by Kenny Ramos (@KennyRamosLife)
Locust Abortion Technician originally came out in 1987 several years before I was born, so I don’t think it would make sense to try and discuss its relevance or lasting impact within the canon of rock ‘n’ roll. That kind of review would talk about how the Butthole Surfers’ third release was this amazing transfusion of bad psychedelics meeting sludgy metal and evocative sound bites that only those who exhibited “good taste” could appreciate. While I stand by the first half of that description, this is not that kind of review for an album reissue. This review, is a simple thank you to the Butthole Surfers, whose music occupies the space between genres rather than within them. In fact, Locust Abortion Technician is a messy work in the sense that when listening to it from beginning to end, a tracklist seems almost pointless to have for most of the songs. It’s truly an oddball album, and that’s a good way for it to be remembered.
Never missing an opportunity for clever wordplay, “Sweet Loaf” is a nightmarish mutation of Black Sabbath’s “Sweet Leaf,” and the song’s opening dialogue between a father and son addresses what regret is ending with the father yelling “SATAN” three times before bursting into a repetitious headbanger. It’s all in good fun to indulge in the riffs time after time much in the same way Beavis and Butt-Head never seem to tire out of enjoying T.V. and nachos. The first time I heard “Sweet Loaf” I was just a youngster skating his way through suburbia knee deep in a Black Sabbath phase hating Catholic school, so it was an almost too perfect introduction to the Butthole Surfers. I mean, isn’t it a little weird that both bands’ initials are B.S? Still, as the album continues, with the exception of “Human Cannonball,” the true psychotic eccentricity comes out.
As I’ve said before, I don’t think there should be a tracklist for most of Locust Abortion Technician. The rest of the album isn’t for passive listening, and what I mean by that is the remainder of your listening experience will be an onslaught of harsh noise, distorted Gibby Haynes vocals, and even an impromptu trip to Thailand on “Kuntz.” I’ve always felt that most of the album deconstructs and abstracts the way the think about music, and is mostly an experimentation of distinct sound elements across several genres being reworked into unique fragments. It’s as if most of the songs are part and parcel, or could very well be refined into something more complete. I’m not pointing that out as a shortcoming; although, some may view the majority of the album as maddening or less accessible, which is understandable. In fact, what I think the Butthole Surfers accomplished here was laying a much needed foundation that can be footnoted in the work of other noise artists. Overall, I’m glad Locust Abortion Technician is celebrating its 30th anniversary with a reissue to let us revisit its sinister weirdness.