This band is neither as one-and-done lousy as one might fear, nor as impishly brilliant as one might hope (although i’m giving them twenty bonus points for paraphrasing Dee Dee Ramone’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction speech in the liner notes)—instead, they’re a pretty fast, pretty poorly recorded Ramonesy punk band who sing stupid songs like “Blood Feast (A Love Song)” and “Your Butt Begs for Butter” that, on closer inspection, aren’t really as stupid as they initially appear (the album that my Cranial Antecedent Indicators are attempting to point me towards seems to be TMA’s What’s For Dinner? LP [ca. 1984], but, since my Cranial Antecedent Indicators don’t alphabetize my records for me, i’m going to leave that one in the realm of mere cognitive association for the nonce). I’m guessing that if Mutant Pop Records was still in business, Timbo would grapple over the moral and aesthetic peril that having a fecally themed act on the label would engender (well, besides the Connie Dungs, i mean), then eventually yield to his baser impulses and sign these guys to a series of lucrative 7-song CD-Rs. The original purveyors of the Beach Boys/diarrhea connection! Accept no substitutes! BEST SONG: “Nothing Poetic” or “My Girlfriend’s an Australopithecine” BEST SONG TITLE: “My Girlfriend’s an Australopithecine” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: No Pat Stirrats were murdered in the recording of this album!
–norb (Urban Cheese, www.urbancheese.com)