music from the vault: angry samoans
by Michele Christopher
Just gonna stick this reminder up here: exercise your right as an American and a punk rock lover and VOTE!
Angry Samoans. I'll be honest and tell you guys that when this band played, I never wanted to see them. I seriously thought they were a bunch of huge Samoans that were really angry. Hey, I was a kid. The last thing you want to think about when you are a kid is some fucking huge Samoan with no shirt on, guitar hanging off his huge man boob yelling at you.
Not a pretty sight.
So I kinda thought that might not be too cool to see. So I didn't. I was a kid. Really young. The next time I heard them, it wasn't them. It was a cover by the Accused. But it was one of the coolest songs they did. Forks and eyeballs. Wow. "The Accused did a really good job on that." "Did a good job on what?" "The cover" "The cover of what?" "Angry Samoans, dumbass."
So there I was. Forced with having to buy the album. A song so cool from a band just needed to be heard, nah, demanded to be heard. Who were these guys? I went out and grabbed this. I wondered what it must be like to play this fast and this quick. What this must sound like live. Plus one of the song titles cracked me up for personal reasons, but anyways. This stuff was fast and noisy and, well, out there. As obnoxious as the Meatmen, faster than fuck, and moving at a breakneck pace. This was a much forgotten band that to me, was a great inspiration.
This album told the world "We may not be the best, but we rock the hardest."
Fuck yeah. - T
Ok, I already told you how I used to call those Wild Samoan wrestler dudes Angry Samoans. But it sticks with me. Every time I listen to this album I think about Captain Lou Albano and that pony tail he had on his beard. Anyhow.
What can you do in 16 minutes? Hell, I can’t even cook dinner to this album because it’s over before I’ve even burned the chicken. And really, “They Saved Hitler’s Cock” is not the most appetizing music anyhow. Hell, the whole album is a crash course in offensiveness. And everything is played at this blinding speed and sung like a cocktail of espresso and speed was handed out in the studio, and you find yourself laughing at the lyrics and bouncing off the walls and the whole thing is like, well, you ever read those Captain Underpants books? They are stories full of fart jokes and toilet humor for kids, but for some reason teachers and parents still think it’s good literature. Back From Samoa is like Captain Underpants for punk rockers. You kinda listen to it with a Beavis and Butthead grin on your face, but you know that underneath the whole idea of poking your eyes out with a fork, there’s some god damn good music there. It’s killing time! Todd killings! -M