STEWED TO THE GILLS
*IT IS ARE YOU?
*BETTER OFF DEDD
*M.A.D.
*HOT THING
*TESTICLE OF GOD (AND IT WAS GOOD)
*ILL
*MASS GYRATE
*HARMONIOUS MURDER
*SHOULDERS
*HAIR OF DOG
*RAD DUDE
*TEETH
*FLOYDRIX
*BEDLAM A GO-GO
*FAIRWAY TO HEAVEN
*IT IS ARE YOU? Concept reprise
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Review taken from amazon.com written by teamfreak
I will be honest, I am not a walking encyclopedia when it comes to Gaye Bykers on Acid. When I was in the Army, a guy I was stationed with turned me on to them. Which might lead you to ask, exactly what kind of guys were you hanging out with in the Army? Well, pretty damn cool guys, obviously.
Apparently, according to the AMG Music Guide, Gaye Bykers on Acid were part of the short lived Grebo movement, which combined elements of rock and hip-hop. This was news to me, the only band I knew of that was associated with the Grebo scene was Pop Will Eat Itself. I already knew the band also recorded under the name Lesbian Dopeheads on Mopeds. I did not know that the band also recorded under the name PFX (thanks again, AMG!) I already knew that lead singer Mary Byker is a sometime member of the revolving roster that is Pigface. I did not know that the vinyl release of 1987’s Drill Your Own Hole came with no hole, requiring you to actually drill a hole to listen. (I have only owned that release on Cassette and CD.)
I know that I saw Gaye Bykers on Acid open the 1989 Reading Festival, where they played for approximately 15 entertaining minutes before walking offstage, only to spend the rest of the day in the crowd, harassing concert-goers with a megaphone. I know that when I returned to the States, a friend and I were at the checkout counter of a local, independent CD store, and this CD was at the counter in an impulse buy display. After I blurted out HEY! Gaye Bykers on Acid! I just saw these guys in England!, the girl working the counter developed a look of disgust, much like the one you probably have on your face as you read this, and said you saw Gaye Bykers on Acid? And you are proud of this?
Well, yes, I am, actually. Just like any other artist, Gaye Bykers on Acid have their place. They may not be Radiohead, or The Beatles, but, dammit, they are not that bad. (Yeah, I can tell already that you are not quite convinced!)
As stated earlier, the Grebo scene was one of many which bridged the gap between rock and hip-hop. From what I have heard, Gaye Bykers on Acid fall into this category mainly due to their use of sampling (movie dialogue and music) and maybe the fact that you can actually dance to many of their songs, rather than using an actual hip-hop beat, or use of rap. As produced by Jon Langford (Mekons,) sampling runs rampant through Stewed to the Gills, everything from Robert Duvall’s Charlie don’t surf! from Apocalypse Now to Viv Savage’s Have a good time, all the time from This is Spinal Tap A good dose of groovy bass is heard here, as well as high energy, active guitars. Oh, and there is a great song about playing Golf on here, to top it all off…..
M.A.D. features some heavy, Spinal Tap style drums, groovy bass, and power riffs galore on the guitar. And while Mary Byker is maybe not the greatest singer out there (he sounds a bit like his voice is very tired on this song), I have heard (much) worse, and he really does fit in well with what the band is doing.
Testicle of God (And it Was Good) opens with a sample of the Church Choir section of the Sisters of Mercy’s This Corrosion, before turning into a guitar heavy rock-groove. Mary sings lyrics like I touched the Testicle of God that day, and it was, it was, WICKED!!!!!. At one point, he enters spoken word territory, and ends up sounding a bit like Pet Shop Boy Neil Tennant.
Harmonious Murder opens with a sample of a guy saying I want to punch his fucking lights out! This is funny for a reason. My aforementioned friend happened to be listening to this CD while at his mom’s house, and she walked in just as that part came on, wondered very aloud, what in the hell are you listening to??? and he tried to say it was my CD, except, I was not there, so she did not believe him. Anyway, Harmonious Murder is a high energy, rollicking tune full of non-stop guitar riffs, fast drumming, and Mary asking If cleanliness is next to Godliness then why the fuck are we in such a mess?
Shoulders goes all psychedelic, with heavy guitar feedback accompanying heavy riffing on a somewhat slow groove, until the pace picks up dramatically. The feedback dominates the song, regardless of which tempo is being played.
Rad Dude is a highlight, as any song called Rad Dude should be. Full of high-intensity drumming, power chords, and a screaming guitar solo, Rad Dude is one for the mosh pit, or at the very least, the pogo pit. But the highlight is this one guitar riff that is indescribable, I cannot even begin to try. It fits in with the song so well, it sounds like the guitarist had this particular riff saved up for years, perfected it, and finally found the proper song on which he could unleash it.
Teeth is notable for the bitchin guitar riffage, and the fat, deep bass line. Mary Byker is basically singing about having cavities, and needing to go to the Dentist, and talking himself into not being afraid. He’s a nice man, why does it worry me?
Fairway To Heaven opens with a confusing amalgam of golf claps, disco music, a guy saying the speed was very good, the speed was very good, and another guy saying she was squeezing my balls and I just could not take that. In due course, the song actually kicks in, and we get golf commentators, and Mary singing about golf. I am on a Fairway to Heaven, got my nine iron in my hand, I need an eagle, not a birdie, high handicap, you understand. Musically, the song is mostly a straight forward, old school rocker, until the band kicks it into high gear on FORRRRRRRRE! and we get some inspired psychedelic guitar soloing. Meanwhile, Mary Byker manages to reference everything from PGA Golfer Gary Player to the horrors of trying to shoot out of a bunker during the song. (And yes, when I saw the band live, Mary Byker showed off a very nice golf swing during the FORRRRRRE! part of the song, so I am guessing he plays the game. )
So, here is the part where I am supposed to recommend Stewed to the Gills to you. After all, every single review of mine says Recommended? YES! on it. Problem is, the question is would you recommend CD X to your friends? Well, yes, to my friends, I would. They know me, and I have turned them on to enough stuff that they trust me enough to give a listen. Does that mean they will like it? No. But they will listen. Do I recommend this to you, the Epinions reader? Well, no, not really, although, as with every CD, I think you should at least listen to it. You might even be amused enough to purchase it, but, I doubt it. But you will not know, unless you listen. I happen to like this CD a lot, and it makes it’s way into an occasional rotation in my stereo (much to the chagrin of my girlfriend, I might add.)
Thank you, you may go back to your regularly scheduled reading now…..
Note, no credit is given for band members or other musicians in the packaging. You can, however, see a very , errrr, nice photo of the band, up to their heads in fish….
Teamfreak..
Stewed
to the Gills - Gaye Bykers on Acid
Produced by Jon Langford
Borrowed from" god has a sent of tuna" fan site:
My Strange And Terrible Days With The Outlaw Gaye Motorcycle Gand - February 18, 1989
by Jon Langford
February 18, 1989
Only one man was mad enough to accept the challenge of producing the next Gaye Bykers On Acid album, Stewed To The Gills. He's rm cartoonist and Three Johns member Jon Langford, and here he reveals the awesome tale of how it was done. Read on if you've got a strong stomach.
THE PHONE rings. It is my beautiful son Mary. I love him because he has no valve or filter between his brain and his gob. If any thought comes into his perfectly formed mind it instantly shoots out of his cakehole (usually at the threshold of aural pain).
Will I produce the forthcoming Gaye Bykres' LP? For Virgin? "Yup, for Virgin." Gold American Express cards, babbling rivers of lager and ice cream cones stuffed with bangers and mash flash before my eyes. Suddenly my earlobes turn crimson...But they hate me...AND my family and everything I stand up in! "No, no Dad, it's all changed since your day...TRUST ME."
The Bykres are my favorite rock'n'roll band in the world, just the knowledge of their existence keeps my pecker up in these dark Thatchistic days. So why aren't they playing Enormodomes every night and riding home in formation on four gold-plated Harleys clad from head to toe in pink ostrich skin cowboy suites? ‘Cause last year's debut LP, Drill Your Own Hole, was duff, that's why.
There were some good songs, sure enough, but they had the life sucked out of ‘em by a bunch of deaf lads who should be mixing cement, not metal. So, in September 1988, we went to Terminal 24 Studios in picturesque Elephant & Castle with overnight bags full of garish surfin' pants and a few scores to settle. We were gonna do it fast and keep it raw.
Now I don't know much about electrical knobs, but I know what I like. So I need a techinical wizard at my side to translate my Utopian visions of voodoo garage thrash into them little grooves in the records. Most recording engineers would crawl naked for 15 miles across broken glass to capture Sting farting into a treacle tin. My man Ian "Capability" Caple prefers to fester by my side in the foul-smelling, dung cake cupboards where I generally make my alternative pop recordings.
Any ways, things have changed, and Me, Ian and the Bykers are in a posh studio with windows, where a cleaning person comes daily to fumigate our surroundings. We make ourselves at home at Virgin's expense and Tony and Heidi set about decorating the walls with homemade posters showing the heir to the throne discussing the subtle connections between hallucinogenics and bestial sex with his lovely spouse.
AROUND NINE on the fourth evening, a particulary disciplined and sexually excitable batch of backing tracks have been completed, so I, the producer decide to reward the band with a trip to the pub. I must be determined to do this. One pint each and the dirty toilet-lickers can't play a note in time for a week. Normal drinking is not resumed ‘til the mixdown (as you will see). Just say NO to buckets of Pils!
For those of you who are just slightly interested in how we actually made this LP, please read the next sentence, ‘cause I'm gonna tell you all the studio trickery and secret details. They played thier songs live with their own hands and throats and feet, and when they got tired I held the buggers down and kicked their plonkers in. This is a real rock'n'roll LP because it was done for real. There is much humor here but it is not a joke. OK, so they wore leather mini-skirts and sat on my lap during some of the more politically astute guitar overdubs. So what if Mary likes to ride a dayglo skateboard nude while singing his Spinal Tap inspired homage to Goth's Dark Angel, Spiggy Eldritch? Sometimes it felt like I was back in the Boy Scouts...yes, it was THAT GOOD. (I love to watch videos of grown men squatting and pooing like dogs when I eat Lancashire Hot Pot.) Just say YO to transvetism and granduitous nudity.
AS THE Bykers are a major lable act, we can get beer on accoutn at several very posh West London recording studios. We can hob-nob with stars. We can pee next to Van Morrison or have breakfast within gobbing range of Paul Weller. Before I go on, I would like to say that I have nothing against the Bard of Woking or his fabulous Ramjam band. Neither do the Bykers, as far as I can tell. So the events of October 26, 1988 are a mystery to all of us.
Once in a TV interview he said my band, the Three Johns, weren't really awfully good, but that's as maybe. Why Robber attacked his recording session that night, single-handed but for a well primed fire extinguisher, can only be understood if you understand Robber.
Poor twisted Robber. He is the gentlest but the most fearsome Byker, and I hold my hands in the air and say, Paul, if you're reading this, I don't know why and I'm sorry. We'd finished mixing, Heidi was staring into the speakers like an ape from 2001 A Space Odyssey, Ian was mixing himself a stiff brown one and my duties were fulfilled. My job was over. Mary lay uncouncious in the Townhouse reception area with a wedge-tipped magic marker clenched between his teeth as I bent to kiss his brow. I stepped over his broken little form, into a Taxi and off into the night.
When the Virgin press office told me the cost of the damage I just sighed. Is it any wonder rock'n'roll has a bad name when these vermin defecate in its most hallowed nooks and crannies? The horror, the horror...exterminate all the brutes. Great LP though.
Jon Langford
