Turd

Turdsville U.S.A. (13th Grade)
by Scott Hefflon

“I’m a man, drink from a can. I’m a man, goddamn.” Turd is rock’n’roll – black leather-wearin’, whisky-soaked stumblin’, rage screamin’, cock-in-hand swagger. With some of the nasty snarl of punk (yeah, that oughtta help sales) and a full-on understanding of the underbelly of barroom rock (waking up in a gutter, waking up next to someone who stinks like they live in the gutter [no, wait, that’s your stink], getting tossed from yer favorite club for hitting on the poster on the wall and throwing ice cubes at the surly bartender cuz he took too fuckin’ long to get you another glass of the off-colored fluid they call beer), Turd is probably a helluva live show, if they’re worth their weight in dirty laundry. They seem like the kinda guys who fuck shit up, but it’s hard to tell these days. The songs are simple, sounding kinda like “Kick out the Jams” if you know what I’m saying, and have that dirty beat that gets trashy chicks shaking their cute asses up in front of the stage. If you’ve ever heard The Wildhearts (which you probably haven’t cuz they never really made it outta England), you know the kinda rock I’m talking. I don’t wanna make the Stooges reference, but it probably has to be done. The record doesn’t come with lyric sheets, but I don’t think most people’ll care. Cheap beer, loud rock, mean drunk shitkickers knocking over amps and picking up the better lookin’ chicks in the joint – get it? Check yer history books for a phenomenon called rock’n’roll.
(PO Box 931532 Los Angeles, CA 90093)