It's been
a long journey with members appearing, disappearing and then
reappearing with alarming regularity over the years.
It's
rumoured that as part of their rider – above the bit about denim
clad midgets, but below the part about everyone having to speak like
Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean for one hour of every day -
they insist that the dressing room doors are removed and replaced
with revolving ones just to keep everyone on their toes.
No one is
indispensable in the world of the Turbonegro.
There's
been madness, drug issues, some cross dressing, huge dollops of crazy
rock and roll and cult like adulation along the way, and do you know
what?
They
still rock like a motherfucker.
A big
neon lit nightmare of seventies glam stomp and punk rock
motherfuckery.
They're
the Rolling Stones, The Ramones, The Dead Boys and the New York Dolls
celebrating the apocalypse, and Sexual Harassment is the definitive
proof if anyone ever needed it.
The
guitars howl, the bass and drums are thunderous and right to the fore
is every single politically incorrect thought that has every crossed
your mind.
Turbonegro
are the glint of switch-blade steel in the dark alley, the leer on
the face of the carnival barker, and the money shot at the end of
your favourite moment of adult celluloid entertainment all rolled
into one.
Remember
the promotional comment of 'you pay for the whole seat, but you will
only use the edge of it?'
That
should have been about Turbonegro.
In the
words of Happy-Tom "Most
rock 'n' roll bands start as a riot but end up as a parody. We
started up as a parody but ended up as a revolution."
Vive le
revolution.
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