, they wrote five more acclaimed novels: the savage supernatural New York vigilante fable, THE CLEANUP; perhaps the ultimate heavy-metal horror novel, THE SCREAM (which was also a New York Times bestseller); the haunting urban ghost story/short story collection, DEAD LINES; the heartbreaking end-of-the-world epic, THE BRIDGE; and the horny drunken werewolf saga, ANIMALS.

In that time, they also edited the seminal zombie anthology BOOK OF THE DEAD, and its sequel, STILL DEAD.

Then, in 1992, they moved to Hollywood and - within one short year - abruptly parted ways forever. Leaving the horror scene just as quickly as they had arrived.

In the years that followed, Skipp disappeared from the literary landscape without a trace (unless you count a trio of trippy horror stories with former Green Jello guitarist/songwriter Marc Levinthal, with whom he also wrote the freaked-out fantasy novel THE EMERALD BURRITO OF OZ, in 2000. Which, incidentally, features zombie munchkins).

But now, John Skipp has returned to public life with a vengeance. CONSCIENCE, his first published solo novel, is a brutal supernatural crime story with a tender metaphysical twist. Call it hardcore 21st century Twilight Zone noir.

Now, from Cemetery Dance, come two massively anticipated works: THE LONG LAST CALL, a full-tilt splatterpunk novel which Skipp cheerfully claims is "the first titty bar horror story with NO VAMPIRES WHATSOEVER!"; and the twelve-years-in-the-making MONDO ZOMBIE, a star-studded anthology that may well be Skipp's last word on the flesh-eating corpse phenomenon.

His website - www.johnskipp.com -- features the full range of his activities: music videos, subversive art, cultural comedy, and an ongoing column of essays called THE HARD WAY (many of which were collected into his latest book, STUPOGRAPHY, concerning "media that makes us dumber, the longer we look at it").

Writer, fledgling filmmaker, musical pornographer, straight-talking philosopher, and pretty nice guy, Skipp has reemerged as one of the most colorful figures on the modern horror scene.

For this quick interview, Skipp chose not to talk about his work, but about returning to the horror scene, and what he thinks about where it stands today.

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HW: John, how does it feel to be back in the horror fiction game?

JS: I like it very much, thank you! (laughs) It feels weird, but deeply beautiful. Cuz it's my tribe, you know? It's always sweet to go someplace where you're really appreciated for who you are, and what you do, and have actually been missed. And that's sure as shit been my experience.

The most fascinating thing, for me, has been realizing that I still had my place at the table.

HW: What do you mean?

JS: Well, hell! When you go away for twelve fuckin' years, you kind of expect that somebody else would have taken that seat. There are a lot of writers out there, you know? And some of them are amazingly good.

But when I came back, I realized very quickly that there was still a Skipp-sized hole in the horror scene. Like when Daffy Duck runs through a wall, and there's a perfectly Daffy-sized hole in the wall?

HW: Uh-huh…

JS: Well, it's a lot like that. (laughs) As it turns out, that hole was a door I could step right back through, and land pretty much where I left. Only twelve years later.

HW: I guess that begs the question: what do you think of the current scene, and how does it compare to the days when you first got started in it?

JS: If you're talking about the fan-driven scene of hardcore horror enthusiasts, you gotta understand: there were no message boards in 1986, when THE LIGHT AT THE END came out. You had conventions, and you had bookstores, and you had the U.S. Postal Service, and that was pretty much it. Hopefully, you had some nearby friends who were also into this shit. Otherwise, you were on your own, adrift in a fairly lonely world.

Conventions seem much the same - lots of smart, fun people, enormous enthusiasm, and exceptionally good times - but there's also a strange wandering-about quality to it. A kind of "the center will not hold" sensibility that I find curious. Especially in these horror times.

Like, f'rinstance: how can it be that horror films are at an all-time Hollywood production high - which is to say that THEY'RE THROWING MORE MONEY AT THEM THAN EVER BEFORE - and yet horror fiction is perceived as a ghetto that is off New York's FEMA map of priorities? Like there's no money in it at all, unless you're Koontz or King?

Many people would point at the Hollywoodization of New York publishing, and they'd be hugely correct. It's a hit-driven, star-driven industry now, more so than ever before.

Which begs the question: WHERE ARE THE NEW HORROR STARS?

Clearly, Brian Keene is the standout of the pack. He's got the chops, the passion, the love of the genre, and the sheer personality to bring it all home, in ways that people are excited about. He's the fucking rock star, right now. As well he should be.

If there's somebody else new, actually bangin' on the glass ceiling of superstardom, I sure would love to see it.

On the Serious "OMIGOD!" Artists To Watch front, I've got three names: Cody Goodfellow (RADIANT DAWN, RAVENOUS DUSK), Carlton Mellick III (BABY JESUS BUTT PLUG, THE MENSTRUATING MALL), and Mehitobel Wilson (DANGEROUS RED). None of them are poised to replace Stephen King as the mainstream arbiter of pop horror taste…but, then, they're not TRYIN' to, neither! They're just writing some of the goddamndest great new fiction I've stumbled upon, in my brief time back.

Each of them deserves - nay, DEMANDS - a trans-genre cult of their own. A very large one. Like Frank Zappa. Or The Residents. Or Laurie Anderson meets The Yeah Yeah Yeahs. If you know what I mean.

Cuz here's the thing. HORROR IS A CULT LITERATURE. It is loved by the people who love it, and shunned by everyone else.

But the weird thing is, THAT CULT IS HUGE. Take a peek at King's audience, and you see how huge it is. There are TONS of people who love this stuff.

They just don't know what-all is there.

And to make matters worse, there's A LOT OF BAD SHIT TO WADE THROUGH, on your way to finding the goods.

Cuz every time another half-baked, half-assed story rears up, it has CUT IN HALF your chance of experiencing an actually good one.

And if that happens enough, you begin to lose faith.

So, yeah, I blame the powers-that-be for picking lame shit to represent horror, both in fiction and film. But I also question whether enough people are truly stepping up to the plate, and delivering goods SO GOOD that even jaded money-people smell the fucking money. And put it out there big-time, the way it oughtta be done.

Cuz, I mean, SHIT! THESE ARE HORROR TIMES! Between the acts of God and the acts of assholes - piling up, all around us, every day - there's a whole lot to be scared of.

And the reason people still keep going to these shitty Hollywood horror films is: WE'RE REALLY FUCKING SCARED. And we need a place to put it. The world is terrifying, and horror stories are a way to scratch that itch.

So here's the failure of the modern horror community, in my opinion.

Here we are, sittin' on the most loaded dice of the new century, and we're beggin' for scraps.

What kind of bullshit is THAT?

HW: So what's your advice?

JS: Well, the sweet thing is that you're even ASKIN'. Cuz that's what retaining my seat at the table means. It means that if I tell you what I actually think, there are people who might actually give a shit.

As for my advice, it's real simple and clear.

SCRATCH THE ITCH, BABY!

Right now, the culture is crawling with terrors that it's having a real hard time coming to grips with. Most of us are so freaked out that we don't know what to do. Vote Republican? Vote Democrat? Vote "Fuck This Altogether?" (More than 50% of Americans voted precisely that way, by the way, at the last election.)

And it ain't just politics that has us freaked out. It's religion, and morality, and money, and sex. It's family, and trust, and what you love, and what you don't. It's everything that matters.

And all of it's at risk.

Insofar as I've been able to tell, art artifacts (like movies and books) score huge when they SCRATCH THE ITCH: addressing a need, in this moment in time, that everyone else has somehow missed.

Once somebody has scratched it sufficiently well, it's time to move on to the NEXT unanswered itch.

Which is why sequels almost inevitably fail. And why ripoffs are retarded, at best.

It's a whole matter of diminishing returns.

Which is what we, as horror artists, need to avoid like the fucking plague it is.

What will happen next - what will ALWAYS happen next, when it comes to "The Next Big Thing" - is that somebody will write a book that's an actual fucking EVENT. They will nail something that desperately needs to be said, and nail it beautifully.

And the second that happens, the field will be instantly revitalized again.

And - roughly twenty seconds later - drenched in instantly self-replicating derivative bullshit.

So, in that sense, nothing has changed. At all. Except for the stakes of the times we're in.

HW: One last question. John, you appear to be the happiest person in Horror. What's your secret?

JS: I don't know. Really good weed? (laughs) No, I'll tell ya what. Happiness is a skill, like writing, or fucking, or dancing, or playing guitar. It's something you work on every day, until you get really good at it. And then it's just something you do, in the course of enjoying your life.

Most people don't come to horror because they're incredibly happy. They come because they're tormented, at some point along the line. They're haunted, and good horror scratches the itch. Lets them know they're not alone, in their suffering and fear. Gives them someplace to put all those horrible feelings. And maybe have fun, or learn something, in the process.

All I can say is: horror helped me process my shit, make sense of it, and turn it to good use. It still does that, which is why I still write it.

And I do find myself asking: what is the point of writing - or putting shit out into the universe, in any form - that DOESN'T make people happier, somehow? That doesn't make us better equipped to handle this business of life, with our souls intact, and our eyes wide open, and our experience of life deeply, sweetly satisfied?

I don't see any point in that at all.

So I kinda feel like it's my job to be happy, in the face of all this horror.

If I can pull it off, that means it can be done.

But past all the high-falutin' fancy-pants crap, the fact is that I LIKE BEIN' HAPPY. And I've lived in L.A. long enough to be able to tell you, flat out: money and fame ain't gonna do it. Lots of wealthy, famous people are just miserable as shit.

The only way to be happy is to cultivate your capacity for happiness.

Practice a lot, till you're good at it.

And then maybe pass it on.

HW: Thank you, John.

JS: No, no, thank YOU! It gotta tell ya, Mark: if you hadn't brought me to the online horror world, to chat up CONSCIENCE, and let people know, I might never have realized that I still had my seat at the table.

HW: My pleasure.

JS: Mine, too!