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Rating: And there will always be children from passive mental gymnastics, captivated by a long impotent crest of social scandal, engulfed, itself becoming also comforting, colorful: good. The kids who, for a few smirks, a few piercings, will have a life dictated by 4 overexposed chords for 30 years, mired in a dinosauric form, sterilized by massive abuse. "They sound like the Pistols, they sound like the Stooges." But then why the hell do you still listen to them, they’ve been busting our balls for 30 fucking damn overexposed years.
These are not long-lasting, timeless ideas, immortal steel-balled classics. They are not Pere Ubu, Residents, or Can's Tago Mago, for fuck’s sake. But this is punk, and in 2006 many silly dumbass bands offer you the REVIVAL, the already heard "But it’s nice, it feels like being back in the '60s garage or the early punk of the New York Dolls." Idiots! You let yourself get screwed by revivalism, by the already heard, polished by shitty channels like FLUX!. Have you ever noticed what’s written next to FLUX!? No??? AN MTV PROPERTY, idiots! The "alternative" share they don't gain with mulatto inhabitants of shitty ghettos they gain with FLUX, the brazen and rebellious surrogate of MTV. Wow, how shocked I am by Andy Melonakis you fat awful kid, I’ll rip off the kids' helpline and shove the receiver up your ass. Here’s what happens to those who fall for it: ====) Mouth and oh instead Ass (just to enter Sfasciacarrozziani realms, like words not like concept duh!!)
Ahh the beautiful songs with formulas from 40 years ago, a bit hard, a bit melodic at 2.30 minutes. Ahhh this is evolution. But the deformed, skewed suites of LSD-corroded hippie communities, the indecipherable fury of early post-hardcore, the rock that after decades of shapeless guitars and bacchanals blushes and becomes POST: what the hell happened to this drive to freshness, to discard imposed rules, to discard acquired comforts? For fuck’s sake motherfucker son of a bitch idiot half-crap in a midsummer night's sun with a half-belly exposed, tan yourself asshole “Dalla is not a singer, it’s advice!”. Playing rebels with the already acquired, distorting guitars embraced by generations and generations: the pre-rock. You goddamn sellout assholes! And then there will be people mentally infected by a hand running epileptically on the keyboard, ohhh lots of chords, lots of technique, ohhh ohhh what big eyes you have, it's to play you better kid. They name their guitar with a woman’s name, those bastards. “Sandy, Sandy how do I play you now?” Handicapped offspring of Biscardi Sandy Sandy how academic dinosaur you are too. Grease your hair, go, the leather jacket is cool and very Maiden yuppyyy oh-là wepa, make mental jerk-offs on Steve Vai and company, always bring out that he is enlightened, that he has golden hands.
Wasted jerks in guitaristic sublimations of the fuck. Have you ever thought about what it's called when the first guitar plays while the rest of the band accompanies? A Solo: prophetic name. While the sun shines with humanized rays the typical metal guitarist is in his domestic burial plotting an asshole training test and emulation of his idiot favorite guitarist. And the friends from below “A SOLO!! A RINCOJONITO!!” and he with a mongoloid face “Yes yes, FINGERS FINGERS, keys keys, metal music, fast, nice, headbanging, Steve Vai, fast, good, him, master, fingers fingers, a solo” Yeah good a solo, and fuck off too idiot shithead. A solo.
And then there are those timeless works, long-lasting, infinite, and timeless conservation: The Modern Dance by Pere Ubu, with its fusion of avant-garde, Jazz, Theater, grunts blood and unmatched emotivity. The Suicide with their testament Frankie Teardrop have a multi-unit next to the sacred monsters of neorealist cinema. The Jesus Lizard, hyper-intelligent chamber hardcore: beyond!!!. And I repeat for fuck’s sake: beyond!!!. Shit! The White Stripes returning to the charts because the PO PO PO PO PO PO PO accidentally became the Italian anthem instead of Goffredo “You have no musical ability, you ugly idiot” Mameli’s. But how low are we going? How long will you play those chords accessible to every self-taught suburban kid’s crap, how long will you use overexposed and copied vocal lines, how long will you mimic the greats of the past like idiotic horses? Dignity none, many rebellious faces and symbols, lots of money, and music coming out of your ass in the form of diarrhea.
Psychic Powerless the highest peak of the Butthole Surfers, well I won’t explain a damn thing to you, no technical notes, no annoying pedantic analysis of the songs, I’ll shove the song analysis up your ass. Pull out every alcoholic drink from your fridge, glue yourself, hashish, marijuana, befriend the most recidivist dealers with syringed-teeth that flow in the arms like vital sap in tree bark. Now listen to this timeless phiphi and crush every imitative revivalistic abortion. They are fucking sons of bitches, avant-garde redneck with vitriol. They fuck your mother, your father, your sister, and then when you think they’re fucking your grandmother, they talk to her cordially and make yarn together, rocking pleasantly on the chair. Because they are psychopaths and everything compared to them will seem posed, cerebral, bridled. Po po po po po po po Sandy Sandy Red Crest, teenager menstruation on a red crest, masturbatory alternative for well-bred girls who eat popcorn pop pop pop pop Coo oornnn. Butthole Surfers!
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
03 Dum Dum (03:47)
You want the people to be the people that want the people that love you
You need the people to show the facts instead again they shot you
Want the people to be the people they don't need you
Need the people to show the people they displease you
Lover man his face is lost and you're much smaller
Then again the other man he's much smaller
You want the people to be the people that want the people that love you
You need the people to show the facts instead again they shot you
Want the people to see the people they don't need you
Need the people that need the people they don't need you
Then again the son of a bitch and he's much smaller
Then again and then again and then again and then again
You want the people to be the people that want the people that love you
You need the people to show the facts instead again they shot you
Want the people to be the people they don't need you
Need the people to show the people they displease you
Lover man his face is lost and you're much smaller
Then again the other man he's much smaller
05 Negro Observer (03:40)
Well, I don't know what..
Well, I don't know who..
Well, I don't know where or when..
Well, I don't know it..
Well, I don't know they..
Well, I don't know thick or thin..
Landing in empty parking lots
in deserted discount stores,
Negro observers are landing by the scores!
Dropping down in low-rider cars
from Pluto, Venus, and Mars..
Negro Observers are counting heads in singles bars!
ah hah hah ha hah
Walking up and down the empty boulevards...
Negro Observers with muscles that are very hard!
Walking up and down and falling everywhere,
Negro Observers flying through the air.
They don't know what goes on,
but the Negro Observers are big and strong.
hoo ha ha ha hah
06 Butthole Surfer (03:02)
I was walkin' down around Venice way
Los Angeles
Oh big California
A man came up to me
About 40, gay
I say
"Go away...OK...No way...AGGGHHHHHHHGH"
BUTTHOLE SURF!! etc.
I was ridin' wave
around Malibu beach
A guy came up to me
He was lookin' like a leech
He said "Hey, Sonny boy, can I eat you peach?"
I say "Motherfucker...ifyoureach..
I don't know what I'm goin' to do"
BUTTHOLE SURF!! etc.
I was ridin' my cruiser in West Hollywood
A girl came up to me and she was lookin' mighty good...
I was eating quaaludes like butthole surfers should
She left me there where I stood
BUTTHOLE SURF!! etc.
HEY BUTT
WHAT THE FUCK
WE ALL LIKE YOU
'CAUSE YOU'RE A SLUT
07 Lady Sniff (03:45)
(These lyrics are not entirely correct, because on can hear the word "teabag" in the song).
Yeah, boy. Heh Heh Heh.
Let it walk and let it talk and stick it on the wall.
Lately when I say to you baby, don't know what I know.
Let it walk and let it talk and rooty tooty doo
Lately when I see you baby, don't know what I do.
When I say no, yeah, I mean no.
Take me back to Detroit, piehole!
Let it walk and let it talk and what the hell you say?
Lately when I see you baby, each and every day.
Let it walk and let it talk and rooty tooty doo.
Lately when I see you baby, don't know what I do.
When I say no, yeah, I mean no.
Pass me some of that dumbass over there, yeah boy.
Let it walk and put it down and walk it on the wall.
Lately when I see you baby, don't know what I know.
Let it walk and let it talk and what the hell you say?
Lately when I see you baby, each and every day.
When I say no, yeah, I mean no.
Bernie, Bring me my bacon! Bernie?
08 Cherub (06:23)
Cherub
Cherub the angel
Roll back the hands of time
Cherub
Enter the angel
aaaaaaahhhh!
You walk alone now
You're never mind
The walks you've taken
have left behind
All people sideways
They look at you
may god forsake me
cause I do to
I see bodies
Maybe, maybe someone is alive
Naked we smile
Hoo-hahahahahahahah, a-hahahahahohoho
Naked
Ha-ha
ahhhh
You're right beside me
you gaze a view
your body's vacant
they crawl right through
those bodies falling
it's in the air
we're mixed so close now
but I don't care
ha ha ha
walk upon me
your body lead
you try to escape you
it's in your head
I'd better go back
I'm not over there
You walk beside me
you gaze at me
you're homeless now
or that times three
amazon
you gaze along
I'll make you talk you
there is no bong
your mind has cut you
you're bleeding now
your plans escaped
just like a bow
they walk right past you
they stop and stare
your body's lying
all over there
ha-he-he-he-he
feh
09 Mexican Caravan (02:45)
Take me
Mexican Caravan
South of
South of the Rio Grande
Take me to that amigo town
Where I can score some of that heroin brown
Take me
Mexican Caravan
South of
South of anywhere you can
Push me in through the garbage can
Teach this white boy to be Mexican
Take me
Mexican Caravan
Let's score some of that heroin
You know the way to make the white boy say
Make me Mexican
Take me
Mexican Caravan
Push me into the Rio Grande
You know the way to make the white boy say
Make me Mexican
Take me
Take me
Take me
Take me Mexican Caravan!
10 Cowboy Bob (02:55)
I woke up this morning
On the wrong side of bed
I had a knife in my back
And I put it back in
Oh my God I was dead
I hope I get to sleep tonight
I never can
I've always got a knife in my back
No matter where, no matter when
11 Gary Floyd (01:53)
I could have a real good time if I had a gun
I know, well I know. The things I do and say
And if I did not have no gun well I know, I know
I've got a knife.
Well, Gary Floyd and all his pals are gonna' come on down
To the roundaround. They're gonna' shoot all day.
Saw the nature in the swimming pool
In a two-piece oh and I lost my cool
Well I'm cool-the things I do and say
The color brown is coming down
I feel my head go round and round and round (etc.)
Well, Gary Floyd and all his pals are gonna' come on down
To the roundaround. They're gonna' shoot all day.
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By pretazzo
“Psychic Powerless” is one of the most extravagant rock albums of the ‘80s.
'Cherub' is perhaps the masterpiece of the album: 6 minutes of Barrett-like reverberations and sudden upsurges... the Surfers steer the acid psychedelia of the sixties into the industrial era.
