DiWulf Publishing House Begins Production on Next Book: "Somewhere Below 14th & East: The Lost Photography of Karen O'Sullivan" by Ray Parada

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It is with great excitement and with a deep sense of cultural import that DiWulf Publishing House formally announces plans for its next release: Somewhere Below 14th & East: The Lost Photography of Karen O'Sullivan by Ray Parada. As publishers, a book like this comes along once in a lifetime, and we could not be more honored to have the chance to publish what will be a significant addition to the long and vibrant history of New York subculture. Somewhere Below 14th & East is a book that has been in the making for literally decades, and now the time has come for these stunning photographs to be seen by the rest of the world. And now, thanks to the tireless efforts of curator Ray Parada and the generosity of Karen O'Sullivan, we all get to see the world of street culture as Karen saw it. This story has been a long time coming (as has recognition for Karen's brilliance) and now, with loving effort and care between curator, author, and publisher, it can be told. We, as readers, are invited into an intimate space of Karen's visual life and perspective. And the backstory to the creation of this book is almost as compelling as Karen's photographs.

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Karen and Ray share a long, storied friendship that goes back to the early '80s NYHC scene. Karen was a fixture at the shows and the hangouts; always with her camera at the ready. But, make no mistake: this is not just another "scene book." While there are many photos of the kids who made up the early NYHC scene, there is a plethora of shots depicting everyday life on Manhattan's Lower East Side. Hip-Hop pioneers, boxers at the earliest stages of their careers, street kids, poets and rockers inhabit the gritty, black and white landscape that Karen captured. This is a book documenting youth culture in all its frenetic, wild, outrageous, and sometimes dangerous glory. 

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Karen's images are stark, bold, sometimes haunting, and full of youthful exuberance, and many of the images collected for Somewhere Below 14th & East have never been seen before. Ray Parada is the curator of this massive archive of photos that were thought to be lost, and through his insight and guidance he has collected a narrative of the life of some of the wild characters that ran the streets of the LES during a time when it was often dangerous to walk those streets after dark.

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Music, of course, is the common denominator in most of this story, but there is so much more to this book. Karen's eye is unrivaled; her sense of timing and perspective is eerily beautiful and savagely poignant. 

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Elements of New Wave, No Wave, Punk Rock, Hip Hop, and almost every other sub-genre of NYC subculture are represented in Karen's photos, and Ray has spent decades collecting and arranging them with the careful eye of someone who reveres the time and imagery Karen's shots reflect.

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We here at DiWulf are ecstatic to have the honor of publishing this one-of-a-kind book and we are very grateful to Ray for deciding to do this with us. What Ray has curated, through the unblinking lens of Karen's perspective, is a cultural lesson in life on the streets during a time of fertile artistic revolution. Hardcore was new and unheard of; Hip-Hop was just beginning to make its impact on the world. The confluence of energies was raw, vital, and fervent. From the underground clubs that gave birth to a new, chaotic, musical movement, to the seedy bars and clubs that provided havens for the addicted and the creative, and down below where mainstream life and the squares were not allowed to infiltrate; Somewhere Below 14th & East traverses the squats and the sewers; the crime and the lunacy that was New York in the '80s.

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Somewhere Below 14th & East contains images and anecdotes from the likes of Joe StrummerAllen GinsbergIan MacKayeJack RabidFreddy Alva, Harley FlanaganJimmy G., The Misfits, and many, many more luminaries of the Punk, Hip-Hop, art, literature, and Hardcore scenes. It features many shots of kids just hanging around, lost and looking for some meaning. It tells a tale, through iconic imagery, of the search for creative outlet; of a meaningful existence in the face of futility. And, most of all, it celebrates the sheer joy of being young.

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As the '80s wore on, Karen unfortunately was diagnosed with the devastating disease MS. As a tribute to her strength and light, DiWulf has teamed up with Ray to bring this important cultural document to fruition. A large bulk of the proceeds will go towards helping Karen's medical expenses and care. The life and times Karen captured with her camera are incredibly important and need to be preserved. It is the mission of DiWulf Publishing House to make sure this book, and others like it, are seen and that the DIY culture of life before the Internet is understood by those who did not live through it. We could not be happier to be bringing this book to life.

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As with all DiWulf books, look for Somewhere Below 14th & East to be beautifully printed and laid out with gorgeous, glossy paper stock. This will be a VERY limited release and we will be working with Ray's brother; Ernie Parada, to design special prints and limited edition silkscreen covers for individual editions. We are going to make something very special here for those who appreciate the artful construction of media. We here at DiWulf are book lovers first and foremost, and we make the kinds of books we would be proud to display on our own bookshelves. It is with this philosophy which we operate. We only work with projects we are passionate about and we only work with artists and authors who share that same intense passion.

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Right now the book is tentatively scheduled for a Spring 2018 release. Keep checking this site, as well as all of our social media platforms to stay updated on the process. As always, we appreciate the support of those like-minded folks who appreciate independent art and literature.

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DiWulf Publishing House: We Specialize in only the Heaviest of Lit.

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When Amy Met Steven: A Not So Brief History of DiWulf Publishing and the Little Book That Could...

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By: Steven DiLodovico

I often get asked how I got involved with co-writing No Slam Dancing. Did I know Amy from back in the day? That sort of thing. It’s kind of a funny story. Well, you may find some smiles in it; to me it’s more of a rescue tale than anything else. A harrowing escape, it was. From the depths of a hell-filled indignity I arose… ok, that’s a bit much.

But, for real, she did get my ass out of a bad, bad situation.

I had been living in Charlotte, North Carolina (don’t ask, it’s an even longer story than this, and one I am not at all fond of) for a few years doing nothing but existing. That, and informally adopting colonies of feral cats. I worked in the service industry; a befitting fate for someone as miserable and un-customer-service-friendly as I. I hated it. I hated my life. My wife was just as miserable. The business of existing was thoroughly inhibiting our desire to live.

I was scratching out a few bucks here and there doing some freelance writing. I hated that, too. Lots of “ehow.com” how-to articles for $15 a pop. You know; the big money. I had neither talent nor drive. I hated writing; I hated the act of writing and the self-abasement contained therein. Mostly I just couldn’t stand the sound of my voice in my head dictating the words.

I had a small gig; I forget who it was for, to write about my own experiences in the Philly hardcore scene of the ‘80s. It was nothing major, but it was better than writing step-by-step instructions for changing turntable belts and the other dumb shit I was writing. The piece was turning into more of an essay/memoir than an actual historic document. I was recalling all the great shows I had seen in such hallowed venues as Pizzazz, Revival and such, and I thought to myself; what about that place in Jersey we always went to? City Gardens? I honestly had not thought about City Gardens in well over 10 years. I figured I had to at least give the place a mention, since it had been so important to me at the time. When I was going there I knew practically nothing about the place. I knew there was some guy named randy who ran the place, and I knew that most of the Philly promoters absolutely hated him. That’s about all I had to go with, so I figured I better do some research.

There was no Facebook or Twitter or any of that other shit (Facebook may have been in its infancy at the time; this was late in 2007. If Facebook did exist, I sure didn’t know about it.) I went with the standard Google search and, surprisingly, found very little information about City Gardens. I did find something called “The Seedy Gardeners Group.” It was a Yahoo news group kind of deal, where members went back and forth with conversations via group emails (how quaint!). So I joined and began throwing about general questions asking to speak to anyone who attended shows (specifically hardcore shows) at City Gardens. Just about all of the responses I got were to the effect of: “most of us in this group went to the dance nights at City Gardens and were more into new wave than hardcore. Sorry.” I had effectively given up when I got this message from a woman named Amy:

Email me off group. I have a calendar with every City Gardens show.

Intriguing, to say the least. I emailed her. She told me she was writing a book about City Gardens and she had compiled a calendar with show dates and bills that covered about 15 years’ worth of the club’s existence. Now that was pretty fucking impressive. She sent me something called a PDF file. I had no idea what that was and it took me four days to figure out how to open it. Once I did, though, the floodgates opened and there was no stopping the heavy rush of nostalgia and sentimentality that washed over me. So many shows… So many that I had forgotten more than I remembered (there would come a time, a few years later when I was fully immersed in the writing of this book, where old friends would tell me detailed accounts of shows I had been to with them that I had no memory of. This would become a very common occurrence).

I was at a dead end. I had nothing... I thought of all the people I needed to interview and it just made me want to get drunk and forget the whole thing. My efforts to bamboozle someone - ANYONE - into doing this book with me came to nothing. And then this message appeared from some a-hole I never heard of. Steve? Who was this dick?
— Amy Yates Wuelfing

Even stronger than the memories of the shows was the memory of friends I hadn’t seen in so many years. The fun times, the scary times… everything we shared. I was very excited that someone was writing a book about City Gardens, and I enthusiastically volunteered to help in any way I could. Amy offered to send me a chapter she already had done and I couldn’t wait to read it. She sent me a link to a site called the Rumpus. They had posted the (now-infamous) story of the Butthole Surfers wreaking havoc in their own, special way. I was blown away. It wasn’t just the story that got me; it was the format. I had never read an oral history before. I quickly dashed off several of my own recollections and sent them to Amy. We began chatting through email. Amy and I were from two different eras. I was the young late-comer to everything; uninterested in anything that wasn’t hardcore, thrash, etc. The hard stuff. Amy was a new wave/dance night girl who covered a lot of early hardcore while doing her ‘zine Hard Times in the early ‘80s. We both had our areas of expertise and it was almost too perfect how complementary they were.

A few months went by and I kept sending Amy stories. I must have sent over a dozen, and I hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of my City Gardens life. I really wanted to contribute to this book. Again, it was the format that pulled me in so deeply. All these different perspectives telling their details of the same story. It was sometimes contradictory and sometimes eerie the way two strangers would point out the smallest details and describe them identically. Meanwhile, Amy and I formed an electronic friendship. I would write her early in the morning before I left for my soul-killing job and return home each night to her reply. No, I didn’t have a phone where I could check email. I didn’t even have a flip phone then. Just a landline. I was always excited when I saw her name in my inbox, and always disappointed when I didn’t. She became a lifeline to my home and my previous life. I wanted in, and I was going to keep pestering her until she asked. I asked her if she had any contacts into the world of the later hardcore bands; the post-’86 wave. She didn’t. Either did I, really, but then I found this Facebook thing…

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PART II

So, there I was: stuck in Carolina and writing like a madman. Writing to live, really. I got by on more “how-to” articles, interviewing bottom-of-the-barrel porn stars (true story!), and freelancing for a bunch of Hip Hop Magazines. I got to interview some really cool people, and it was fun and all, but I wasn’t making any money. Every week something got cut off; electric, water, gas… It was a laughable combination of juggling and plate-spinning, and each day something new crashed. And me on my psychotic unicycle looking ridiculous amidst the buffoonery.  And with each shut-off notice came that dull, impotent anger and guilt-ridden shame of not being an earner of any worth. I just wanted to write; to disappear into that page and forget everything around me but it’s hard when you have a wife staring at you, wondering how the bills are going to get paid…

Each day got a little brighter, though; messages from Amy were a godsend. We would have these really great conversations through email and things were beginning to really click between us. Amy had a very motherly persona; I could tell that even before I heard her voice. As evidence I point to her many stray cat adoptions. She’s that lady in the neighborhood that feeds all the lowly wretches; she has room in her heart for every unkempt straggler, both human and animal. Amy was also very structured, organized and able to get shit done. I could tell just from her emails. She wrote me a proper resume to help me get a decent job (I had no problem getting jobs, I’m hip to the interview gimmick and how it works. What I was not good at was keeping my mouth shut long enough to actually keep the job. I usually got fired after about 6 months. But that’s a whole ‘nother story…)

I was really, really interested in her book. I wanted to be a part of it any way I could and I pestered her with every little thing I could remember about City Gardens. At this point, I’m pretty sure we hadn’t even talked on the phone yet.

I started contacting people; bands mostly. Almost every person I contacted from the hardcore scene of my era was enthusiastic and helpful. Jordan Cooper at Revelation Records gave me email addresses of a large part of the Rev roster circa 87-91. Every person I spoke to turned me on to two or three new contacts and it kept growing. The first person I interviewed was Richie Birkenhead. In my mind, it may as well have been Bowie or someone of that stature. I was that much of a fan and I was incredibly nervous. Luckily it was a phone interview. Richie was very mellow, very nice and endured a good two hours of me gushing about how much I loved all of his bands. Again: I couldn’t have been more un-punk.

I would transcribe these interviews from cheap microcassettes that had been used in a tape (TAPE??) recorder that was at least 25 years old. I’d send them off to Amy and tell her to do whatever she wanted with them. I didn’t care; at that point I was just excited to connect with people whose music had been such a big part of my life. Well, I guess my insidious plan of constant bombardment worked, because soon enough I got an email “formally” asking me to co-author No Slam Dancing with her. Fuck YEAH!

It’s fair to say that that day, that question changed my life forever.

I began conducting more and more interviews. All phoners; all done with my pitiful little tape recorder running the whole time. One interview would lead to two more introductions; conversations of, “oh, you should really talk to this person. They have a lot of City Gardens’ stories.” The scope of this thing began to unfold exponentially. It was very exciting to me; I had never attempted anything so ambitious and the escape it provided was invaluable. When I couldn’t even scrape together enough money to buy new microcassettes, I’d tell Amy, and within a day or two there’d be a package in the mail straight from some office supply chain with packs of tapes. When I couldn’t pay my phone bill to actually do the interviews, Amy would say, “send me the information,” and within an hour it would be back on and working. I’m not proud of these things, but this is the absolute truth. She had never met me, and was doing all this for me. For my family. Without having laid eyes on her, I was ready to do anything she wanted. In an instant she was elevated to that skinhead level of “I would take a bullet for this person” devotion. In my world, that’s the highest honor I could bestow on anyone, and Amy is more than deserving.

But, still, there was a lot of work to be done…

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PART III: Amy’s Version

Since Steve is giving his side of the story of how we met – I will give mine.

I started working on this book years ago. How many? I don’t know. I say 15, but I fear it’s been longer than that. Finnegans Wake took less time. The Brooklyn Bridge was built in less time. At times I said I was done with this stupid project, screw it, I’m not doing it. But the Universe was having none it. The story of City Gardens and Randy Now was getting told. By me. No way around it.

I had one bright shining moment when the Butthole Surfers piece was published on The Rumpus – and then nothing. I was at a dead end.  I had nothing. I would sit there looking at interview transcripts and wonder, What the hell am I supposed to do with this? I thought of all the people I needed to interview and it just made me want to get drunk and forget the whole thing. My efforts to bamboozle someone – ANYONE – into doing this book with me came to nothing. And then this message appeared on the Seedy Gardens Yahoo newsgroup from some a-hole I never heard of.  Steve? Who was this dick? He was all like, I went to City Gardens and does anyone have a list of shows?  My first impulse was to ignore it, but I couldn’t.

Emails were exchanged and I could tell this was the sucker, ah – I mean person – I was waiting for. And he knew that whole later era of City Gardens, the era when I had sort of stopped going as much.  Literally, a prayer had been answered.

I think the point is never give up. If you’re a creative person and you hit hard times, JUST KEEP GOING. Don’t let circumstances take your vision away. Ever.  Keep doing the work, keep producing. You never know what you’ll encounter. It could be life-changing.  It was for us.

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PART IV

Social media made No Slam Dancing happen; made it a reality. Suddenly, digging up legends from the past was simple. Contacting them was even easier. Selling them on participating in a book about City Gardens was the easiest part of the entire process. The people who played there had almost as strong a connection with the place as the people who went there. I don’t want to speak in such sacrilegious terms, but I have to imagine the kind of reverence I got from people when they spoke of City Gardens was similar to that which people attached to CBGB’s. I’m not comparing the two clubs (or scenes) by any means, just saying that people had a fondness for City Gardens that went beyond just the structure of the building.

Well, I was working hard; every day was spent engulfed in this world of the past. I found old friends (“show friends”) and we would re-live those great memories through pictures of shows, old fliers, etc. I was getting a lot of interviews on tape; connecting with a lot of people. But there was a wall I was hitting: I was too far away, geographically speaking. I needed to get home.

And, in so many ways, this is what the whole City Gardens project was about for me: going home. I had been away 10 years and now it was time. I couldn’t get anything done being so far away. Phone interviews are great, but it’s just not the same as being able to look a person in the eye when you’re interviewing them. I’ve learned a lot about the interview process: I have found the subtle ways to coax a subject down the avenues you need to get down without being obvious or obtrusive. It was fascinating, and I felt the process evolving as I did. The art of the interview is not an easy thing, especially for me. It’s a constant struggle for me to NOT talk; to just ask a question and let the subject say his or her piece. I talk too goddamn much. I get real excited, especially when the topic is music, and start interjecting and exclaiming. Trying to transcribe my interviews is a fucking NIGHTMARE because I often step all over the responses. And, more than anything, I really, REALLY hate the sound of my voice! This is why I’ve NEVER let anyone else transcribe my interview tapes. I play them back and get the biggest douchechills just listening to myself talk. It’s horrifying.

But jumping into this project was the ultimate trial by fire and I sure did jump in head-first. I navigated on instinct and enthusiasm and a strong sense of purpose. I’ve never taken a single college class; I’ve never studied anything about “journalism” and this flaw was a huge hurdle in terms of self-doubt and lack of confidence. But, again, it was just the sense of purpose; of needing to be a part of this, that drove me. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? Yeah, I’m the fucking KING of that.

So, we went all in (“we” being my wife and I and our two cats). I called in some favors and tried to see about moving back to Philly. I knew in my gut this was what I had to do. Amy had been pleading with me to move for months now. She often offered her home as a place for us to live, and, again, let me stress: we had never even met face to face. I knew Amy only as a facebook picture and a warm voice on the phone. But I had reservations. Doubts. Fears. Bouts of paralyzing anxiety. I am a huge weirdo, with all sorts of annoying habits and “quirks” and I’ve only ever met one person who could put up with living with me (I married her). I didn’t want to inflict myself on these good people. But Amy kept insisting.

I had this job; I was working in an HR call-center that served as an outsourced department for employee health benefits enrollment. It was a giant entity that took on huge corporations as clients and pretended to be their HR department. Companies like Sears and K-Mart and whatever behemoth puppeteer controlled their strings. Their employees called us when it was time for them to re-up their health insurance. They actually thought we were part of whatever company they worked for. Usually the callers were just so happy to hear a voice that spoke English as its first language that they never stopped to think about if we were at all qualified to advise them on their health plans. What a fucking joke. We were $12 an hour wage slaves who couldn’t give two shits about the people calling. It was a 90 minute bus ride each way for me and it was fucking miserable. The last straw was when we were told that our department’s new client was going to be General Dynamics. General Dynamics orchestrated war and did absolutely nothing on this planet but construct things whose only functions were to kill and harm human beings. We got this huge presentation from a couple of over-hyper suits sporting raging war-boners. For real: even the lady suit had a rock-hard warrection while describing missiles and tanks and god knows what else. The people around me got excited, too, which was kind of disgusting and scary. I was sick to my stomach and, on a break, called my wife. I was almost in tears. Crisis of conscience? I’ll say.

So, we loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverly. I mean, Morrisville, that is. We cut all ties with Charlotte, having worn out our welcome there several years before. Just us, the cats, a few meager possessions, and one long-ass drive. Do you have any idea how frigging big the state of Virginia is? It’s forever big and takes twice as long to drive through. But we made it. Barely. It had been a long time since I had to worry about gas prices (the last time I owned a car was somewhere around 1994) and I was continually amazed at how often I had to stop and just how damn much money it took to fill that U-Haul up! We seriously didn’t think we’d make the last 20 miles or so, and as we pulled into my parents’ driveway I knew I was going to have to borrow money to get enough gas to make it to Amy’s.

We made it and it was the middle of a weekday, so Amy was doing her 9-5 thing. Her husband let us in and showed us to the room where we would be staying. And that’s when it all came clear to me. In a small bedroom towards the back of the house was a room filled with memorabilia. Some really cool stuff, too. Deep purple walls, Leopard print on the rug, a green vintage couch, a neon light up that said “lounge…” It was a neat, comfortable room. I almost missed it. It blended in so well with the rest of the décor. On the wall, perfectly matted and framed, was a punk rock collage that was beautiful to me. There, under glass, sat three never-folded record sleeves for Halloween, Three Hits From Hell and Bullet. Originals. Assembled in Glenn’s mom’s basement in Lodi New Jersey. Three perfectly un-creased, perfectly preserved and mounted for all the world to see and probably untouched in decades. They were pristine. Just the sleeves, no records or inserts or anything, up there on display like it was perfectly normal to hang such things in a home. It was a sign. It was an immense sign; a portentous forbearing of how all this would go. And it would go swimmingly. It told me that my decision was right; that this was where I belonged. That this was the first step down a path I was meant to travel. Seeing Amy’s Misfits sleeves hanging there so casually was a comfort beyond words and a boost of strength after such arduous journeys.

We had hours to pass, my wife and I, before our host came home and we would actually have the chance to set eyes on our punk rock benefactor. We stretched out under the Misfits monument and talked quietly. I felt a calm come over me; a certitude that only comes from knowing deep in your heart that you are right. It was a joy to know such peace and confidence and I could feel it sooth both of us. She felt it, too.

When Amy came home it was more like a reunion than a first meeting. There were hugs and excited talking. Amy laughed off the Misfits sleeve’s so casually. “Oh, those? Yeah, Glenn gave them to a guy I did a ‘zine with back in the day, and he gave them to me…” Yeah, cause that kind of stuff is no big deal, right? I was freaking out!!!!

We knew we were onto something here, we just didn’t know what, or exactly where it was going to go. But in those first few hours I don’t think either of us cared. Amy had some long-desired help with this burden of a book and I had the long-desired purpose for which I had been searching all my life. We settled in for a cold, cold winter. I hadn’t seen a Philly winter like that in over 10 years. We hunkered down and began walking up a long, snowy hill that at times was such an insane idea, neither of could believe we were attempting to do this.

The real work had now begun. It would be another 4 or 5 years before No Slam Dancing was finished, but we persevered and, eventually, we had a finished book in hand. The problem: no one had any interest in publishing it. We got a fancy agent and everything. No help. We were told it was “too Jersey,” that it “wasn’t sexy enough.” We had no idea what these things meant and we started to get discouraged. But we were not undeterred.

Around this time a new thing was kind of taking over social media: Kickstarter. Now, I get the criticisms of Kickstarter, I truly do. In many ways it is little more than digital panhandling for people who have no business creating anything. But, back before facebook went super-crypto with all their content-suppressing algorithms: you could post just about anything and all the people who followed your public page would see everything you posted. Oh, those were halcyon days. So, Amy and I dove in to Kickstarter and we relied on every DIY lesson 25 years of punk and hardcore had taught us. We figured that if people really wanted to see this book happen they’d be willing to contribute to its production. We were right.

The highlight of the No Slam Dancing days was obviously having Amy booked on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. That was one of the greatest nights of our lives. And it was HUGE for what we wanted to accomplish. The day after the episode aired we sold out our entire first print run. We quickly set a second in motion and sold all of those as well. It was fucking insane.

And that feeling; that sheer joy of seeing something through to the end; to contributing to a history that we loved and revered, and to see it all come to fruition in a very grass-roots kind of way, was inspiring to us. We wanted to do the same for other authors we respected and admired; authors who might face the same publishing challenges we did. We wanted to provide a home for history, especially the histories that would be overlooked by the mainstream world. We wanted to make dangerous literature and vivid histories. What began as a last-minute name invented just to have something on the spine of No Slam Dancing became an entity itself. DiWulf Publishing House: Heavy Lit Is Our Specialty.

 

-Steven DiLodovico December 2017

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THE BOOKS ARE HERE!!!!!

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It is with great excitement that we announce Urban Styles: Graffiti in New York Hardcore by Freddy Alva has reached our warehouse and will be going out in the mail very soon. This includes ALL orders through DiWulf.com as well as Amazon orders. Shipping should begin by 11/17/17, and all scheduled book signings will go forth as planned. Cancelled book signings will be rescheduled, and we will bring you that information as soon as we have it. Again, we cannot thank you enough for your patience and your continued support and we promise: you will not be disappointed once you have this book in your hands!

You can also get a signed copy of Urban Styles directly from the author at any one of the upcoming book signing events we have coming up:

The Bowery Electric 11/14/17 NYC

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Also, stay tuned for more information on book signings in Miami, LA, Queens NY, and Yonkers NY.

Urban Styles Release Delayed: New Release Date 11/15/17

Due to an unforeseen shipping error on the part of the printer, DiWulf Publishing House regrets to inform you that the release of Urban Styles: Graffiti in New York Hardcore by Freddy Alva has been delayed. We are very sorry about this situation, but, as it stands, it is out of our hands right now. Unfortunately this situation extends to those who ordered through the DiWulf website as well as all Amazon orders. We are just sick about this and we humbly apologize to everyone who is currently waiting on their copy as well as to Freddy. Being that we are a very small, independent press, we do not have the manpower to oversee every bit of logistics as we should, and that is on us. But, rest assured; the books are on their way to our warehouse, and the very second they arrive we will get them out to you and will fulfill EVERY order as fast as is humanly possible. We gratefully appreciate your patience and understanding and we promise we will make this up to you and you will have your book in hand as soon as we get it. We thank you for your continued support. This is a new venture for us and we are kind of learning as we go, and this is the unfortunate side of doing things DIY. Sometimes shit happens, and, believe me, we have been agonizing over this ever since we learned about the shipping problem. While we are VERY happy with the print and design job they did, the  printers' shipping process leaves a lot to be desired. But, we promise you: you will NOT be disappointed once you finally see how amazing the book turned out, it truly is a work of art and we believe it is worth the wait. Once again, we are deeply sorry for this inconvenience and we promise we will get the book out to you as soon as we can. We cannot thank you enough for your support and understanding

-Steve and Amy

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DiWulf Publishing House is Throwing a Party, Philly!

Saturday night, November 18th, our good friends at Cresson Street Tattoo are throwing an inaugural party for DiWulf Publishing House. We are celebrating our official debut as a publishing company with a book signing, some beers, some good friends and some amazing music.

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Special guest DJ Don'tLikeU AKA the inimitable Reverend Paul Bearer of the legendary Sheer Terror will be providing the music. Paul will be spinning his precious Old and Northern Soul 45s and Urban Styles author Freddy Alva will be selling and signing copies of his new book from 7-11pm. It'll be a gathering of good friends with great music celebrating the arrival of our newest offering, Urban Styles: Graffiti in New York Hardcore by Freddy Alva. Tattoo artists Jackie Brown and Jordy Ponamarev will be on hand to take care of all your tattooing needs. Cresson St. Tattoo is located at 4371 Cresson St., Philadelphia PA 19127. This event is free and open to the public. For more information check out our Facebook event page.

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Urban Styles Book Signing in Philadelphia November 17th

We are teaming up with our dear friends from the Cinepunx podcast to present an Urban Styles book signing event at Amalgam Comics and Coffeehouse Friday November 17th from 6-8pm. The famed hybrid coffeeshop and comic store, located at 2578 Frankford Ave, is well-known for its individuality and innovative events, and we are very excited to bring Urban Styles to a city with a well-known graffiti history. The event kicks off at 6pm, there will be special guest speakers on hand, and Freddy will be signing copies of his book. This event is free and open to the public. 

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Copies of Urban Styles: Graffiti in New York Hardcore will be available at this signing and are still available for order through our website. You can order yours right here.

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EXCLUSIVE: Urban Styles Sneak Preview

As we approach the October 31st release date for Urban Styles, here's a little treat for you: a sneak preview of the table of contents.

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Oh, did you think that was all we had for you? Check this out: 

Urban Styles front and back cover art

Urban Styles front and back cover art

And it don't stop there: author Freddy Alva has compiled and exclusive Urban Styles Mixtape replete with bands that are mentioned and interviewed in the book. There will be 200 old-school cassette tapes made and these are ONLY available at Urban Styles book signing events (while supplies last). But don't worry, if your boombox still eats tapes we got you covered. There will also be a FREE digital download of the mixtape available to everyone. By now I bet you're wondering who is on this tape. Well, here's another exclusive:

Here's the lineup for the exclusive Urban Styles Mixtape. Handstyle by KR.ONE

Here's the lineup for the exclusive Urban Styles Mixtape. Handstyle by KR.ONE

Urban Styles: Graffiti in New York Hardcore by Freddy Alva is available for pre-order now. Official release date: 10/31/17

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Freddy Alva Talks with Mass Movement about 10 LPs that Changed His Life

In a recent post by Mass Movement, author Freddy Alva sat down and went through a top 10 list of records that changed his life and sent him on his musical path. Everything from Sun Ra to Articles of Faith to New Order had some kind of impact on Freddy. Filmed and edited by RAYCO, the video serves as a great introduction to where the author comes from, musically.

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DiWulf Publishing House is Now Accepting Unsolicited Book Proposals

ATTENTION WRITERS: DiWulf Publishing House, the leader in independent publishing, is now accepting unsolicited proposals for new book projects. 

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We are looking for our next few projects. We specialize in subculture and are looking for non-fiction projects (no children's books, chick lit, memoirs, fantasy, sci-fi, etc.) for publishing. We are looking for finished or near-complete manuscripts whose subject matter is anything outside mainstream culture. Our vision is to document and celebrate subculture in its many facets. If this sounds like something you've been working on and can't find a publisher for, we might be just what you need. DiWulf operates similarly to an indie record label: that pretty much means you won't make any money. But, if you're project is right for us, what you will get is a dedicated team of experienced publishers with a strong distribution network, who will champion your work and stand behind your book.

Please send proposals in PDF format to steven.dilodovico@mail.com along with all pertinent contact info. If what you submit is right for us we will contact you.