The Blood Drained Cows
(Triple X)
by Jon Sarre
As if everyone knows who this guy is (they should, but I’m not so naive), Mr. Greg Turner went from rock critin’ for Creem Magazine in the ’70s to guitarin’ for seminal, yet underappreciated, L.A. punks the Angry Samoans in the ’80s to professorin’ mathematics in New Mexico in the ’90s. Apparently, the thrill of being a productive and relatively upstanding member of society wore thin on Dr. Turner, that and the organizers of open mic nights didn’t want an oddball punk rock intellectual who can convincingly play the moron to continue showing up and singing songs about A bombs and necrophiles in love any more than they’d want to hear Roky Erickson babble on about the aliens (and I’m not sure if Turner bought into the reformed Angry Samoans deal). Somehow, Turner stumbled upon two individuals, in Santa Fé of all places, who shared his vision, or at least didn’t mind playing in a band called The Blood Drained Cows.
Anyone familiar with the manic achievement through mentally defective purloined Ramones riffs and puns on Dictator songs that made up the Angry Samoans body of work (which Triple X released on one long-ass CD a while back) is gonna recognize (and maybe even like) the Cows. Turner picks up where the Samoans last and most garagy record, STP Not LSD, left off. Fittingly, he, bassist Matt Miller (whose grandparents supposedly once owned the ranch outside of Roswell where the UFO crashed) and drummer Tom Trusnovic (who’s not a moron, Turner crows in the notes) cover “I Lost My Mynd” from STP and also tackle the psych classic “You’re Gonna Miss Me” by Texas garage legends the 13th Floor Elevators, whose work, thru founding guitarist/songwriter Roky Erickson, seems to be a big influence on Greg Turner (he’s appropriated stuff from the Elevators songbook over the years, see this record’s “Nowhere Around” for an example).
Much as in the Angry Samoans (who urged the world to “poke, poke, poke your eyes out” and speculated on the fate of Hitler’s member), Turner’s skewed sense of humor shows up in the lyrics, asking the “stars above” why he has to be a “Necrophiliac In Love” or turning the PC psychobabble-spouting narrator of “Caveman” into a Cro-Mag with a self-esteem problem or throwing out silly lines like “you turn on the TV to a channel you can understand, channel 6” as if we needed to know. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be funny or something, but producer Jeff Dahl inserted authentic sounding “old record crackles and pops” into all the spaces between songs, making this disc one of the first I’ve heard designed to sound like it was mastered from ancient 78 rpm records. It was probably pretty damn hilarious when they thought of it, but I guess ya had to be there.
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