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ELECTRIC EELS - The Eyeball of Hell

So what exactly is the significance of today again? Is this the oh-so-holy day when Jesus saw his shadow or somethin'? Or is it a reminder of when he re-animated a rabbit (are we sure that wasn't a parlor trick involving a puppet?) to the delight of children everywhere? Whatever it may be, it fills my heart with hate as it brings together family AND X-anity which never did anything but a shitload of bad for anybody. So if my misanthropy goes offa the rails here, you now know why. Speaking of hate, if you've ever wondered why I loathe AMG, this review of "The Eyeball of Hell" (to think I only went there to pinch the cover art to save me from scanning it my own damn self-- never again) has gotta be the biggest pile of steaming doggie doo-doo I've read since the last time I was unfortunate enough to be exposed to Pitchfork Media (could you creeps yunno, DIE or somethin'?). It's bad enough that the de facto Ground Zero of punk rock is relegated to less than a footnote by rock (ahem) "historians," but when ya got some careerist asswipe comparing their Rudely Crude Magnificence to ZZ Top and Guy Picciotto of thee ultra-sucking Fugazi (hated 'em then, now and forever-- the reason there's alla these shitty "emo" bands), that is nothing short of sodomizing the barely-breathing carcass of R&R itself. I Piss on Thou, Stephen Howell.

Chief Eel/guitarist John Morton once revealed that: "I remember listening to Ornette Coleman, John Coltrane, Sun Ra and Albert Ayler. That's what the Eels was supposed to be, but we didn't really understand it." No quote better unveils the mystery of creating great R&R-- it tends to be made by those who don't know any damn better, wanting to join The Party with questionable technical abilities, BUT pushing those limitations as far as they possibly can. It's not so different a tale than a young Hasil Adkins hearing Hank Williams on the radio for the first time, thinking 'twas Hank Himself playing alla the instruments simultaneously. This is why the Electric Eels (and Hasil, for that matter) still sound so obscenely vital after all these years, and the Clash sound like hacks out to make a quick buck-- or at best, a Reggae-lovin' novelty act.

We got 24 tracks here-- most importantly, the original (45) version of Thee Punk Anthem That Destroys All Other Punk Anthems, "Agitated." You will ooh and aah at its sheer, unashamedly cruddy primitivism; Ultimate Brat Dave E.'s vox will remind you of that snotty little bastard from high school who kept getting up-- right back in yer face in fact-- to hurl unthinkable verbal abuse in your direction even after you'd already beaten him down three or four times-- choice insults too, the kind that REALLY got under yer skin. You will thrill to the sub-Ayler jam, "Jazz Is (Pt. 2)," where Mr. E.'s untutored clarinet scree engages in a No Holds Barred Death Match with Mr. Morton's equally unhinged geetar skronk. And, of course, there's a motherlode of rehearsal recordings including versions of popular favorites like "Bunnies" (see, it's all coming together now), and "Spin Age Blasters" (aka "Spinach Blasters").

Look in comments-- oh, and in case you hadn't noticed, John Morton was featured here too.