It seems somehow appropriate that I’m listening to Skulls Rule – O.K? and writing this review on May 21st, just before 6:00 pm—the day and time picked by God Expert Harry Camping for the Rapture to occur. Big Fuckin Skull is also is very concerned with apocalyptic visions, though their version of the End Time is very different from the Good Reverend’s. Instead of a peace-loving hippie coming down to Earth to move his dedicated flock to a dee-lux apartment in the sky, the eschatologists in BFS envision a homicidal snapping turtle of an enormous skull that comes to Earth to devour humans like so many Hot Pockets stuffed with blood and guts, stopping only briefly to pick the arms and legs out of its teeth. And as I sit here, so close to Judgement Day, I can’t help but wonder: What Would Jesus Do if he found me here at Rapture Time listening to Big Fuckin Skull? For one thing, Jesus might not care for the salty language used by lead vocalist Rafe Torso in every single line of every single song on this disc. Mr. Torso is without question the King of the F-Bomb, far surpassing even greats like Casey Kasem and ex-Vikings coach Jerry Burns. Musically, Big Fuckin Skull is not something that Rev. Camping is likely to cotton to either. It’s like the bastard spawn of Danzig and street punk, with compressed metal-sounding guitars, oddly happy-go-lucky melodies, Misfits-style “whoa-oh-oh” choruses and an unflagging, OCD-like obsession with blood-thirsty, rampaging winged skulls. After one listen you’ll wonder if there ever has been a band whose name so completely and utterly encapsulates not only the spirit of the band but their entire lyrical output as well. Possibly Jud-Jud. But is BFS’s menacing stance to be feared or laughed at? I think I know how my mom would answer that, but I think they tip their hand when they lyrically reference “Ernest” of Hey Vern, It’s Ernest fame. Plus, their skulls all have eyebrows and in the Skull World that’s akin to wearing those plastic penis-nose glasses. So how serious can they really be about trying to be scary? Some people might dismiss this band as sophomoric Misfits-aping, a mere attempt to out-Misfits the Misfits. And there is some undeniable truth to that. BFS is to the Misfits and Samhain what Guitar Wolf is to the Ramones. They both take the older bands’ already existing cartoonishness and turn it up so many more notches and in a manner so breathtakingly immature, it’s a thing of disgusting beauty. So if you decide to pick up a copy of Skulls Rule – O,K? just be aware that the chances are very good that your girlfriend is going to hate, hate, HATE this with all her American Idol-loving guts. And friends will probably think you’re a halfwit with questionable tastes for listening to it. Owning this CD, you’re likely to be regarded with the same dim view given to someone harboring fugitives—because you’ll swear this was done by a bunch of antisocial miscreants locked away in a juvie hall somewhere on grave robbing and necrophilia charges. But I’ll say this for Big Fuckin Skull: they are so unapologetically and unflinchingly tasteless and unconcerned with being perceived as “out of step” or “lowbrow” that it borders on genuine sociopathy. And I tip my devilock to them for that. If William Blake was right about the “road of excess leading to the palace of wisdom,” then there’s something very fucking wise happening here. And in our world currently weighted down with gigantic planet-engulfing turd-pies like Reverend Camping and Justin Bieber, it is wisdom badly fucking needed.
–Aphid Peewit (bigfuckinskull.net)