The Real 100 Greatest Rock Albums of All Time, No. 22:
The Meatmen - Rock N' Roll Juggernaut (Caroline, 1986)
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"Catatonic speed crazed cosmo jocks"

Back in the 80’s, I really couldn’t have envisioned rock n’ roll operating without Tesco Vee at the helm, pullin’ levers and twisting knobs and tossing all the posers and mamas boys into the giant Gonzo Hate Vibe ™ corpse grinding machine. I mean, this fucker was EVERYWHERE, a rock n’ rolling juggernaut in yr face, brother, poking his boney finger into yr chest and demanding action, and adventure, and shameless worship. And maybe a few bucks, too. This 10 foot tall (well, ok, more like 6-and-a-half) Dutchman, this mild-mannered, Michigan bred school teacher-gone-wild, was simply the last word in rock n’ roll back then. And why wouldn’t he be? He was bigger, louder, funnier, and smarter than just about everyone else. I am sure he woulda boxed or flick-knifed whoever challenged his authority, but I mean, when yr biggest competition for King of Rock is a skinny, goggle-eyed, mean-spirited asshole like Steve Albini, then the job is yours for the taking, ya know?

And those were good days, when Tesco was king. All the punk bands grew their hair long, and started playing ROCK. For proof, check out the mid-80’s output of SSD, Gang Green, Black Flag, the Necros, Verbal Assault, Decry, and the Meatmen themselves. All the metal bands – well, that’s a different department, Tesco wasn’t in charge of them. Anyway, the whole notion of “Super Rock”, of turbo-charging yr formerly tinny powerchords until they threatened to set the entire front row’s head on fire, that was Tesco. And he was funny, too. If you couldn’t hang with firing off 50 borsht belt euphemisms for tits, couldn’t break out into an Arab accent mid-song, weren’t down with gold lame suits and cowboy boots, then you just weren’t living in Tesco’s sexy-future-rock-now-Utopia. And why the fuck wouldn’t you want to? Quite simply, he made rock n’ roll fun again, and if you were too stupid or uptight to get it, then he would gladly show yr pansy ass to the door. I tell ya, for awhile there, it seemed like the party was never gonna end. Until it did.

Somewhere in the 90’s, when suicide grunge and hippy girl alt-rock and gnashing pseudo-industrial disco were all clawing their way to rock dominance, Tesco quietly, and inexplicably, got up off his throne and went away. Sure, there’s been sightings since then, a few one-off nu-Meatmen rekkids here and there, but for the most part, the cat split, man. And, ya know, look at us now, in this post-Tesco landscape. Sure, rock n’ roll’s been gentrified enuff to keep most of us happy, at least in a Stepford Wives kinda way. There’s a sub-sub-sub-genre message board for every wayward taste out there, and a one-stop phony hipster t-shirt shop to buy yr self-appointed uniform, no sweat. But ya can’t laugh anymore, man, at least not without checking with the Politically Korrect Po-lice first. And even then, not without atoning for yr shameless, reckless sense of humor, if you try and breach their guidelines. You can’t dress up in whatever dopey costume you drunkenly cadged together from soggy boxes in the basement and confidently declare it your “new look, kind of a Roman soldier-meets-Hollywood cop-on-speed thing”, either. And what’s with all the paranoia, and back-stabbing, and petty territorial pissings? Sure, Tesco thrived in a pre-terrorism world, where the fuckin’ PMRC was his biggest enemy, but who’s to say, if he was still around, that he wouldn’t have just quelled Mideast unrest himself, if it was gonna get in the way of his t-shirt sales? What I mean to say is, brothers and sisters, we NEED Tesco Vee, now more than ever. Just take a look around, turn on the radio, watch the nightly news, try layin’ a smile on a stranger. This ain’t rock n roll, baby. This is Martial Law. When it really oughta be Marshall Law.

But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. I suppose some kind of explanation is in order. See, there was this fella, Robert Vermuellen, growing up in Lansing, Michigan, in the mid-70’s. He dug rock n roll and getting’ it on, alla that, and even had his own Iggy-inspired fanzine, The Iguana, back in his high school days. Problem was, all his fave bands- Stooges, Dolls, MC5, just like you and me- had already broken up. So to keep the fires lit, he hadda form his own goddamn band, or something. But he had a flair for the written word, so first he opted for college, becoming an English major at the University of Michigan. By that time, the first wave of English punk bands were invading US shores via pricey import singles, and Rob was soaking them all in. Finding a dearth of dirt on his fave band, he even slapped together a 999 fanzine, “The 999 Times”, which, next to "Crapper's Delight" (See below) remains the single most retarded thing he’s done, so far. After Rob got the herky-jerky pre-post-punk stuff outta his system, he went semi-legit with the now-legendary Touch and Go fanzine, a caustic, ‘say anything’ punk rock assault on decency and good taste. Not that I’ve seen it, mind you – I was like, 9 years old when the first issue came out – but that’s what the historians say, anyway.

In 1979 (or so), Rob V became Tesco Vee. How? His favorite record store was called “Tesco’s”. His last name started with “V”. Shazam! He formed the first incarnation of the Meatmen (you don’t need an explanation for the band name, do ya?) with a couple troublesome brothers/neighborhood dirtbags, Rich and Greg Ramsey, and some other dude, Eliot Rachtman, who played drums. Sorta. Anyway, they played nasty-mouthed garbage punk, and everyone either loved or hated them. Mostly hated.

Ever the ambitious punker, Tesco formed his own record label in 1980  (also named Touch and Go), and released the first Necros 7”. Then he sold the label to the Necros guy, cuz he was too busy rockin’ (and teaching 4th grade) to run some pussy record label. After dropping a member or two and finding some new flesh to mold into his own image (“The band is basically tall blonde creep Tesco Vee and whatever gang of jackasses he has surrounded himself with for the time being.” – Mark Prindle), The Meatmen finally got around to releasing a single, the “Blood Sausage” EP, in 1982. Filled with high velocity, Fear-esque snarlpunk, it contained ham-fisted sonic punchlines like “One Down, Three to Go” (“Fuck, fuck, fuck the Beatles/Smelly, hairy old people”) and the touching anti-menstrual ballad “I’m Glad I’m Not a Girl” (“Girls have problems/yes indeed/ like the monthly rot they all must bleed/ thought about that? Well think about this/Don’t wanna sit/ when I piss”). Well, ok. As if that wasn’t enough, they followed it up later that year with the another 7”, the wonderfully titled “Crippled Children Suck” EP. All I really remember about this one is that it had an awesome ode to masturbation called “Orgy of One” on it that went, “Laying pipe might be fun, but it can’t beat my orgy of one!” and being 12 at the time, and having just discovered the stunning power of self-manipulation, it was kind of an anthem, ya know? Anyway, having built up a big ol’ head of…uh, stream, the Meatmen released their first LP, “We’re the Meatmen…and You Suck” in ’83 (all these rekkids were on Tesco’s own Touch and Go, by the way), but since it was just “Blood Sausage” on the a-side, and live versh’s of the “Crippled” EP’s songs on the flip, it was kind of a rip-off, really. That didn’t stop EVERY PUNK KID IN BOSTON from wearing a “We’re the Meatmen…” t-shirt, tho, with that ugly band cartoon on it. I swear to god, these kids were so devoid of originality that you could easily see 5 of ‘em sitting in the infamous “Pit” in Harvard Square, Cambridge, all wearing the same stupid shirt, drinking the same stupid beer (Bud, what else?), and hitting on the same fat skinhead girl any time at all ‘tween 1983 and 1985. No wonder Tesco was one year away from declaring metal-powered cock n’ roll as the new “Punk”. But I digress.

In 1983, Tesco broke up the Meatmen. Why? Well, how the fuck long can you live in Michigan, ya know? He moved to DC, AKA punk rock central, USA. Straight edge hardcore lightning rods Minor Threat had just broken up, and Lyle Preslar and Brian Baker (later of Dag Nasty and, more importantly- at least around here- Junkyard) were lookin’ for some new action. They had originally planned on forming a band with Glen Danzig (The Misfits had recently imploded, too), but somehow or another, they ended up with Tesco fuckin’ Vee. Lucky them. The result? 1984’s “Dutch Hercules” EP, Tesco’s solo record. The good news is that the speed punk stuff was dead, and in it’s place was shameless mock-cock-rock. The bad news is that the b-side was a fucking rap parody of fucking “Rappers Delight” called “Crappers Delight”, which was even worse than that other tragic ’84 rap parody, “Metal Rap”, by the Lone Rager. Christ. Anyway, aside from “Crapper’s”, “Dutch Hercules” was pretty bad ass. Now, I am completely aware that the whole thing- the Judas Priest riffs, the macho chest thumping- was all a ruse, but baby, I don’t care. Fact of the matter is, if you really wanna get philosophical about it, the first Zodiac Mindwarp song was not “Wild Child”, it was “Wine, Wenches and Wheels” from “Dutch Hercules”, written a good year before Mark Manning even dreamed up his manifest destiny. I mean, dig: think, I dunno,  “Breakin’ the Law” played by sloppy punk rock assholes, and the biggest, baddest asshole of the bunch barking out stuff like this:

“Big chested girls with wine in their guts/Fine lookin’ sluts
Slam it into overdrive/Tape’s blasting Iron Maiden live
So glad to be alive!
Got her in the back with her legs in the air/her clean white ass pumpin’, bare
Black leather seats slidin’ down/ Dorkin’ in my mean machine
I live for it, you know it!”

Now THAT is rock n’ fuckin’ roll. In fact, it’s the very definition of it. Almost makes ya forget the over-reaching, jokey cover of Sly’s “Dance to the Music” that comes right after. Almost. At any rate, it was obvious that Tesco was on to something with all this cock metal stuff, but would he eschew the novelty act junk and take on the Rock God pose full time? Well, of course he would, man. Tesco ain’t no dope. By the way, it should be mentioned Tesco had continued his side-gig as a sleazy rock journalist this whole time, most notably for seminal Boston-based smugness-as-artform mag Forced Exposure, which broke Big Black, Sonic Youth, the Honeymoon Killers, and just about any other gang of misanthropic noise-hipsters in the 80’s, and which also conveniently served as Tesco’s very own propaganda sheet. Although I haven’t even seen an issue in years and years, I can tell ya this much- Tesco’s chummy band interviews, which usually had nothing to do with ‘band bizness’ at all, and we’re usually just circular riffs about pussy and cocaine, were a major influence on me; and Byron Coley, who did the vast majority of writing in the magazine, was brilliant, way better than I’ll ever be. And a complete and utter prick. And a fuckin’ jazz fan. But, ya know, all that shit worked in the 80’s.

Anyway, in ’85, the new, improved DC Meatmen released “War of the Superbikes” (Homestead), an apocalyptic, tongue in cheek, punk rock-cum-biker metal epic. Although the band would not reach the awe-inspiring cock n’ roll superpowers of “RNR Juggernaut” on this ‘un, they came close. Featuring a Nazareth cover (!), “Razmanaz”, a Pagans cover (“What’s this Shit Called Love”), a confusing ode to ABBA (“ABBA, God, and me”), a comedy skit about a TV game show in Tesco’s mind called “Punkarama” that offers up Joan Jett as a lesbo prize (“And for all you gals it’ll be a lovely evening with everybody’s favorite lover bitch Joan Jett. And if you’re really lucky, you may even get to lick her shaved and studded pickle parlor” – Joan later thanked The Meatmen for the mention in the liner notes of her 1986 “Good Music” album), and, of course, the bitchin’, motormetal title track: “In the distance those oversized Japanese legwarmers /Sounds like some kind of gigantic mutated insects/ Three men on monster machines/Shot out of God’s slingshot!” That one got a lot of airplay at Teen Sleaze HQ, believe me. Anyway, punk rockers hated it. Metal kids had no fuckin’ idea, man. But for fledgling Super Rockers, it was all you could ask for in goddamn mid 80’s rock n’ roll record. Or so we thought, anyway.

Tesco’s live circus should be noted here, since at this point, the onstage Meatmen experience was an orgy of cock-star preening, x-rated stand-up comedy ("The fact remains, chickies, I stick my tongue so far up your puckered starfish, I carve my initials in tomorrow's turd!”), bizarre costumes, and even more bizarre props. As Graham Mcullough (who was a Superbikes-era Meatman) related in the muddy, bloody oral account “American Hardcore: A Tribal History” (Steven Blush, George Petros- Feral House, 2001), “Tesco rode out on a moped and gunned his engine. There was smoke gong off. Then, in our second show, we did a fake glam rock thing, where everybody was dressed in drag. I had the rock n’ roll nurse mini-skirt with the sliver glitter wig and lipstick. Tesco wrestled Fred Smith of Beefeater. Both were dressed as cavemen.” Obviously, the only thing left for Tesco to do was release a record that was as rock ‘em, sock ‘em as live Meatmen shows had become. And so, he did.

“War of the Superbikes” certainly hinted at the steamroller of sleaze that would hit the rock world like a big, ugly hammer a year later, but nobody was truly PREPARED for Rock N’ Juggernaut’s onslaught of, well…rock n’ roll juggernautery. I STILL don’t think the world is ready for it. Interestingly, the cover, which showcases Tesco’s predilection for dressing his band up in ridiculous costumes, does NOT make the Meatmen look like Rock n Roll Juggernauts. Instead, it makes ‘em look like a particularly unfunny improv comedy troupe. Which, of course, is what their detractors always said they were. Anyway, guitarist James Cooper is dressed like a flash metal suicide victim, complete with bullet belt, headband, and a faux-rattlesnake skin wrist-to-elbow armband, the kind that Johnny Thunders used to wear to hide his trackmarks. I think James got drafted for that get-up ‘cuz he had the longest hair. Graham McCullough (“Basso Profundo”) wears a gay pirate outfit- puffy shirt, tights, pointy black boots – only he tosses in a sleeveless leather vest and a “Love” belt buckle, for that ‘psychedelic biker metal’ look. A little mascara, and he’d be ready for Slave Raider. Lyle Preslar, who could’ve never seen this coming when he was saving the youth from themselves (or whatever he was doing) in Minor Threat, is all gussied up in a gold lame suit, complete with matching bowtie. He looks like a particularly snazzy wedding band leader. Drummer Eric Zelsdor is wearing an orange jumpsuit – I think he’s supposed to be, like, a fighter pilot, something like that. That doesn’t explain why he’s also holding two swords, or why, on the back cover, he’s just wearing jeans and one of those high school band jackets. Either they had to give the jumpsuit and swords back to the costume shop before the photo shoot was over, or he just got fed up with the whole thing. Oh, and Tesco? Well, Tesco’s wearing a Roman soldier outfit, only n the front cover, he’s got it covered up by a white, fuzzy, caveman suit. And he’s wearing devil horns. And wrestling boots. Which all made it kinda impossible to go, “I wanna grow up to be just like Tesco Vee”, ya know? You had to add an addendum to it, like, “I wanna grow up to be just like Tesco Vee, only not so much of a jackass.”

But, hey, fuck the cover. The cover is incidental. What matters most with this ‘un is the deadly accurate cock n’ roll baked into it’s greasy grooves. Now, I realize that every track on this record is at least half-smirking it’s way to the finish line, but besides the brief ‘comedy’ bits sprinkled throughout, I swear to Christ, Rock N' Roll Juggernaut is one of the best rock n’ roll records ever. And the proof comes down quick.

RNRJ starts off like a concussion grenade, with the utterly headbanging title track. With a riff that sounds like Black Flag (long haired, Henry-fied version) channeling their inner Iron Maiden (long haired, first-wave Dickinsonian version) at a Motley Crue (pre-suck version) tribute show and Tesco’s berserk, junkyard dog delivery, “RNRJ” is a statement of intent, a call to arms, and a devastatingly lethal dose of surly flash metal that parodies macho cock rock so successfully that it IS macho cock rock. That is most likely the point, and even if it’s not, I really don’t give a fuck, ‘cuz it rocks like crazy, baby. I mean, dig the sentiment:

“Here’s non-stop, not stock, snarling cock rock/the deadliest of din
Showboating, toting angry weapons and salt peter soaked with gin
We drink bong water and bourbon cocktails/a righteous manly brew
And jab it into our veins for kicks/if it clears up well in spoons

We’re a rockin’, rollin’ juggernaut in your face
5 bees in the bonnet of the human race
Twisting USA youth to waste”

I mean, I am down with that program, ya know? I still am, in fact. Then there’s “True Grit”. Starting off like all 80’s metal songs are supposed to, with gigantic, arena rattling drumbeats, “True Grit” is all growls, punk-metal crunch, and Tesco’s raspy first-person narrative about pick-up trucks and assfucking your own children. Of course, it was written as a satire of ‘authentic’, good’ ol boy redneck types, but little did Tesco know that 15 or so years later, sentiments like “Got a case of Pabst soaking in my gourd/got my action slacks from Montgomery Wards/Poaching wildlife for my own personal gain/gunaholic commie-hatin’ insane” would pretty much be ENCOURAGED by the culture at large, from the everyday gas-guzzling, right-wing radio listening, wife punching American assholes to the trucker hat wearing, PBR drinking, Nashville Pussy listening “born again redneck” punk n’ roll crowd. Tesco shoulda toughed it out, man. He coulda been the King Cadillac Daddy of the SUV people. They woulda loved him, man. He would have left Nuge and Bill O’Reilly in the dust on the talk radio dial. Only difference is, he would’ve only been JOKING. By the way, in the line “My wife laments, I drink, I’m crass/Plug my teenage daughter in the ass”, “ass” is bleeped out. Why? Cuz Tipper Gore and the PMRC were ALREADY on Tesco’s tail, and it did kinda look like they were gonna start throwing people in fuckin’ jail for writing dirty rock n roll songs back then. Crazy, but true.

“Centurions of Rome” is the best song on the record. Hell, it’s the best Meatmen song period, and it’s one of the best rock songs ever. And I mean EVER. When I finally relented and bought the CD versh of “RNRJ” (because vinyl copies were all like, $40 a pop) and played “Centurions” for Mrs. Sleazegrinder in the car on the way home, Stacey said, “This song is RIDICULOUS.” And mebbe it is, I dunno. What I do know is that it starts with the sounds of marching soldiers and a soundclip of, uhh…Winston Churchill or somebody manly like that, saying “We live well, we die well”. Then there’s this bitchin’ riff, truly a riff of the Gods, a funky, junky biker metal riff that just keeps bangin’ into your skull over and over as Tesco does this dramatic, deep voice thing, kinda like Jim Thirwell with an evil British accent, and he’s going on about how “We are centurions! Centurions of Rome!” as the rest of the band goes “ahhhh-AAAHHH-aaaahhh” like a buncha Gregorian monks. Goddamn, is it heavy. I have literally spent hours listening to this song- just this song- and soaking up it’s awe-inspiring power. And while it never made me wanna “wallow in gore” or nothin’, it does make me ponder whatever it is that makes men Great, and not just everyday, average pussies like most people. Ya know? Anyway, the song is a fantastic, rousing adventure of pure macho rock thunder. One of my all time favorites.

“French People Suck” is a throwback to the old speedpunk days of the early Meatmen, and a good reminder that anti-France sentiment in the US goes back a long way. Well, maybe not a ‘good’ reminder, but you know what I mean. In ’86, the US-at-large was pissed at the Frenchies cuz they wouldn’t let us use their airspace on the way to take out Libyan dictator Gadhafi. The US lost a cuppla pilots in the process of that debacle. More recently, they took a hard-stance against the US invasion of Iraq. That’s why we haveta eat “Freedom Fries” now. I wonder what Tesco would have to say about the French now? He was already plenty pissed in ’86 – “Hating Yankees too much/those beret-headed nuts/they can stick the Eiffel tower/straight up their butts!” Ok, so the cat was no  incisive social commentator, but just imagine the roar of the crowd stateside if he played that song now? Hell, Bush mighta sent him over to Baghdad to rally the troops.

“Turbo Rock” is another monster of a song, fueled by a machine-gunning riff that sounds exactly like Slayer playing sleaze rock. It’s killer, and so’s Tesco’s deep, Dracula delivery. Of course, the chorus dates it like a motherfucker – “This is the 80’s, high time for Turbo Rock” - but just look at Billy Idol’s shoulder pads in 1986, man. It really WAS time for Turbo Rock, for “Catatonic speed-crazed cosmo jocks”. Whatever that means. The song has a stuttering, drag race kinda feel to it, most likely inspired by the Road Warrior (everything was inspired by the Road Warrior back then), as evidenced by the burning chrome, Mindwarp-esque apocalyptica of the lyrics:

“Dash lights are screaming heat/hot rubber stuck to street
On demons, booze, and speed/there’s nothing more we need
And major whiplash kick/the alpine jam blast trick
Now night rides really fly/we’re going turbo, out of our minds”

And believe me, it sounds just like that, too. It was the end of side one, and Tesco had already packed more references to drugs, pussy, and the rock power of his own band than half the hairspray jocks on Sunset Strip. Tesco was tits deep in a REALLY GOOD IDEA – to be more ROCK than anyone ever has before. As he wrote in Forced Exposure in ’86, “The Meatmen are Charlton Heston riding through your head in a golden chariot, with a boner.” So confident in his REALLY GOOD IDEA, this fella, that he ran down the grooves of side one by chewing on some potato chips, and checking in with the Meatfaithful. “So, what do ya think of the record so far (chomp, chomp)? Pretty choice, huh?” Yep.

“Come On Over to My Crib” has such a dizzying amount of sheer bullshit in it’s lyrics that it took me months to decipher them all back in ’86. It’s a thundering punk number with crashing powerchords and probably the strongest come-on y ever heard in yr fuckin’ life. Crazy thing is, Tesco actually TALKED like this, so it was probably just a stream-of-consciousness rap. If I woulda figured out hot to mouth off like Tesco does in this song, I coulda gotten SO laid, man. I mean, dig a little of this nonsense: “Gotta go-kart track in my backyard/I got big, black, mean-ass security guards/I got a hot tub fulla gelatin/and ten naked gook babes oozin’ in”. Yeah, I know that saying ‘gook’ was a little fucked up, but shake it off, and let’s continue – "I got one-way glass in the powder rooms/ Meet the bug hair poseurs from the club of doom/Got born again Christians tied up for target games/Yup, it’s balls-out sinning, and we got no shame!”

I mean, c’mon… “Balls-out sinning!” Where the fuck do I sign up? Oh, and after it’s over, there’s a comic ‘bit’ with Tesco as “Shpecky Shpilkis”, proprietor of the “Touchy Feely Pokey Squeal-y dildo, marital aid, and rubber protuberance company” Ahem. What can I say? Some o’ this record holds up way better than other parts.

Like all great rock records, “RNRJ” predicts the future more than once, and most notably on the rubbery mock-lounge cock rock shmaltz of “Nature Boy”. Over a swingin’ rhythm that threatens to break out the Rockettes at any moment, Tesco lisps his way through a description of the sublime pleasures of effete vege-snob-ism. He, of course, was writing an anti-vegetarian screed, but “Nature Boy” pretty much nails the “Metrosexual” trend cold. “I can console myself with a nice brunch of hydroponic vegetation, bee pollen éclairs and avocado tofutti. I’ll be in such rapture. Just how urban, earthboy, alternate can I get? You just watch me!” Cue the dancing girls. Always thinking, that Tesco.

“Dichstrudel” is a German oompah song. Seriously. Luckily, it’s over in a minute, and RNRJ’s last blast of pure rock action kicks in. “The Sweetest Kittens (Have the Sharpest Claws)” takes it title from the ad line of a Russ Meyer movie, and sounds just like a Zodiac Mindwarp song. I mean, just like one. Tesco mentioned his admiration of Z in Carbon 14 magazine once a few years back, and it’s pretty obvious that one of ‘em inspired the other, cuz it’s all here - the mammoth, glitter-biker riffs, the gang-bang chorus, and lyrics about evil chicks. “Kittens” is the most straightforward rock song on the whole record, and if it was any indication of what was soon to come – well, then we wouldn’t have needed Guns N’ Roses at all.

Unfortunately, it was not an indication of things to come. Nope. In fact, it was pretty much the end of the Meatmen Reign of Rock. By ’88, they were on their ‘farewell’ tour – two sets of which were released as “We’re the Meatmen and You Still Suck” (Caroline, 1989), and the next few year were littered with recycled Meat product – a “Crippled Children Suck” re-ish in 1990, and a catch-all comp, Stud Powercock: The Touch and Go Years (1991, both on T&G). Tesco re-emerged with a new punk band, the Hate Police, in 1990. They signed to Sympathy for the Record Industry, released a few singles and an album (“Gonzo Hate Vibe”, 1992), and then imploded a year later. Since then he’s cobbled together Meatmen line-ups a few times over the years, and recorded a cuppla records- “Toilet Slave” in 94 (Meatking, Tesco’s own label), which was only sold at Meatmen reunion gigs, and ‘95’s “War of the Superbikes 2”, which re-released “Superbikes” with ten new tracks (Superbikes 2 was again re-released in 2001 by Go-Kart- aye yi yi!). Somewhere in there, Tesco also shot a comedy show pilot for MTV, and it apparently aired once or twice, but I have yet to meet anybody that ever saw it. In 1997, Go-Kart records released a Meatmen (sorta) EP, “Evil In League With Satan”, which included the title track (a Venom cover), a couple songs that Tesco recorded with Bianca Butthole (RIP) from Betty Blowtorch, and a buncha CD ROM bonus bits.  And that’s it, man. Tesco moved back to Lansing, and who the fuck knows what happens next.

Of course, you know how rock and roll goes, right? Just when yr ready to write a fella off, he comes storming back. Well, maybe not with Axl, but most of the time, anyway. I can’t imagine that the Dutch Hercules will stay quiet forever, man. He’s probably just waiting until just the right moment, like when things get REALLY ugly and humorless, to re-emerge. When the world really needs Tesco Vee, he’ll be back. As for the mighty “Rock N’ Roll Juggernaut”, it remains a massive, brawling, cock rock classic, and I still listen to it all the time. So should you. Everybody oughta have this record. Sometimes I feel like buying copies of it for all my friends, so we can all rock the fuck out to Centurions of Rome together. Guess that’s what CD burners are for. At any rate, I owe Tesco Vee a lot. I wasn’t nearly this obnoxious and mouthy before “Rock N’ Roll Juggernaut”, and because of him, stuff like this happily bounces around in my tortured skull all the time: “I can eat faster, louder/Beat my meat, faster, louder/Play some rock, faster, louder/I’m the man, faster, louder!” I mean, you know me, Jack. I’m 34 fuckin’ years old. I look like I just stepped out of a blurry Sturgis weekend. I’m gettin’ a gut, my hair’s falling out, I’ve got gray in my beard. And yet, I still rock, probably more then ever. Why? Cuz Tesco told me I do, man. And when it comes to rock n’ roll, what Tesco says goes. Because you just can’t argue with a Rock n’ Roll Juggernaut, baby.

-Sleazegrinder

Further:
‘Official’ Meatmen site, which basically amounts to a text page that only seems to link to Amazon.com

Unofficial Meatmen fansite, a big, sloppy obsessive mess that nonetheless contains all kindsa crucial info, including all the Meatmen lyrics

Mark Prindle, a geek-chic word slinger in the caustic Byron Coley vein, pithily reviews (I can’t believe that’s actually a word) all the Meatmen records n his crack-ass website.

Byron Coley himself I still an active writer. He contributes to mags like Wire and Perfect Sound, and I still have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about most of the time, but I still think he’s cool.

Al about Meatmen, the world’s most popular gay comic book.

Review of a Carnival Cruise, by Tesco Vee, vacationing punk rocker, 2001. (duuno if it’s actually Tesco, but it’d be funny if it was, right?
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