Review Summary: Chapter 1: A Brown Reason To Live, Played at 69 RPM
When settling into BOSS Studios in 1982, I’d imagine the Surfers caused a bit of a ruckus in the life of one Bob O’Neill. Here came these delusional weirdos practically begging to use his recording space for their band, stating that they were in talks with Jello Biafra and Alternative Tentacles and that AT would pay for the sessions later. As for the remaining Surfers, things were far from peachy - after a physical altercation between Scott Mathews and Gibby Haynes, both Mathews brothers walked. Best friends Haynes and Paul Leary were now without the rest of the group and still had to deliver something to impress the Dead Kennedys frontman. What would ensue with the duo and the new musicians brought on, which included bassist Bill Jolly and a whole slew of drummers, would be forever known as
Butthole Surfers.
Or
A Brown Reason To Live. Or
Pee Pee The Sailor.
Record name aside, the 18 minute EP eagerly spits and/or ejaculates in the face of good taste. The tasteless nature of Butthole Surfers is the reason so many early fans would make sure to show up to their live shows, so it would obviously have to show up on their first release, the first thing most tape traders, anomaly collectors, or AT followers would hear from them in 1983. In this spirit, “The Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey’s Grave” couldn’t have been a better opener. From the juvenile and brash lyricism to the confused cacophonies between lines, it’s all ridiculous. And while it often feels like the band is merely taking the piss and wasting both Biafra’s and O’Neill’s time with their bullshit,
Butthole Surfers entices the appetite of the listener in a way that few other debuts are able to. Absurdist, distorted, and borderline dadaist as they may be, tracks like “Wichita Cathedral,” “Something,” and “ Bar-B-Q Pope” are undeniably catchy and musically layered.
Jolly’s bass playing is plays a lot into what makes this one special, as his backing melodies keep the saxophone playing of Haynes and the guitar work of Leary in line. While it may not be as flashy or dangerous as either of their roles (which include vocal responsibilities) or the sharp rhythmic percussion (which comes from Brad Perkins, future permanent member King Coffey, and various other musicians), the basslines hold the songs together and tend to burn through the rest of the music like a hot poker. This is especially apparent on “The Revenge of Anus Presley” and “Wichita Cathedral.” The rest of the performances orbit Jolly’s work, flailing from the dazed psychedelia of “Hey” to the fiery mockery of Black Flag-esque hardcore seen on “The Revenge…” Everything from the tempo of the drums to the proficiency of guitar and sax is tinged with an authentic layer of amateurism (to put it kindly), but, as with the live show heard on
Live PCPPEP, that is where much of the charm is. If everything was exactly in place, if the production wasn’t so foggy, and the songs and solos were more “conventional,” it wouldn’t be as brazenly repulsive and repugnant.
And if it isn’t repugnant, it isn’t Butthole Surfers.
