This great band blends German Country Musik with Delta Tub-Thumping sex attacks to create a sound that leads most listeners to massive headaches and spontaneous diarrhea. So why is this band my favorite despite its odd effect on human health? Excuse me, I have the sniffles so hold on while I wipe the snot off my nose.
You can do without these “details”? So could I. Call my aesthetics “stark realism” or “gross writing” or “pig droppings”. This hurts but I care; I care: Ooooo, do I care! But I shall never show it. Stew will bubble in my gut but wait for the spectacle of suicide at the Super Bowl on the 50 yard line!
Back to Smoking Penis. The band consists of 11 musicians, a dancer, a comedian, 5 actors, a plumber and a corpse (usually my gramps). All rappers are shot. Mimes are castrated then shot. Politicians are welcomed then degraded then shot. Or is it shot then degraded? I need to consult the manual.
No recording studio will allow them inside its building. Generally, Gramps is the restrictive factor. He is the band’s lyricist so the the studio people says he must stay in the hearse because he doesn’t play an instrument. This not acceptable. I personally informed Rolling Stone about this injustice and they were sweet enough to send us a card.
My career in rock’n roll spans seven continents, 23 time zones and 16 planets. To complete the time-space construct, the “Career” has bounced around seven or eight centuries. I played saxophone for JS Bach. He could burn down every Lutheran organist in Germany, but what an asshole! I heard he smacked around his wife.
Sooner or later, around World War I, I decided to shuck this beautiful music bullshit. Why can’t music be ugly? The war taught us how grotesque the human body looks after a mustard gas attack, or how hand grenade can blow away most of a man’s face but leave his jaw. Ugliness needs to be heard, thus I founded the Stark Realism Movement.
Good night. I’ll post Part II in the future.