The Guilloteenagers – “Cheeseballs To The Wall”
This is serious. This is some serious shit.
The problem with punk rock and real rock’n’roll are some people don’t take it as seriously as it needs to be taken. I mean, rock’n’roll is about sixty years old today, and punk’s almost forty.
I feel it’s about time to put these genre’s in mothballs, stuff them in a museum. You know, like they’ve done with blues music and jazz. Suck every ounce of juice and passion out of them and prop them up like a stuffed Dalmatian, petrified, in some old English fools whack-a-doodle’s den.
I do like art museums but they do feel like they’re a cemetery for art in a way.
But The Guilloteenagers are serious. Seriously, trying to keep the humor, fun and passion alive in punk and rock’n’roll.
And Yes!- their music drops swiftly like a sharp blade, but not upon your neck- Oh, No!- more like upon your earlobes to let inside your head some garage riffin’, punk ploppin’, rockin’ rollin’ beats that will cause your earwax to pogo until your brains neurons implode!
Let it rip:
With an intro that wouldn’t be out of place on some classic AC/DC tune, “The Guilloteenagers (Are Back)” tells the true story of the band. “’71 having fun in the garage/ ’72 still drinking brew in the backyard…’76 signed by Epic…’84 suits wanted more but we quit…But now you know we’re fuckin’ back/ The Guilloteenagers are back- to rock’n’roll.” A garage/psychedelic guitar solo comes flying in, scraping by with the skin of its teeth but still delivering sonic euphoric bliss. I was not aware of this band in their prime in the eighties, but I can’t imagine them sounding any better than this.
“Haven’t wrote a song about rock’n’roll/ For quite some time, come on let’s go!” Is how “50 Seconds” begins or should I say, detonates. This is rock’n’roll but not of the Jerry Lee Lewis/Little Richard type, but more The Ramones/ Johnny Thunders strain. But to paraphrase the great, death metal vocalist Billy Joel, “It’s all rock’n’roll to me.” Though the song is slightly longer than it’s title, every second is perfect and is worth more than fifty minutes of most albums to me. My favorite song on the album.
“Let’s Get Greasy” is taken at a tempo veering towards hardcore with the male and female vocalist trading off lines. The chorus pulls up on the rhythm while the guitars fuzz ominously like Black Sabbath. And damn, don’t this band sound like the great, early Boston punk band La Peste at times? The beat accelerates again, “Holy pepperoni/ Like Missouri, gotta show me.” A psychedelic guitar solo that rips the top of my head off leads back into the chorus, which leads us to the end of another great tune.
“Part Deux” is basically, about bands begging on stage for someone to bring them a beer. It always strikes me as odd, that ten minutes before they were at the bar and somehow they forgot to make a purchase. But here, at last, is a song that addresses this important issue, mentioning each individual player in each of the three verses. So instead of begging in-between songs, they can just play this one- pure genius. My only suggestion would be to have one more verse with, “Slimedog needs a beer,” then the song would be perfect.
“Wrote this song on the way here/ Even did it with out any beer/ It’s not that great or very long/ But we needed one more song.” So starts “Buck- Oh -Nine,” along with a walloping drum beat and some feedback guitar. “Booked a show without any songs/ Thought we’d write enough/ But, man- we we’re wrong.” Two guitar chords fuzz and slash against a rhythm that is solid and rocks. “Dig our shit wanna buy some merch/ Ain’t got stickers let alone t-shirts/ (great rhyme) That’s ok, we got hugs and high-fives/ They’re on sale for a buck-oh-nine.” This song could be a great garage song, a great rock’n’roll song or a great punk song. I choose all three.
Not since the heyday of Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Yes with their “Tales Of A Topographic Ocean” have we had such a sterling display of classic virtuoso playing, elaborate arrangements and lyrics with the lucidity that only a giraffe overdosing on angel dust could comprehend.
This is serious. This is some serious shit.
Well, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe as doom/sludge vocalist Mick Jagger said once- “it’s only rock’n’roll but I like it, like it, yes I do!”
This is the style of punk that I feel the Angry Samoans and The Dictators first hit upon and later bands, like NOFX and The Queers picked up on- meaning, music that still hits you like a jackhammer upon a city street but makes you laugh, too. When the front pages of your local paper makes you laugh more than the comic pages, this is something we all need!
And forget about if it’s punk or rock’n’roll, if you want music with energy, excitement and fun- well, look no further.
Is this music serious? I seriously, don’t know.
All I know is that I seriously love it.
(Slimedog)
