Bloody and the Vaynes
(Black and Blue)
by Jon Sarre
Former collaborator of GG Allin, opening spot on Mr. Murder Junkie’s spoken word tour, girls!, avid collector of serial killer art, and a rock’n’roll curiosity in his own right, Bloody (formerly Bloody Mess, but now just plain Bloody, kinda like Madonna or Hillary [Clinton]) is one of those guys who’s out on his own personal mission of carnal sex’n’drugs’n’rock’n’roll as a, well, blood sport, with “fans” who probably number heavy in the “incarcerated letter writer” demographic. Bloody’s not exactly a cheerful feller, either, not even for a poet, which is what he basically is, seein’ how the Vaynes function as essentially the backdrop for his spoken word that rhymes, which differs from “prose,” y’see, which is what Jello Biafra does these days (Renaissance man Rollins does both, even if his poems usually don’t rhyme, very modern of him). Even when Bloody sings, it’s more of a geezer-era Iggy croon, not that it adds or takes away from his bad trip. The guy has a litany of complaints: hard times, no money, drunk, oft in sorta-self-inflicted physical pain, lookin’ like shit. This record’s so up there in terms of personal loathing, an alternate title coulda been The Diary of a Human Wreck – it’s Damaged‘s nihilism to the nth degree. Once ya take into consideration that, sorta like GG, self-loathing’s been Bloody’s career, maybe even his raison d’être, all of a sudden it’s all a parody. Unfortunately, sad clowns just ain’t that funny, y’know?
