Bands aren’t all that interested in being “Anti” anything these days, they just want a buck, just like  you and me. cranking out turgid powerchords in an “extreme” metal band, doin' crazy Kung Fu kicks in a stripped-down retro-garage rock duo, or emoting sensitively in some jive Screamo outfit is just another way to get a decent paycheck in this static age, just like mopping up puke at the nursing home, or torching cars, or selling meat door to door, or whatever it is you do for a living. Back in the 80’s, though…well, you wouldn’t believe it. Lots of bands just did whatever they wanted, and I mean WHATEVER. They didn’t give a fuck. Some of this stuff would just knock you flat, believe me. Honeymoon Killers, Big Stick, Peach of Immortality, Halo of Flies, goddamn Reverb Motherfuckers – out on the fringes of rock and roll, it was pure, blissful, noisy mayhem. The kings (and queen) of the Fuck You sound were, without any doubt, Pussy Galore. Admittedly, it might seem like a stretch to label their deconstructionist -asseating- punk- industro-soul bullshit Flash Metal, but it was, man. Oh, all the fuckin’ way.

Of the four originals, “Sweet Little Hi-Fi Girl” sounds the most like a boner-fide rock n’ roll song, even if the drums are, in actuality, a guy banging a pipe against the wall. And they might be. But hey, the riff is a primo 60’s acid-punk relic, and Spencer throws it around like a bloody rag doll for two glorious minutes. If you squint, just a little, you’ll hear the same kinda hellfire sweat n’ roll passion as The Humpers or the Coma-Tones during “Hi Fi”. There’s a similar sorta wild abandon and genuine, helter-skelter rock action in closer “Renegade” too, although it keeps exploding into bursts of industrial noise every 45 seconds or so. The skeletal, hand-clapping chorus is great, too, even if the lyrics amount to Spencer going “Ugh!” like a constipated caveboy. And it all ends with the kind of self-congratulatory “Yeah!” that he would beat right into the ground a few years later with his constant shouts of “Blues Explosion!”, at the end of every song he ever fucking sang, so it’s a good precursor of thangs to come. The other three PG OG's on Sugarshit are noisy and jarring and awful, but that’s only because they didn’t want you to get TOO comfortable. God forbid you actually get your money’s worth from a bunch of snarly hipster creeps, you know?

Sugarshit Sharp failed to cross Pussy Galore over into any kind of mainstream success, but that would have been ridiculous anyway. They continued to make a mean-spirited ruckus for another couple years, then they all split up to make their OWN ruckuses. Spencer also formed Boss Hog with most of PG and this hot, topless chick, Cristina Martinez, in ‘89. The only difference was Boss Hog had better album covers. With the possible exception of “Cunt Tease”, this EP is the best thing Pussy Galore ever did, even though it’s only actually good for about 3-4 minutes. Despite it’s lack of appreciable musicality, however, “Sugarshit Sharp” was still more exciting, virile, and full of seething rock n’ roll sedition than most of the ACTUAL flash metal bands in 1988, and remains a nerve-rattling flash-hole messterpiece. It set a noble precedent, too- whenever sleazy rock n’ roll bands get too drunk to play but do it anyway, they have Pussy Galore’s pioneering work here to thank, because no matter how loose and wobbly they sound, they are sure to sound tighter than Pussy Galore did on Sugarshit’s anti-hit “Adolescent Wet Dream”. God bless the children of the Beast, indeed.