BUTTHOLE SURFERS (1983)
1) The Shah Sleeps In Lee
Harvey's Grave; 2) Hey; 3) Something; 4) Bar-B-Q Pope; 5) Wichita Cathedral; 6)
Suicide; 7) The Revenge Of Anus Presley.
Like Kurt Cobain, you just gotta respect any band that calls itself «Butthole Surfers». On one
hand, the name is more «irreverently amusing» than flat-out gross (like Anal
Cunt, something that requires even more imagination than the idea of a butthole
surfer but ends up being disgusting in any case). On the other hand, the name
totally and utterly precludes such a potential embarrassment as «commercial
success». Let's face it, fame and fortune are for losers — real men find
satisfaction in anything but fame and
fortune, and what better means are there to get them completely and permanently
out of your way than calling yourself «Butthole Surfers»?
This debut EP was originally released in 1983
on the Dead Kennedys' label, Alternative Tentacles; apparently, Jello Biafra
was so overwhelmed by the guys that he promised to release their stuff, provided
they could find somebody to lend them some studio time — which they did,
proving that truly nothing is impossible. The band's lineup at the time
included Gibby Haynes on lead vocals and saxophone; Paul Leary on guitar and occasional
lead vocals; Bill Jolly on bass; and a whole set of different drummers, some of
whom they probably even forgot to mention on the credits. And who'd want to
look at the credits, with that album
art, anyway?
The music... okay, this is music. Basically, Butthole Surfers play «punk rock», but not
«regular» or «hardcore» punk rock — rather something like absurdist or dadaist
punk rock. Unlike unionized punkers, these guys have little concern for the
evil grin of The System, or the everyday sweat of The Working Man: what they
are more concerned about is testing the limits of the punk idiom, whether it
can incorporate humor, purely artistic offensiveness, raffinated craziness, and
just about anything else you'd like to insert, at random, inside the idiom. For
instance, you might want to play a bit of college-style folk-rock with
psychedelic guitar overdubs (ʽHeyʼ), or some repetitive one-chord blues vamps
(ʽSomethingʼ), and they'll all fit in with the more overtly punkish material
like ʽThe Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey's Graveʼ (does he really?).
It may all seem silly, but the band gets by on
the sheer strength of its imagination — their musical and cultural knowledge
are undeniable, and they mix small pinches of everything in such incredibly
unimaginable combinations that it never feels like the only purpose of making
this EP was to gross out the audience. So there's a lot of predictable
offensiveness thrown at religion, the Pope in person (ʽBar-B-Q Popeʼ — does
there exist a Sinead O'Connor cover of this anywhere?), pop icons like Hendrix
and Elvis, and dead parents, but it's all funny, and some of it is even catchy:
simplistic vamp or not, that "something she said to me last night" bit
from ʽSomethingʼ really sticks in the brain. And speaking of surfing, there is a little bit of surf guitar on
ʽWichita Cathedralʼ, as if they were actually influenced by Agent Orange.
In addition, Paul Leary is quite an inventive
guitarist who likes to introduce just a wee bit of dissonance in his overall
smooth lead guitar playing — not a lot, like Greg Ginn, but just a bit to throw
you off balance. That's on the less messy songs, like ʽWichita Cathedralʼ, but
then there are also intentionally messy trips — like ʽSuicideʼ, an unlikely
marriage between old school rock'n'roll and free-form avantgarde music where, I
suppose, rock'n'roll symbolizes "the walls of my life" and free-form
avantgarde suggests suicide. Or there's just total hooliganry, like ʽThe
Revenge Of Anus Presleyʼ, as full of obscenities as if it were the band's take
on an underground rap ritual, while the guitars spiral around you in a psychopathic,
but humorous manner. Like a comical, lighthearted take on Stooges-style
madness.
In January 2003, the album was re-released on
CD together with its follow-up EP, Live
PCPPEP, recorded live (indeed) in a club in San Antonio and originally released
in the fall of 1984. A separate review for this EP would be rather
superfluous, especially since it mostly just reproduces Butthole Surfers in its entirety, although the show does start off
with a ravenously insane take on ʽCowboy Bobʼ which is a preview of the version
on their next studio album. There are a couple bonuses on the CD release,
though, such as the previously unreleased blues-punk-rocker ʽGary Floydʼ, and a
bass-heavy post-punk rocker ʽSinister Crayonʼ which, fairly speaking, sounds
rather dull and un-ironic next to the obscene hilariousness of the trailblazing
EP, and was probably left off for a good reason — this kind of stuff would
rather suit, say, Pere Ubu. Oh, and if your ears are sharp enough to penetrate
into the stage banter, you do need this by all means — Haynes is constantly
spouting insults to the public, at one point even remarking that they have
managed to clear out most of the
audience, as if it were a good
thing...
In any case, both the original EP and the new, much expanded release get a
thumbs up
rating — it might be safe to say that in 1983, nobody took punk as un-seriously
as these guys, and that is quite a refreshing thing to remember. Of course, as
far as irreverent songwriting is concerned, this is not Ween-level quality, but
these guys are Ween's spiritual
ancestors, and we at least have to respect this, even if we don't necessarily
have to enjoy all the jokes or be amazed at all the little experiments.
Butthole Surfers reviews on Only Solitaire?? This is just beautiful. Thank you, George.
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