from the music vault: supersuckers
by Michele Christopher
"Adrenaline drips off the frets like week-old bongwater...**** (4 stars)!!" --Guitar World...
One of the first times I heard this album was right before the tour. They were selling it outside a coffee house where you could get coffee and beer and the same time. Wanna see a fucked up crowd? Sell them caffeine and alcohol. Feed them a little nicotine and you got the makings of either a fucked up crazy show or a riot of kids screaming for one more shot of espresso in their beer cause tonight is the only their parents will let them go out. And if they were gonna go out, they better break something cause tomorrow is a school day.
This album makes no excuses and makes no friends. It does what it does and walks away.
The music grabs you. They are so cock rock. A Texan band living in Seattle. They had the cards there. The music showed it. Something in there came out and said "hey dude, this is cocaine, this is wine, take a big slug cause the dope is mine."
They were new and neat and before they went all cowboy on my ass, a great band to see. This is the best Supersuckers album there is. It makes you remember what rock and roll is, balls hanging out throwing cans at your neighbors, and saying "fuck you" to the world..... Hard driving, broad finding, beer drinking, tv watching, dice throwing, card playing, rock and roll. And if you don't like it. Fuck you. This is who they were. And if you don't like it you can always go buy another album. They will be there when you come back.
Great album. Great rock. Welcome to Texas, motherfucker. Get a hat and grab a beer cause it all gets hard from here.
If anyone ever tells you rock is dead, just sit them down and make them listen to Evil Powers of Rock and Roll. This is the kind of music that makes you believe there is life after nu-metal and emo and boy bands, that there is no such thing as the day the music died, that the negative aura left by every niche and novelty rock band out there can’t kill rock and roll because as long as the Supersuckers exist, rock and roll will still be around to kick ass and take names.
This is the kind of album playing in the background of a heated poker game where large, mustached men in denim vests and ten gallon hats drink moonshine and accuse each other of cheating and occasionally pull out a six shooter to make a point.
It’s a Saturday night driving up and down the main highway in town, half of it spent giving the finger to people who have nicer cars than you, the other half spent throwing empty Budweiser cans out the window and yelling drunken obscenities at the girls lingering in the Burger King parking lot.
It’s music that belongs on a half warped cassette tape that you shove into the tape deck of your 20 year old car and you sing out loud along with it as your car backfires almost in time to the songs.
It reminds you at once of the lights of Vegas, of dirt roads, of Satan and deserts and bar fights and motorcycles. It’s rock and roll, Texas style. And it’s one of the best damn albums ever put down on vinyl.
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