the knockouts: honolulu suncream (topplers)
frank zappa once posed the question, is it possible to laugh while fucking? the answer, dear friends, is yes. though recommended only in the name of science, not as an integral part of the physical act of love. why shouldn’t one laugh doing something one mightily enjoys? perhaps you have a tickle fetish and indulge in this already. but generally laughter infers something along the lines of ‘oh sweet jeebus she thinks my cock looks like gonzo from the muppets’ or ‘i knew shouldn’t have shaved m’self some pubic art…’
anyway this randomerry comes about only because upon hearing the new knockouts record i did myself break into grins and chortles. not because it’s humorous like a weird al album (or even zappa’s scatological musings) or has the grim phallic appearance of a treasured puppets face, but from glee, sheer bloody glee.
which isn’t to say honolulu suncream is not an exercise in epic doom dirges. well, it’s not. and it’s not to say they’re not a rum bunch of funny buggers. they are. as witnessed by the bollywood take on the ramones 53rd & 3rd. or puntastic song titles such as devil’s advocaat. no, it made me laugh coz it’s near thirty minutes of musical happy happy joy joy.
no vox. no bass. just some geetars, percussive objects and keys melded with tender fury into one raucous ruckus of instrumentalism. a lurching lolloping groove of stumbling garage moves and brevitous kraut chug and unweedy rough traderry. if an austrian wrong-brained man-mental had locked the fall, swell maps and link wray in his hell-cellar and forced them to incestuously breed for generations what would come crawling out of this depraved bodily fluid soaked primal soup would be the knockouts.
a delight from start to finish.
i dont think your happy enough, that’s right. i’ll teach you to be happy…
knockouts / knockoutspace / topplers
