Many centuries ago when punk rock arrived in my neighborhood
(more than a few years after even the rest of the rust belt had an idea of what
it was) those of us who got into it figured we needed to break away from the other things we had be listening up til that point.
Being that we intermediate school kids at the time with a flair of drama we just didn't stash them away in the back of a closet or throw then in the trash. Nope, we had to make a big deal of it. We all gathered down at the river as a group, made a little speech and then winged them into a tributary that leads into Lake Huron.
"Off with you" we yelled as sent KISS and other lunkheaded discs sailing into the muddy river. We didn't care about any environmental concerns that they may cause. That Eco-concious stuff was hippie shit.
Some years later, I did wonder where those albums may have ended up. Perhaps, they reached the ocean eventually washed ashore somewhere. And perhaps this bunch of punk rock insurrectionists outta Orlando, Florida escaped town for a day or two on an Atlantic beach coast where it just so happened the waves pushed those records right to their feet. They picked them up and threw them in the back of their car because, well, they were free records. Once they got home and put them on the record player the covered in silt and fish guts and chewed and crusty from the salt water surfaces gave power chords blasts and dunderhead yowling gave off a tore up and bent sensation they couldn't resist.
Beer soaked and stinking of the fast food sweat indigenous of the city that's the world's largest tourist trap, the Golden Pelicans punk does shy from throwing around glops hard rock mush in their world of feculence but they also manage not moving into RAWK's trailer park while doing so. There ain't no foot on the monitor to check out a stuffed crotch or hair waggin' antics going on here. Just straight up crankin'.
Rooted in a Dictators blast of junk culture where they would live for cars and girls if they didn't have bad luck with both and who's idea of flash is shooting bottle rockets at anyone with a frown and their arms crossed at their shows, the Golden Pelicans kick off this latest slab with "Knuckle Dragger." It's primate beat stomps up dust and those knuckles aren't scraping across the dirt too long because they're now fists pumpin' in the air to accentuate their singing along to their new cretin anthem.
Actually all the songs, especially "Maggots" belly-smacker dive into a cesspool splash, the parched howls over super rock oozing with pus riffage on "Hog Tied Down" and "Low Falutin'', "The Last Street Fighter" setting a scene where the Lazy Cowgirls get into a rumble with Twisted Sister and the "Having a horrible time, wish I was drunk" postcard sentiments of the title track set the mood for any keg party where a picnic table gets set on fire.
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