So after doing my Nirvana-reaped-Killdozer’s-riches schtick a few days ago, I had to go dig out my Killdozer discs and listen to the band in all it’s ugly, no-longer-existing glory.
They sure were ugly, and they sure were glorious, and I want to point out one other area where Killdozer kicked Nirvana’s ASS . . .
It’s in the lyrics department. Cobain’s lyrics were always better when you couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. When you saw them written down, they were just sorta . . . there.
Killdozer’s songwriter, Michael Gerald, on the other hand, was a Great American Storyteller. In lieu of Cobain-esque “my mosquito, squeaky frito, mozambico, taco tico” stuff, Gerald did things like this, which is called “The Rub,” and appears on the album “Little Baby Buntin'” . . .
The Rub, by Killdozer
(Lyrics by Michael Gerald)
I useta know a man named Burt when I was but a lad.
He was an old acquaintance of my mom and my dad.
I don’t think that I met him more than just once.
But I still recall him well, I’m no goddamned dunce.
And you would not believe what it was that he had done:
He blew his own f*cking guts out with his own f*cking gun!
Yeah, my folks they were shocked, as you can imagine, when they heard about Old Burt.
And I said to myself, I said “Ouch, that’s gotta hurt!”
It happened in the driveway right next to Burt’s Cadillac.
The shot entered through his belly and it went out through his back.
Make no mistakes, no if’s, and’s or but’s:
All over the brand new ashphalt were Burt’s f*cking guts.
Burt’s b*tch stood screaming as Burt ate the dirt
And I said to myself: “Holy F*ck! That’s gotta hurt!”
[gun shot, guitar solo]
But you know what’s funny about Burt’s loss of life?
It’s that he was getting his gun out so that he could kill his wife.
And there he lay bleeding, his head next to a hub,
And all I could say to myself is: “Well, therein lies the rub . . . “
. . . I like coffee, it likes me, I like to have some Maxwell House coffee, You call this cup of sh*t coffee? I’d rather drink from the d*ck of a goat! I tell you motherf*cker that’s all she wrote . . . I like coffee, it likes me, a cuppa cuppa cuppa cuppa coffee . . . that Maxwell House makes the best coffee . . .
[fade to black]
So “Come As You Are” and “Pennyroyal Tea” . . . bleh. Gimme Killdozer any day, and if Michael Gerald had been the voice of his generation, we’d be a better nation for it.