Chilli Willi And The Red Hot Peppers
Bongos Over Balham

 The history of rock music is filled with extraordinary characters who have remained stuck in a sort of limbo known to a select few admirers, while mediocre figures have managed to make themselves known to the whole world. In the first category belongs Snakefinger, appreciated by fans of the Californian Residents for his work as a supporting guitarist for that surreal and transgressive group.

 The very solo albums recorded by our protagonist during that period of fertile collaboration (1976-1987, the year of his death from cardiac arrest) strongly bear the crazy imprint Residentiana to the point of converting his guitar to the electronic and computerized verb like a small Beefheart who chops up and recomposes daring contaminations: krautrock and Nino Rota, polka and Morricone.

  That "intellectualish" is one of two extraordinary lives of Snakefinger. Indeed, because there is a first completely different one, and I would say even less known, which embraced completely opposite, even ignorant theories. Phil Lithman was already nicknamed "snake fingers" for his extraordinary ability to play any string instrument when in the early seventies he performed in English pubs alongside fellow guitarist Martin Stone.  Long hair and hippie jackets to craft optimal music to drink and dance to for the pub-goers, just like other bands of the genre, Brinsley Schwarz, Ducks Deluxe, Dr. Feelgood, all bands that would pave the way for the second wave of pub rock, consisting of formations like Graham Parker's Rumors or Joe Strummer's 101'ers.

 Chili Willi and the Red Hot Peppers are thus an ignorant group and proud of it, as on the cover of this second and last album of 1974 it reads "...if you hear the word culture on this record, return it as a faulty product." But what makes them different from the rest of the English pub bands of that period steeped in British blues, is the clear country and West coast American influence: steel guitar, dobro, bandurra, even the fiddle are skillfully handled by Phil along with Martin. This time with the help of a real band, drummer Pete Thomas (who would end up in Costello's Attractions), bassist Paul Ryley, saxophonist P.C. Bayley and four Peppertes on backing vocals, they put together a great roots music album that compared to the first one (Kings of the Robot Rhythm, 1972) is more powerful, electric and above all choral.

  Excluding the overwhelming vintage boogie at the opening that invites dance, the rest of the album  is a wonderful sonic ride that evokes West Coast interweaving with vocal harmonies and New Riders of Purple Sage-like slides ("We Get Along" and "Truck Driving Girl") or CSN&Y type (the beautiful "Desert Island Woman") and even recall the Grateful Dead (the dreamy ballad "All in a dream" that reminds me of the immortal "Sugaree" by master Garcia). In addition, nestled in the grooves are rock-blues with urban guitar matrix ("Jungle Song"), infernal jigs with fiddle and steel guitar to let loose the cowboys after a day of work ("Fiddle Diddle") and robust electric blues rock to revive a traditional like "Just Like the Devil". I assure you that lovers of this genre of music will find on the platter a magnificent album made with great passion and musical expertise so much that it's really hard to think it is the work of a British pub band rather than a Confederate stars and stripes group.

 At this point, those who only know the innovative Residents period Snakefinger will be really surprised to find themselves in front of completely different music that digs deeply into tradition. But there are two signals that indicate something is already starting to whirl in not entirely normal ways in Phil Lithman's head. The quirky jazzy melody  with dialogue between lead vocals and Zappa-like backing vocals in "Breathe a Little"  and the album cover:  two 1930s style characters emerging from the garbage bin to gaze puzzled at a Japanese dressed as a cat  under the fiery eyes of the landfill rats...

 It is the prelude for Snakefinger to the move to California to the court of the Residents (he already plays in "Fingerprince" of 1976) to delve into the instrumental and surreal alchemies of which someone in the past had pointed the right way at the mad cry of "That's right, the Mascara Snake! Fast'n' bulbous!" In the land of wild creatures begins the second extraordinary life of Philip "Snakefingers" Lithman, moving from the ignorant roots of Chili Willi to the futuristic genius of the Residents. And seeing the adoration of that mysterious clique towards Captain Beefheart, I'm sure that during the sessions the magic formula was sounded once again.

 "That's right, the Snakefinger! Fast'n' bulbous!"