About twenty years ago, I remember reading the liner notes to some album in which the writer related the story of how, when his uncle heard the Sonics for the first time back in the ‘60s, he jumped up, bonked a bookshelf with his head, and emphatically exclaimed “HOT DAMN! THIS SOUNDS LIKE A BUNCHA (N-WORDS)!” The writer continued by detailing that he had a similar reaction upon his first listen to whatever band it was for which he had written said liner notes, but, being a well-behaved lad, his emphatic exclamation was remiss the racial slur —his point (on which I am offering no opinion whatsoever) being something akin to, “White dudes who play raw, wild rock’n’roll don’t sound like white dudes. They sound like black dudes.” I had somewhat of a parallel experience with the Angry Cougars, although my experience was wholly devoid of real or imagined racial overtones: I had no fucking idea until I got to the second-to-the-last song that this band’s singer wasn’t a guy, and the only thing that tipped me off was a gender reference. Now, not to open up a vast and hugely boring can of worms, but, in my antediluvian reptilian forebrain, I just jumped up, bonked my head on a bookshelf, and yelled “HOT DAMN! THIS SOUNDS LIKE A DUDE!” and there was much rejoicing. Betty Machete rips shit UP, man! The drums go POUND POUND POUND and the guitar goes GNAW GNAW GNAW, and brother, you’ll have a bookshelf-shaped dent in your head right quick if you know what’s best for you. BEST SONG: “Beat Your Ass.” BEST SONG TITLE: “Bullet?” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: The vinyl has each song title etched in the wax before each song! Fucking brilliant!
–Rev. Norb (Breakup)