Right, bannerhead time, right over this whole review in red and yellow stripes – police line, do no cross – warning to all readers, this blog is going to get blue and get pretty personal too so if you’re at all prudish, one, get over yourself, we all do things, alone and in various parings and the sooner you get over that the happier you’ll be and two, in the meantime you’ll be right turned off by this here piece of prose. You were warned. Any relatives accidentally clicking on this, please please please stop reading now.
This post has been languishing in one of my computer's less reputable digital orifaces, so if some of the references seem a little out of date it'll be because I haven't proofread it since I finished it. Deal.
Right. Y’know what’s been on my mind a lot recently dear reader? Oh kind hearted soul, what has been preoccupying my thoughts recently? Head, oral sex, cunnilingus, going downtown, eating out, tripping the velvet. Yeah, you probably should stop reading and close the door behind you. Y’see I’ve been digging a lot of MC5, that motor city garage band that rocks harder than a Hendrix set blitzed on a thousand Carlton Melton summers, my MC5 addiction led me to a Detroit rock compilation and there I found the Pleasure Seekers. The Quattro sisters, all of ‘em in a rockin’ garage band that like a buncha revolutionaries coming down from the foothills into yoor city, came in hard, came in fast and took over the whole garage scene in motor city for a few brief wonderful moments (as much as that whole place is just a sea of brief, wonderful moments). Recordings are rough and rare, but CD Baby gotta sweet little package by the title of What a Way to Die of greatest hits type-deals which’ll set you right, as it’s the one to which I refer. Now I’d somehow had my hands on a Never Thought You’d Leave Me/What a Way to Die single for a while but had never really given it the time it deserved. Well this whole album of ‘mazing garage rock put all my Rocket From the Tombs and MC5 stuff in the shade and clamped on my bones so hard I couldn’t think about much else, ‘cept, y’know…
Y’see you can’t be the kind of idiot who runs a stupid blog freakin’ called Wine, women and a song or two without worshipping at the altar of feminine. Women are better than us men, smarter, faster, more empathic, capable of reading minds and able to pull off that one trick of making a new freakin’ person that kind of renders all man’s biological abilities akin to a series of linking and unlinking rings from a Christmas cracker when put in the running with the parting of the Red Sea. And there is no more literal way of worshipping women than tripping the velvet, and the way I see it, no buncha girls, least of all in 1965, called their hard-rockin’ and openly sexual band the Pleasure Seekers without that being an ever-knowing wink to that. Garage rock was probably the most openly sexual rock music of all time, I mean just look at Kick Out the Jams “I know that you want it girl, you’re hot, wet and tight”… If my children said that they’d be grounded! The Pleasure Seekers are no different, they don’t even veil their innuendos. The instrumentation is also raunchy and the vocals definitely get you in that mood. Pleasure is certainly the byword of this record, instant gratification but demanding worship. It’s like those MC5 workouts that just inspired affection and reasserted their place at the top of the food chain. Everyone knows that gynocracy tends towards sexual openness so I can’t help thinking if dredged-up Pleasure Seekers records are the source of the rock and roll revolution then there’ll be a lot more head, possibly by law. Because it is a special kind of coupling, entirely one-sided, zero reciprocation and it’s one of the few occasions that man is subservient to woman (how it ought to be, in my humble opinion, idiots like me shouldn’t be allowed to ruin the world). Y’see my brothers, we’ve treated our spiritual sisters damn bad for a long time and going downtown is your own individual miniature apology for all the shit we’ve put them through and continue to put them through. Women, on top of all that other sweet stuff (the ability to create a new life, telepathy et cetera) have an organ dedicated to pleasure! Can you just conceive of that for a moment guys, a bit of you entirely devoted to pleasure, like having a room in your house or a street in your town where everybody is drunk by law. I’ve always thought that the female body was created on a Sunday afternoon, more curves, there, no more, more, that’s it. While the male body was stamped together out of metal in an Eastern European factory on some sordid early Monday morning double shift. Certainly girls seem to get all the best bits.
The whole album is wrapped together in the kind of stunning Detroit attitude that makes so much of that motor city rock so fuckin’ lovely. It’ll make you want to crank it. I did, by god, but it didn’t go so well. Here I was minding my own business enjoying some Pleasure Seekers (and enjoying seeking some pleasure – this is the point of this column don’t forget) and there comes a rapping slowly tapping upon my chamber (flat) door. Turns out 3am is the wrong time to be giving yer wummin’ some lovin’ and exercising your immutable right to kick out the jams. To be sure it was piggy one and piggy two. A man piggy and a girl piggy and someone had complained about the noise. Well fuck those arseholes. If you complain about noise at 3am and that noise is the Pleasure Seekers then you got your brain wired wrong or your life all in a twist. If you can’t rock out yer best vinyl at whatever time and give it a raucous spin and shout at the stars, what the hell is happening to your life? Rock and roll is about freeing the spirit man and you’ve totally missed that taxi!
The album? Oh yeah! It’s a riot! A motor city riot! With erogenous zone-stimulating organ workouts early on and excellent garage guitars never far away. The frontwomen and stunning, holding forth Jex Thoth/Grace Slick levels of vocal strutting that just walks all over you and threatens your groin with a stiletto heel (or in this case, platform, but you get the idea). It’s a good kind of hurt. So two recommendations, go out and get that CD Baby Pleasure Seekers compilation because it’s really summin’, and then play it while you devote yersel’ to yer wummin’s pleasure. If you’re a ladygirl, same deal ‘cept tell your fella it’s your way or the highway. You’re beautiful whoever and wherever you are, you’re fireworks on the fourth. He’ll never do better but you could so demand the best and don’t take no for an answer. Get together and give all your lovin’ to her, man, she deserves it all and more.
Written under duvet by Steven.