... if the ramones sounded like rock liberators from the exotic grimy streets of nyc to my teenage ears, when the needle dropped on a cramps record it was fucking outer space. freaks, ne'er do wells, prowlers from wrong side of tracks never thought about, and absolute godhead. in the reagan saturated american indie scene i grew up in, sex in rock took a backseat to cold posturing, to longing, to isolation, to a bedroom filled by yrself. but the cramps were sexy. big black may have coined the title "songs about fucking", but the cramps oozed it ... every utterance, every bleach of fuzz, every numbing drumbeat, every mangled microphone stand. lux and ivy shook the pillars. they were the dark screams every parent aired in the 50s. they were the elvis ...
3 comments:
Hell's new cocktail trio - Lux Interior, Billy Powell and Ron Asheton.
This proves there is no god. Lux is gone yet Jeff Tweedy is still here.
Actually, the fact that Ted Nugent is still around is a better argument for your theory.
Ted Nugent, rock star and avid bow hunter from Michigan , was being interviewed by a French journalist and animal rights activist. The discussion came around to deer hunting.
The journalist asked, "What do you think is the last thought in the head of a deer before you shoot him? Is it, 'Are you my friend?' or is it 'Are you the one who killed my brother?'"
Nugent replied, "Deer aren't capable of that kind of thinking. All they care about is, 'What am I going to eat next, who am I going to screw next, and can I run fast enough to get away. They are very much like the French."
The interview ended at that point.
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