Manpussy (Basura/Priority)
by Scott Hefflon
Post Review Note: If I’d remembered that a picture – or CD cover – is worth a thousand words, I wouldn’t have even bothered to write this.
The drag race intro of “Ticket To Hell” was the only incentive I needed to fasten the safety belt across my lap, raise my hands above my head and howl like a lunatic to the rollercoaster that is Foreskin 500. The occasional mid-tempo sleepers, like “Dig A Hole,” were pleasant breath-catchers and broke up the tiresome monotony of enjoying the disc. “Gasoline” kicks back in with the White Zombie-esque vocal meatiness and old Judas Priest dual-guitar chug. The drum lines are just as horrendously predictable as old Priest. Difference is, Foreskin uses a drum machine (or beat box) and Priest had some dork named Brian or something who always looked weary and out of place in the pose-a-thon band photos.
The twist of genius in the band’s intoxicating brew is the litter of samples strewn across the disc. While the duh-rock guitars plod and solos rip, there are preachers prophecizing, porno stars humping, warbling horns that sound like elephants with indigestion, and ’80s cheese new wave keyboard lines that Flock of Seagulls would find appalling. One last fave to add to “Ticket to Hell” and “Highway 69” (resplendent with poetry: “I’ll poke you with my pitchfork,” a pseudo-sitar solo and yet a few more examples of raceway Doppler effect – in stereo) is the love song called “Kiss Me.” The indecipherable “Jesus Built My Hotrod” lyrics (that according to the lyric sheet, not only sound like but actually are “Blah, blah, blah…”) are followed by the sing-along chorus of “Kiss me, baby, or kill me, baby.” The closing verses, consisting entirely of the word “Yeah,” just seem to top it off perfectly. The underwater “Crimson and Clover”-ish sound of “Baby Crush” has a great zone-out quality to it (as it repeats over and over into a fade out) that you don’t snap out of until the next disc drops into place. (In this case, the opening chords of The Queers latest Stereo Punk Rock Record, Beat Off.) While peeling myself off the shabbily stuccoed ceiling, I decided to write the review.
Whether or not Foreskin 500 ever does unplugged remakes or tours the world in support of their chart-topping hit is irrelevant. Some things should stay pure and unknown. Let the weenie journalists froth about the “innovative and eclectic hybrid concoction” or whatever. This band is wacky, crass and rock-hard, and I’m not especially worried about them de-crowning Led Zeppelin or starting a new fashion movement anytime soon.