Luckily for me, few if any people have actually been paying attention to my purple prose since I first started shooting off at the mouth in the pages of this magazine some ten years ago. Otherwise, readers might chafe at the fact that I’m once again going to happily gurgle on about another Henry Fiat-related release. But I will not apologize because my appreciation of the artist formerly known as “Sir Henry Fiat” is utterly without shame. It’s just that every so often you come across an artist—be it a musician, author, painter, pro wrestler, porn star, mime—whose work burrows deep into you like a bad case of heart worm. And I guess the Swede now going by the show-biz name “Paul Fashion” is one of those artists for me. Maybe it’s because it seems to me like he and I are on somewhat similar wavelengths. I like that he seems to go off half-cocked in such a brash and reckless manner—whether it’s in the context of Henry Fiat’s Open Sore, Sir Henry Fiat’s Bastard or now Friends Of Dorothy. This is not to say that everything to drop from his well-lubed pay slot is a golden turd. But for me, the flinchy, manic, Miami-style face-eating oddcore of the 7 inchers that were compiled into HFOS’s Adulterer Oriented Rock CD is still the trashy standard bearer by which I judge almost all other attempts at amped-up, garagey Electro-Convulsive Therapy rock, with or without mummy wraps. That CD was (and still is) the ultimate display of rash-causing rawness combined with Ritalin-starved hyperactive energy and a special hebephrenic queerness that can’t merely be chalked up to the fact that they are exotic people from a strange, far-away country. And while I’m giving vent to any stupid firefly of a thought that alights in my mind, why is it that the two undisputed Pervert Kings of Scandinavian Punk, HFOS and Turbonegro, never played a show together? I don’t know what amount of Aquavit and lutefisk it would’ve taken to make that happen, but I would’ve gladly distilled the potato booze myself and caught and soaked the cod in lye with my own hands to make that dream show happen. But enough about those glorious bands of yore; by now I’m sure that poor Mr. Fashion is as tired of being dogged by his Henry Fiat persona as poor old Fred Gwynn was tired of being forever thought of as Herman Munster. The happy news is that Friends Of Dorothy is yet another quality outing from the Swede: a four song sampling of Fiat-Fashion’s patented brand of hot, thrusting mongo rock that might be favorably compared to early Damned, but with “lewd and lascivious” replacing “cheeky and goth.” And with song titles like “Too Depressed for Success” and “Underachiever,” it’s as if this record was composed just for me. Well, me and Captain Sensible, anyway. This is about as good as non-iTunes music gets and is cause for much dimwitted rejoicing.
–Aphid Peewit (Kenrock, myspace.com/kenrockrecords)