Fuckemos
Black Hellicopters

Occasionally, during my searches for bands and music scenes that I do not know, I let myself be guided by somewhat questionable criteria: unlucky and absurd stories, albums that no one paid attention to, band and album names that, when chosen for your group, mark your career for life because, even if you might not have been interested, the idea of your song ever playing on the radio will never exist precisely because of the names that need censorship (that's how I discovered bands like Butthole Surfers, The Dicks, Men of Porn, The Dickies, Supreme Dicks...). During one of these bizarre searches, I came across the Fuckemos. First of all, no, it's not what you think; the name doesn't mean "fuck the emos" but is dedicated to a nightclub (Emo's) where the band's singer had some trouble with security. And now let's give some additional context: they come from Austin, Texas, a place where perhaps the atmosphere is a bit contaminated, resulting in the creation of bands with crazy and almost impossible traits. Bands of the caliber of the already mentioned Butthole Surfers, The Dicks, but also artists like Roky Erickson or the punk Big Boys come from there. In this somewhat (very) weird scene, our Fuckemos thrive wonderfully, offering a sound halfway between Punk-Rock and Hard-Rock with a good dose of absurdity. 

The band's frontman is Russel Porter, an unlikely character who nonetheless shows a certain appeal, even in those videos where he gets himself nailed while singing, with foam covering his (cheeky) face. His way of singing is something unbelievable: he uses microphone modifiers that make his voice sound absurd, similar to a continuous pseudo-burp. In “Black Hellicopters” he's not always the one singing, or at least if it is always him (it's not so easy to find information about it on the web), in certain cases he doesn't use this blessed (or cursed) modifier and therefore seems to have a human voice. 

Analyzing the band a bit in general and its sound, which nonetheless remains more or less the same in the different albums released between 1994 and 2001 (“Black Hellicopters” is from '98), a sickly image emerges: the Fuckemos give the impression of being freaked out, fuck-up junkies, people always drunk who throw up a lot (just consider the main theme of the track and video “Barf Baby... and watch out for the chubby guy playing the drums in the toilet, one of the scenes that made me laugh the most in recent years), bad boys who, in my opinion, even smell a bit of piss. If I were a DJ and found myself at a somewhat coarse and high-alcohol-content party, I don't think I could refrain from playing some tracks from this album, choosing primarily stuff like “This Land Is Your Land”, “Be Nice, Don't Be Mean”, “My Face Your Butt”, “Pussies Fly In Planes”. If someone intends to ask: “but did these Fuckemos contribute anything to the History of Music?” I think 98% of the hypothetical respondents would answer that the only things they've contributed are pseudo-burped lyrics from some jerk accompanied by a few crazy musician friends on a senseless adventure. However, I think the Fuckemos were, ultimately, quite an interesting experiment, certainly without a broad appeal (and listening to Porter it becomes immediately clear why) but not entirely to be discarded. Let's say they need to be approached the right way, the Fuckemos. I wouldn't recommend them to someone who listens to Barry Manilow, but rather to those who want to be surprised and have a couple of laughs, perhaps also nodding their heads and tapping their feet when the rhythm is a bit brisker. Since it's not a demanding album (quite the opposite!), it should be taken as a disenchanted amusement, to bring out when NOT looking for serious, thoughtful music, with beautiful lyrics or otherwise sonically sophisticated and original. 

“Black Hellicopters” in conclusion is a perplexing album that disarms you with absurdities and confronts you with a huge rip-off: in the end, what are we to think after listening to a track like “White Sunshine”, all calm and made of ridiculous keyboard sounds while the voice talks to us about certain “pussies”, placed there after half an hour of listening (for those who made it), if not that we have been taken for a ride throughout the album? But tell the truth, sometimes being taken for a ride also has a funny taste, almost pleasant. And Russel Porter and his Fuckemos seem to leave us with this enjoyable sensation. 

And now everyone go drink some beers and swallow mustard with Porter singing in the background that “his face is our butt”...