[a]Supersuckers[/a] bypass the brain and smash you in the guts, heart and gonads like Bruce Lee armed with especially sharpened stainless steel combat dentures..
Face facts, fuckheads! There’s bubblegum pop and there’s punk rock and there’s good ole rock’n’friggin’-roll and then there’s [I]RAWK[/I]! And pretty much everything else played by white folks is wishy-washy WANK! Yee-[I]HAH! [/I]So what – given that [a]Supersuckers[/a] rock like stampeding wildebeest infected with tapeworms that lay eggs in your brain and drive you MAD – are [a]Supersuckers[/a]? Answer: THE LOT!
Bubblegum? Damn right! This is one-brain-cell, two-dimensional, three-colour cartoon carnage! Punk rock? Fuck yes! You have to seriously doubt vocalist/bassist Eddie Spaghetti, guitarist Dan ‘Thunder’ Bolton, guitarist Ron Heathman and drummer Dancing Eagle‘s ability to punch their way out of a damp paper bag but, boy, do they fucking [I]swagger[/I]. Rock’n’friggin’roll? Like duh! And do they [I]RAWK!? [/I]Uh, does the Pope promote a set of disgusting Dark Age ideals which denigrate women, retard human progress, keep millions of human beings locked in the dank spiritual cul de sac of malodorous superstition? Uh, YEAH!
Tonight we were bubblegum punkRAWK’n’friggin’-rolled till our bastard brains bled. BAM! We’re supersuckerpunched by ‘The Evil Powers Of Rock’n’Roll’ (opening track on the brilliant album of the same name) and the joint kept rockin’ till it prolapsed. Nice. Stoopid fucking title. Stoopid fucking song. Stoopid fucking audience. It was great!
Lithesome young mothaf- -er Ed Spaget – sweat-misshapen stetson, power-tool sex-enthusiast-style face fuzz and jet-black cheapo shades – waddles on like a badly bronco-bucked rodeo queen high on cheap speed. A God among men!
BAM! ‘I Want The Drugs’. Um, yeah, well, that’s it really. It’s a song about how he “wants” the “drugs”. And will you look at Ron Heathman – the gurly hair and screwed-up face of a constipated pre-Raphaelite angel – simultaneously buttfucking and strangling his disintegrating axe like a steroid-crazed sexual pervert making sweet love to a screaming duck. Groovy.
BAM! ‘Goin’ Back To Tucson’. Er, it’s a sorta. well, y’know, a [I]ballad![/I] But it’s a bubblegum punkRAWK’n’-friggin’roll ballad and the [a]Supersuckers[/a]’ idea of an ambient room is a sharp metal spike-studded X-treme tekno-blasting lake of fire in the very deepest recesses of drug hell! So that’s OK then.
[a]Supersuckers[/a] bypass the brain and smash you in the guts, heart and gonads like Bruce Lee armed with especially sharpened stainless steel combat dentures and a pair of deftly wielded nunchukas carved out of tyrannosaurus rex thigh bones. Cool.