The Deviants
The Deviants # 3

THE REVIEW

A can of soup has made history, topping popularity charts alongside Mother Teresa of Calcutta and Madonna (both). Absolutely true! Andy from the Eurasian steppe, with hair like no other, pulls off all sorts of tricks...on the Mona Lisas and the Monroes; a touch of scarlet red lipstick on the austere Mao and voilà, here's the sly despot you never expected. Pop Art is the art of society because society is 'popartistic'. Enough with these epic paintings of rearing horses and valiant warriors brandishing swords towards sacrifice, towards freedom... My goodness, what a drag. Comparatively, televisions, washing machines, magazines, refrigerators, and cans, yes, the 'PorcaCola' cans, outdo even the Mona Lisa in expressiveness. In this multicolored universe dedicated to provocation, the Deviants have been buzzing since their beginnings with the onomatopoeic debut "Ptooff!" and, after the illustrative amnesia (or protagonistic mania) of "Disposable," with the third and last, self-titled "The Deviants."

A nun.
A child under the nun (back cover).
An ice pop in the child's mouth.
An ice pop in the nun's mouth.

Once it's established that the first impulse provoked is not one of kneeling in prayer, I wonder: "Why not the usual Swedish Lolita?" Is the year '69 just a coincidence or does it have a subtle congruence with the theme? The suggestive and allusive look of the tunicked woman leaves no room for doubt. Neither does Mick Farren's sepulchral voice in his virile baritone, as he pronounces that "BILLYYY"...douff. Only the voices that respond in kind "The Monster" disassociate from this juxtaposition of images and sounds, with microphone cords squeezing tight around the scrotums. Everything sounds indescribably cool&sexy. I imagine beautiful women with ebony skin moving their curves rhythmically, in a sensual dance that...that... and none of that, simply Mick advising Billy to be careful on his journey. Such a seductive bass deserved quite another storyline, also because it arouses quite a bit. Sanderson high-fives Hunter, and the drumsticks are pounding and swinging through the air, drawing new bodies and new fantasies
that punctually shatter, this time against a couple of "broken biscuits." Meanwhile, the ice pop is melting, but the nun's expression doesn't change. "First Line (Seven the Row)". Same script and same mirage. Hunter drums away, and Rudolph gets lost in his guitar escapades, among pentatonic scales used to escape the spirit of the Stooges or head directly towards it, with the rudder all out of control. Three. Two. One. Impact! No, no impact, another false alarm. The pace is visibly reduced near "The People Suite", which opens with a nod to the "scarecrow" of the whimsical Syd. Only the Pinks were missing in attendance! Another blunder, because gradually as "Deviants #3" delves into the very black grooves, blacker than.. blacker than... as black as... the gown of the pious licker on the cover, the parents of Tommy gather at the edge of the record, having arrived aboard Jefferson's airplane, the Italian-American uncle Frank, with the inseparable Lou and John. Stuff to make your eyes widen and your ears perk up. Or rather, neither. Just keep in check an incurable and galloping imagination. The Deviants are really good, there's no denying it. Just a handful of notes and riffs, and you're taking flight; and for someone with vertigo like me, it's best to stay grounded.

In fact, now that I think about it, long live realism, romanticism, classicism. And to hell with the colorful washing machines, refrigerators, Mona Lisas, rainbow-hued PorcaCola, and canned beans.

And the banana, no??
What?
Already done?