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Someday,
40 years from now maybe, way after World War IV and V and whatever else kind
of nastiness awaits us, they are gonna sift through the wreckage, and some
cool teenager from Planet X is gonna find this record in the ashes of what
used to be St. Louis, and it’s going to blow his mind right out of
his mutated skull. He’ll build a shrine to Lofreq out of bones and
anti-aircraft missile shells, and he and the zombie boys will dance around
the radiation glow until the rest of their arms and legs fall off.
Personally, I’m hoping it doesn’t take that long before Lofreq get their due
in this rotten, stinkin’ world, but at least they can sleep easier knowing
they’ll be huge after the apocalypse. If you’ve read any of my nonsense in
the past year or so, or if you had the questionable luck of running into me
at the rock show or down on the avenue, then I reckon you’ve already gotten
an earful of just how much I dig this hairy, scary gang of starbent and
superfreaked drug rockers. And I don’t mean to stutter, or come off like
some obsessive compulsive nut, but brothers and sisters, I implore
you- drop everything and get yourself a copy of this record. Everything cats
like you and I dig about rock and roll- sleaze, sweat, and swagger,
mega-riffs and thunderboogie- are all here, blistered and bruised and lookin’
for action. “If This…” was produced by Gaza Stripper and ex-Supersucker
Rick Simms, it looks like a Monster Magnet record, and it
sounds like a knife fight in a whorehouse- I mean, what else could you want?
I could start running down the tracklist, and mention that the blazing
harmonica action on “With the Law” is the most awesome display of
mouth organ since Caged Heat, or that the rubber-riff and cowbell
combination on “Coldblooded” is the most macho sound this side of
bare knuckled fists on sides of beef, or that “High Roller” is the
greatest lead-footed driving song I’ve pretty much ever heard, but
it’s not like we got all night. All you really need to know is that the
singularly named Gary, Lofreq’s throatman, axe wielder, and
all-around head honcho, is a genius of rock, plain and simple. I hope all
his buddies over there in Misery are watching out for him, because if he
steps on a landmine or something, we’re all fucked. He has somehow turned
what might have been simple AC/DC-influenced hard rock at one point
into an elastic fantastic otherworld of mirror-shaded Supercool where
everything- even the really bad, dangerously reckless ideas that pop into my
head everyday- work perfectly. Imagine that, a world where everybody wins,
except for the pussies. You want in to that, don’t ya? Well, it’s easy. Just
plug this fucker in, and get to winning, Jack. |