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Rating:
Hot Sands of Texas
David Yow is perpetually afflicted by grime, the grime that plagues this guy is man and all his blemishes, even guitarist Denison must have had his fill of common sense and decency. Coming off the vomit-inducing masterpiece "Goat," they try again and come out with this other creative fire more intense and shattering compared to the cornerstone goat, and Denison proves to be what he is: one of the most innovative and ingenious six-string torturers from the most putrid underground.
Yow doesn’t know how to sing, know this, but it’s the only way to sing what he sings about: feces, industrial waste, the mediocrity of bodily fluids, how man cannot feel like God because of the lower belly. A martyrdom of stages, a corollary of PH metrics, that’s what this record is.
"Boilermaker", by 1993 hardcore had fallen under the fragmentations of post-rock, it’s split, and thus the singing emerges fragmented. Yow's singular nasal scream on "Gladiator" is supported by a low riff that hits with its reservoir of residues like a bat to the stomach, nervous fits from a mind truly on the brink of mental collapse, it’s spasmodic derailment, it’s a tremendous mixture. The Jesus Lizard are epic in a way that Steve Albini, by metalinguistic choice, never was; theirs is a hardcore that advances devastatingly and ends its run laid waste.
"Whirl" is a gastric carcinoma: a collage of turbine-noise.
Who are the Jesus Lizard? And how can a cascade of malodorous post-feces generate epic? You'll get a clear answer in "Slave Ship", one of the tracks I place among the top five sound apocalypses in rock history: turn up the volume to full blast, throw open the windows, grab an "air guitar," undress, and reveal your "charms" to yourself while Denison self-celebrates through a long, prodigious, granite viper that coils over itself and McNeilly's battering shots, with such music in the background, those who do not "KNOW" will liquefy with their own rustic folly in front of your being a monad, and for four titanic minutes and 15 seconds feel like a Goethean Faust above judgment, feel like Alex Trocchi as he injects the serum and resurrects the living, tell historical spirit and ontology to go screw themselves.
In the treacherous "Perk" Sims, Denison, Kimball, McNeilly are assassins in wheelchairs, besieged by the spirits of legends from that Midwest states' substratum, they pursue their purposes by setting to music the abominations of Humwawa whose face is a mass of guts traveling on a whispering southern wind, lord of fevers and pestilences. "Puss" is spastic drum-beat, yet more eviscerated gut, gruesome garage core, Big Black/Rapeman/Shellac acid disembowelment in the Jesus Lizard is endowed with a much more rock and sanguine propulsion compared to Albini's cold electronics.
"Zachariah" is a seance invocation entirely played on the instrumental spiritualism produced by His Majesty Denison's violent and controlled dissonances, and it is of a tragic and paranoid advance that touches the macabre ritual, worthy of southern voodoo ceremonies Gelal and Lilit, vivid visitations in the beds of the unfortunate in their repose.
In peace's confluences, the warrior spirit turns against itself, some by torturing their own selves, others by putting on the Jesus Lizard.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Boilermaker (02:14)
I'm calm now
I've calmed down
But I'm shaking
Make me another boilermaker
In molasses
A fly in molasses
Nasty sticky shit holds it down
There's an arched back
There is an arched back
's got a pained look under rain clouds
In molasses
A fly in molasses
Just if you know what it's like to drown
What's that?
What's that?
What's that?
What's that?
What's that?
What was that?
Make me another boilermaker
And it's dry inside 'til a dusty wind
And each trying sigh is a trusted friend
In his pride I saw his just defense
I eyed the bedroom door until I busted in
I busted
I busted
I busted in
In molasses
A fly in molasses
Nasty sticky shit holds it down
There's an arched back
There is an arched back
's got a pained look under rain clouds
In molasses
A fly in molasses
Just if you know what it's like to drown
What's that?
What's that?
What's that?
What's that?
What's that?
What was that?
Make me another boilermaker
Strange how it makes him want to tell lies
02 Gladiator (04:00)
You should see her use a gun
She slips her nit-picking in in any way for everyone
More than an occasional hazard
You run the risk of conceiving a bastard
You should see her use a gun
She slips her nit-picking in in any way for everyone
More than an occasional hazard
You run the risk of conceiving a bastard
In remembrance of the truth
In remembrance of Aunt Ruth
In memory of the gun
In memory of everyone
And of the warm sun
And the pain in my side
But if you ask her where she's gone
She'll spout a banter on and on
About a germ free place
About a germ free place in anywhere
Her sexual comedy from now until eternity
There is no joking, Moe, who knows what's going on
A droll spoof of a tragedy of awkward mediocrity
Performed on the plains of Serengeti
05 Puss (03:19)
Get me something to stop the bleeding, cuz I'm fittin to blow
Knock her down the stairwell and kick her, I think you can take her
Shove more buorbon down her mouth hole
Cuz she's the one that needs a nailing
Ya might as well just open the door and
Get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck
Get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck, ger her out of the truck, get her out of the truck
Get me something to stop the bleeding, cuz I'm fittin to blow
Knock her down the stairwell and kick her, I think you can take her
Oh, she's the one that needs a nailing
Ya might as well just open the door and
Get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck
Get her out of the truck, get her out of the truck, ger her out of the truck, get her out of the truck
Get her out, pow in the bush, yeah right in the kisser
Shove more buorbon down her mouth hole
Pow, smacked in the puss, straight in the sucker, plum in the kisser, busted her pie hole
Square in the yap, punched in the jaw, straight in the sucker, dead in her tongue pin, busted in her pie
Square in the yap, punched in the jaw, plum in the kisser, dead in her tongue, crushed (acrost) her pie
Smacked in the mush
08 Perk (02:30)
Swinging little messy stinky girl
Call me whatever you will
I have a present for you... charity
Take off your shoes if you're going to dance on me
But don't grind your pretty heels in my face
I have a present for you
Drunk when I got here
Drunker as I stayed
So I masturbated to your serenade
Couldn't see any face
Except for that girl I saw in that place
Her legs and her cheeks and her ass and her face
But I got mine
Close up... she kicked me in my face
Laugh at the noises my breaking bones make
Cover me up with the milk that you spill
I have a present for you... poverty
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