by Brett Abrahamsen
Live At Leather Fly cements Paul Leary’s status as one of the greatest guitarists of his generation. Perhaps Leary had fallen under the spell of occasional Butthole Surfers collaborator Helios Creed; “Graveyard” features some of the most savagely psychedelic playing this side of Hendrix. It is plausible Creed is actually on here—the origins of this album are mysterious, hazy, unknown.
Leary’s prominence is a surprising revelation. The studio Surfers were all about tribal drumming and electronic experimentation—live, Leary comes to the fore. “Dust Devil” opens with savage riffing before dissolving into mind blowing creative chaos. Leary’s playing could also exhibit surprising beauty—witness “1401.” It’s not all Leary’s show, however. King Coffey (on his own here, sans the twin-drum attack that defined the early Surfers) proves his merit on tracks like “Gary Floyd.”
The release is, admittedly, far from perfect. The setlist, for one, leaves something to be desired—one would have preferred more from Psychic…Powerless… and Rembrandt Pussyhorse (an acid drenched version of “Negro Observer” from the former stands out). But it’s certainly an intriguing listen for any fan of unhinged psych-punk. It’s also recommended to anyone who thinks the Butthole Surfers weren’t a worthy live band. Their gimmicks (strobe lights, dancers, etc.) ultimately weren’t necessary. They were one of the greatest bands of the 80s, and anyone not blinded by the mainstream would be hard pressed to listen to this album and declare otherwise.