who the hell are the bucky rage?
the bucky rage in naxi sex dwarf cocaine orgy. read it here.
i warned them. i did. they promised me more whores than i could carry when i wrote this last piece… whores and strawberry crack. what did i get? not even a shameless goddam plug. still it was a madbrained experiment to put my drunken mind-eyes into words. and i think it worked quite well. but those masked bastards never paid up.
still i swore to jeebus when he saved me from those rabid mongoloid bears intent on savaging my honeysmeared almost-corpse (it’s a long story) that from this day forward, if i lived, i would spend some of my spare time (and there is a fuckload of it) senselessly mumbling about music i like. praise jeebus! go on praise him, fuckers. tied to this monstrous (un)holy deal i cracked with our saviour for providing me with an anti-bear blunderbuss and electric moped, i find myself once again forced to say some nice things about this lot.
it’s always difficult listening to friends bands. i say friends, i know one of these guys. and when i say know him (not in the biblical sense) he’s more of a casual acquaintance. and by casual acquaintance i mean i met him once. in prison. where he earned his name – handsome al. not that i really met him, more hurled a cup of piss at him as the screws dragged him by the hair towards his cell shrieking ‘i never touched her i never touched her i never touched her’. anyhoo as i said, always difficult listening to their bands. mainly coz you know chances are they’re going to be shite (bob’s second law of statistical probability states that ninety five percent of all things are) and you’ll have to plaster on that fake fucking smile and compliment through gritted teeth their awesome licks, powerhouse drumming and totally rad singing. when really you’d rather jam knitting needles as far into your ear canals as yr palsied fingers can push rather than listen to one more turgidly unenthusiastic goddam second.
so it’s a pleasant surprise to find one glittering diamond in the rough, one perfumed hankie floating in a sea of manure. yes that smelly jewel is indeed the bucky rage.
who are they? well i’ve textually described them before as follows: walking among us like duane eddys’ stillalive ghost…..they appear from somewhere, drifting perhaps from an old seventies gonzo wrestling movie or the works of russ myer with the tits removed…..the surf thrash continues unabated in a brainfucked mélange of guitar wrestling and sexfiend bandidos…..these bastards are your mothers favourite wet dream…..they’re siphoning petrol from your motorvehicle while you babble unwanted inanities into my headspace…..they’re putting things into yr girlfriend and eating all the red smarties…..they play, these ugly thugs, with the faint crunchy tang of handbag-lost cough sweets and of truths not yet told…..they play like the cramps reimagined by swollen glaswegians…..they play like dick dales’ venereal disease-bloated genitals hammering gently against your face…..they play in the manner of gaol house perverts, shower-room bound in hats and crappy t-shirts.
do i stand by these opiumdreamwords? darned tootin’. what am i some kind of limp liberal who’ll back down at the first hint of sobriety? fuck no. it’s ten thirty in the morning and i’m typing this on a blackberry waiting on the goddam liquor store to open. gun in hand.
thankfully they’re still maniacally plowing this same furrow (plowing, heh). still clinging to those foosty old influences that all the right-thinking wrong-folk know to be pure of heart and soiled of soul: cramps, link wray, sonics, stooges, beach boys, b-52’s etfuckingcetera. battling on against the tide of ugly fashion bands and angular haircuts and singers with fake northern accents attempting some kind of middle class mike leigh social realism for their overproduced ‘indie’ stylings. fuck all that shit. i want a goddam performance. i want masks and exploitation movies. i want wrestling; sgt slaughter versus hulk hogan versus macho man versus ultimate warrior versus jake the snake. i want brian wilson’s damaged and addled brain, in a jar, playing psychik skuzzy garage rock to trashy ladies in too tight clothes. i want them to write a song called surf zombies from hell. then make the movie. i want them to dig up tura satana’s corpse and make her star with mark e. smith in a mexican wrestling mask. i want roger corman to direct. i want me to write the goddam script and sleep with every russ myer-esque lady i can find to star in the goddam thing. i want them throwing fireworks into YOUR face and laughing without breaking stride from their distorto-twang. this dear friends is how the bucky rage make me feel.
they’re working on their third ep. right now. buy some shit from them. they’re always playing in glasgow or thereabouts. go see them. say hello. ask them who’s peepee handsome al fondled for the goddam black lips slot. go on….
2nd may supporting the thanes @ the ark, edinburgh
4th may supporting the black lips @ barrowlands two, glasgow
31st may supporting the amphetameanies @ the basement, annan
