If I was ever going to bother to do a top ten albums of all time this is definately one that would be on the list. Pussy Galore are one of the worst bands of all time. They couldn’t play, had a very vague concept of “song” and to be frank, any brilliant moment they had probably occurred by a drunken fluke.
The reason this record is so great is that it was the first American punk band I’d heard. I picked up an NME benefit video compilation called Carry on Disarming at my local second-hand record store when I was still in High School. That video blew me away. It had video clips by the Swans, Thug, Wolfgang Press, AC Marias, The Three Johns and the Throwing Muses. The best thing on it though, was the video of Pussy Galore’s Dick Johnson. I was fucking hooked. To me Pussy Galore was what punk should have sounded like and so often didn’t. It was a shambolic cacophony of fuck-you attitude combined with sweat, drugs, piss and vomit. Guitars scraped like they were being dragged on bitumen. The drummer sounded like he’d dispensed with his kit and used garbage cans instead. The singer approached his task like he was in the middle of a three day bender. Of course the guitarist is Neil Hagerty of Royal Trux and Howling Hex, the drummer was the former Sonic Youth member Bob Bert and the singer was a young John Spencer (later of the Blues Explosion). This to me is what punk was about. Amateurs playing with such violence and anger that it didn’t matter that it was a mess, it didn’t matter that the songs weren’t great. It’s embodies the attitude and bile that are missing from all of the modern pretenders. Clockcleaner, Part Chimp and Pissed Jeans get the idea but they don’t come close enough to smell the urine. Dial M for Motherfucker is aptly summed up by the title and album art. Is it subtle? Not really. It is the best fuck-off punk record I own? Undoubtedly!!
Ducks Battle Satan 