Review Summary: I love to f*ck..
"Rubber, leather, chainsaws whatever, but you ain't never gonna f*ck me in my ass."
In the summer of 1979, somewhere deep in the bowels of San Fernando Valley, amid dry palm trees, blotter acid rave-ups, motorcycle tailgaters and drive-in pictures, a wretched concoction was brewing; sadomasochism, nihil, doo-wop and rock n’ roll, dirty little proto-punkers Puke Spit and Guts.
A now-supremely obscure and largely-forgotten artifact of brilliantine leather, Puke Spit and Guts were an incendiary gang of casual cool, casual skill and a whole lot of ugly. The closest the band got to exposure during their short span was a passing mention in the cult book
Our Band Could Be Your Life, that recounted Puke Spit and Guts’ bassist trying to beat the crap out of ascetic wallflower Ian McKaye in a venue’s parking lot.
Eat Hot Lead, the band’s sole LP, like a clump of old drain hair, unsightly and messy and somehow loveable, a kitten from hell; is a despicable collection of dancey punk, declaring the Sex Pistols to be pussies, the Ramones looking like your lonely auntie, orgies and narcotics and fun in the sun. Songs slink in and out, every cut more perverted than the one before, gutter poetry clothed in scrappy rock n’ roll. It’s a beauty of a record that begs you to smooch it on its “puckered liver lips.”
Eat Hot Lead is a sleazy stunner of American filth, a world of vile vixens and vulgar vagabonds waging cheeky war against puritanism, right there curdling snug next to the likes of Waters’
Pink Flamingos and De Rola’s
The Guitar Lesson in the pantheon of the obscene.
