J Edgar Hoova & the Body Removers -Take Your Dead Ass Home

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I immediately flew into a huge whiskey-fuelled rage (from which Farnsworth still carries a slight limp in his right leg) before embarking on a rampage through the Roger studio destroying 17 Flying Vs, 412 pairs of sunglasses, 9 army jackets, 3 vintage bass guitars, 1 vintage copy of Playboy… nothing was spared – I destroyed or urinated on all of them.

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J Edgar Hoova & the Body Removers –Take Your Dead Ass Home

he rules

The press release of this EP is truly a work of genius. It is so good I feel it is my sworn duty to share it with you. Here it is, in its full beauty.

"Just after we finished recording the debut Roger album This is The Sh*t, those fonk pussies Astley and Randy, whilst sitting like a couple of pricks on their high horses marvelling at the fact that their shit doesn't stink, announced that Roger would only play heavy funk and deny all knowledge of the Majesty of Rock (italics and bold type supplied by Incendiary - ed) As you can imagine, my pretty little f*cksticks, I found this rather disturbing. I immediately flew into a huge whiskey-fuelled rage (from which Farnsworth still carries a slight limp in his right leg) before embarking on a rampage through the Roger studio destroying 17 Flying Vs, 412 pairs of sunglasses, 9 army jackets, 3 vintage bass guitars, 1 vintage copy of Playboy... nothing was spared – I destroyed or urinated on all of them. Then, in a moment of clarity I had not experienced since the Poll Tax Riots, I knew what I had to do. The fools had left the master tapes to the album unguarded, so despite the fact that there was no security at all, I made Farnsworth swallow them whole, and then smuggled him (unconscious) out of the building in a laundry basket.

And so, after the threat of the total destruction of the tapes and some gentle persuasion from my old pals the Uzi Brothers, the 30 date "wherever the hell J Edgar wants to play, J Edgar plays" tour of the US kicked off in Detroit to the expected rapturous adulation. 

That recording is a small snippet into what was a violent, angry and thoroughly depraved tour. All you need to know is that the pure genius of me is there for all to hear in this collection of rock masterpieces, so you will love it like you have never loved anything before." 

After reading that, I knew this EP had to be a classic. And anyone who writes about The Majesty of Rock in these serious, straight-jacketed musical times is alright by me, I can tell you. Oh, and you'd better believe me when I say that the music lives up to the press release. Yes indeed. The opening number, Take Yer Dead Ass Home is a high charged sprint through the entire canon of Glam Rock, Ian Hunter jamming with Blue Cheer, or the Sweet hanging out with Klaus Dinger in a chemical plant. Fabulous chunky riffs abound and a high octane chorus kicks the song up about 100 gears. A stentorian, slightly deranged voice sings the following lines.

Don't mix me up with the Rolling Stones/ Like Zsa Zsa Gabor, I wanna be left alone. 

Fabulous, or what?

 

Where are we Tonight? has to be the best Stooges rip-off ever. It is a rip-off true to the real artistic meaning of ripping off; in that it recreates and re-packages Iggy in a shiny new jacket. This track is awash with colossal riffery that brings a jerky intensity to the music. A fabulous ending of cheering crowds becomes a fabulous cheering crowds link into Release the Hounds, a frankly ridiculous track (if it wasn't so fucking good), that grabs Lemmy's muse by the throat and shakes one more impossibly troglodyte number out of that quivering frame. The cheering crowds return to signal the beginning of Going to Hell a track which shows Meatloaf just how wrong-headed his vision was all along. The last track, Don't F*ck With Roger, is a fabulous clatter of heavy guitar over a shuddering beat (with one or two very familiar sounding riffs to boot). 

Brilliant. As it's not released yet, you're just gonna have to salivate that little while longer.

www.myspace.com/jedgarhoova

www.kingdomofroger.com

www.headheritage.com

Words: Richard Foster.