Zeke
Flat Tracker (Scooch Pooch)
by Jon Sarre
These Seattlites froth and curse like the white trash, whiskey drinkin’, recreational drug usin’, hard livin’, hard fuckin’, hot rod racin’, law hatin’, fight startin’ cretins they want you to believe they are. Hell, who am I to say Zeke‘s just actin’ a part that the gullible scene followers (gas pumper jacket and chain wallet division) will buy into? Their “You hate me and I hate you,” “Fuckin’ fuckin’ fuck” aesthetic sure makes ’em sound pissed off about something and that’s a hellofa good start (I get sick of suburban brat-cases complainin’ ’bout how people just don’t have a sense of community these days, I really do).
As far as I’m concerned, the whole subject matter/gimmick lyin’ in the lyrics is just semiotic window dressing anyway (except for the few seconds on “Chiva Knievel” where Blind Marky Felchtone scuzzes out the line, “Sick as a dog” in a way that would make Steven Tyler wanna bathe if he ever heard it). The words in between the expletives don’t really matter much when this band can cram fifteen songs, Angry Samoans-style, into seventeen minutes.
In fact, Flat Tracker is even more impressive than the Samoans’ epic “Back From Samoa” in that Zeke doesn’t even stop to let you catch your breath/ get the joke (if there is one). They don’t have the fuckin’ time! The guitar/bass/ drum mono riff starts, stops and starts again. Fucking unrelenting! I was listenin’ to Motörhead’s “Ace of Spades” before I threw this on and for a second there, I thought I had forgotten to change the disc!
Zeke’ll pull your entrails out, wrap ’em around your throat and then strangle you with said innards. They cut out all hint of the punk rock classicism bullshit that seems to plague so many other bands, but they can still dish out the most inept Chuck Berry to James Williamson to Billy Zomm hyper speed riff I’ve ever heard. It sounds fuckin’ great, too! When it all comes down to it, punk rock’s just a violated carcass anyway, so why not watch Zeke (and other bands who could add to the wealth of themes implicit in songs with titles like “Let’s Fuck” and “Hate”) have fun by debasing the old lump of flesh. It sure beats watching MTV.
