Once again what is perhaps the LAST bastion of seventies/eighties rock 'n roll civilization gathers in the pages of BULL TONGUE REVIEW to fill you in on what's left of that once-bountiful and downright beautiful underground rock scene that moved more'n a few bowels back in the good ol' days. Yeah for all intent purposes the entire rock 'n roll ideal (which was much different than rock 'n roll as a crass if pedigreed mirror of 80s/90s slickness) is deader'n Zeppo, but at least the wake's still in full swing what with the vast array of musics, sounds, moom pitchers and other post-postmodern quap extant there is to tingle anybody's tastebuds in these days when I truly felt that tastebuds would have been most certainly have been made ILLEGAL!!!
Judging from Byron Coley and Thurston Moore's opening pep talk mebbe there really ain't that much onna high energy level to blab about in the here and now, or at least the pair haven't written about anything that I would care to part the hard-begged with. Not even the Ilitch reissues of a coupla albums whose original forms have been tempting me for over thirty years (which goes to show you what kind of a procrastinator I can be) can make me part with the filthy lucre (even though I certainly dug Thierry Muller's Lucy single!) but then again that just might be my own personal stodginess!
But hey, it ain't the faults of Misters Coley and Moore that the hipper-than-whatever music scene is pretty turdsville at this time, and I gotta commend them for finding the things that are spinning and making 'em known to fanablas like us who have relied on their words for more'n a short period of time.
Of course there's the rest of the mag to contend with, and contend with it I most certainly did! True I can complain from here to Ypsilanti and back that some of the contributors are people who I wouldn't defecate on even if they haven't had their three square meals a day, but then again there is plenty of bright, enlightening funny and even downright life-reaffirming material that will get your spirit up and popping more'n any episode of LOOK UP AND LIVE will.
John Sinclair's masterful obit of ex-Carnal Kitchen and Stooges saxophonist Steve Mackay is something that'll really get you **there** (punch breadbasket with inner fist gently) and'll also make you wanna force him to release all of those Grande Ballroom etc. Stooges, MC5, Seventh Seal and Billy C and the Sunshine tapes he has holed up in his closet. Former NEW YORK ROCKER head honcho Andy Schwartz's review of blooze greats Otis Rush and Albert King are good enough that I'm gonna forgive him for some really bad early-eighties editorial moves that helped turn me off his mag with a mild vengeance (well, they still had Coley, Billy Miller and even Miriam Linna!). And ex-Samoan Gregg Turner writing about an open mic night at somediveorother had me rolling in the aisle (between my bed and comfy chair) and glad that...well, I wasn't there to catch this new and rising talent brave enough to make their appearances so...public???
Heck, even the writeups of Ornette Coleman's funeral and the tons of mini rock-a-rama-like offerings (by the likes of Eddie Flowers and Ira Kaplan amongst others!) overcomes any of the stench one might catch from a few of the other additions which, although may be good enough for publication, do have an air of total echness to 'em (after all, if you found out that Chairman Mao wrote a great article on Wire would you admit it??? Wait, don't answer that 'un!)
It's sure relaxing on the ol' psyche reading something up front 'n real that ain't a buncha crybaby boobie snivel, and you sure ain't gonna find any of that in these pages no how no-sir-ree! With the arrival of the latest UGLY THINGS just a few weeks away and some other publications percolatin' down the line it looks like my (and your) toilet reading time ain't gonna be bogged down by the same old BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS that just happens to be stuck in the bathroom mag rack! Happy bowel movings to you with BULL TONGUE REVIEW and please, don't forget to wipe!
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