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Weird Band of the Week: The Radioactive Chicken Heads
Because you demanded it (no, really, one of you guys did), we decided to bring back polls to Weirdest Band in the World. Actually, we brought them back to our Facebook page, but close enough. And thanks to your tireless clicking, we have a new Weird Band of the Week: The Radioactive Chicken Heads. Pat yourselves on the back, people. I think you actually got this one right.
The Radioactive Chicken Heads are apparently from right here in Los Angeles (who knew?) and are a costumed punk band made up mostly of, well, radioactive chickens. They also have a lead singer who’s a carrot and a guitar player who’s a tomato. There’s an elaborate band mythology on the bio section of their website that kinda explains the whole thing, but we’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say that farmers and a giant, rampaging bunny are also involved.
Musically, the RCHs have a lot in common with other jokey punk bands like the Dead Milkmen and the Aquabats. They also sometimes seem like a children’s band, but other times not so much. Unless you’re the kind of parent who doesn’t mind explaining to the children who Ron Jeremy is. Yeah, that’s him slinging pizza in the video below.
P.S. Thanks to reader Chris Garcia for suggesting we add these guys to The Weird List.
P.P.S. Did we mention we now have polls on our Facebook page? It’s true. Go vote in the latest one, won’t you? (You’ll have to like us first, though. Don’t worry, we’re pretty low-maintenance.)
Links:
The Upper Crust
Finally, a rock band for the one percent! The Upper Crust are an AC/DC-loving band from Boston who perform their swaggering cock-rock (or “rocque and roll,” as they like to call it) dressed in the powdered wigs, buckled shoes and ruffled finery of 18th century French aristocrats. They stay rigorously in character throughout, sneering at the “foul congregation” of their plebeian fans and raising their pinkie fingers between songs in a foppish variation of the classic devil horns gesture. It’s the Ancien Régime by way of Aerosmith, Bon Scott in breeches. And like a lot of our favorite super-gimmicky bands, it’s a great example of a silly, one-note idea run so far into the ground it’s struck a gusher of some sticky black substance resembling genius.
The main madman behind The Upper Crust is Nat Freedberg, aka Lord Bendover, who’s been toiling away in various semi-obscure (and completely obscure) Boston bands since the ’80s. (This article gives some good background.) He started The Upper Crust in 1995 with a lineup that’s undergone surprisingly few changes since: A third guitarist, Lord Rockingham, dropped out fairly early, and they swapped out bassists at some point, but second singer/guitarist the Duc D’Istortion (“a student of the manly art of fisticuffs,” according to his official bio) and drummer Jackie Kickassis (an “effervescent personage” with a fondness for “the verses of the ancient homosexual poets”) have been with the group since day one. Most non-joke bands would kill for that kind of continuity.
The Upper Crust have released three original studio LPs, a live album, and a “greatest hits” collection, Cream of the Crust. The track titles alone are worth the price of admission: “Once More Into the Breeches,” “We’re Finished With Finishing School,” “Come Hither Fair Youth,” a live DVD called Horse & Buggery. As far as we can tell, they haven’t done much since releasing their last album, Revenge for Imagined Slights, in 2009. The only event listed on their official website (by their faithful manservant, Bumbles) is a benefit concert that happened back in April. “It is not sheer greed that drives them as usual,” Bumbles writes, in a commoner’s fumbling attempt to mimic the arch wit of his lordships. Oh, I bet you tasted the lash for that impertinent remark, Bumbles!
We would be remiss not to include a huzzah here for Rico Gagliano, co-host of public radio show/podcast The Dinner Party, who introduced us to The Upper Crust when I was a guest on his show back in February. (What do you mean you missed it? For shame. Lucky for you there’s an Internet now for archiving such things.)
Here’s the fuzzy but still pretty awesome video for one of The Upper Crust’s signature tunes, “Let the Eat Rock,” originally released circa 1995. Keep an eye out for the coal-fired guitar amp. These dudes were steam punks before steam punk even existed.
Links:
- The Upper Crust official site
- The Upper Crust on MySpace
- Monarchy in the USA (Upper Crust fan site)
That 1 Guy
It’s been awhile since we blogged about an artist who plays homemade instruments. So let’s fix that this week by making That 1 Guy, creator of the Magic Pipe, our Weird Band of the Week.
Now I know what you’re thinking: “Dude, I play my Magic Pipe every night! Usually to pictures of Kate Upton.” But That 1 Guy’s Magic Pipe is both longer and cooler than yours, my friend. Hooked up to various electronics and a few bass strings, it’s a seven-foot, harp-shaped weapon of mass awesomeness that, in the hands of That 1 Guy’s Mike Silverman (who is, indeed, just one guy), can sound as funky as a Les Claypool bassline, as evil as a Nine Inch Nails song, and as goofy as, oh, let’s say Ween, all in the same song. Lots of artists these days use loops and electronics to do the whole one-man-band thing, but few do it with more oddball swag than That 1 Guy.
Silverman is a highly trained jazz bassist who got so bored with the limitations of his instrument that he decided to start making his own gear. In addition his signature instrument, the Magic Pipe, which is sort of like a Chapman stick on steroids, he’s also concocted the Magic Boot, the Magic Flute and the Magic Saw. Apparently, he even does magic tricks in his act now. If he ever asks you to pick a card, go for the Joker. (Did we mention that That 1 Guy’s songs tend to be hilariously silly? Well, they do.)
That 1 Guy has collaborated with fellow weirdos like Buckethead (subject of a future Weird Band of the Week pick, we promise—hang in there, Ian!), but mostly, he does solo shows like the one in the video below. When you can generate that much noise all by yourself, who needs collaborators?
P.S.: Shout out to our new biggest fan, Sheavy, for reminding us about this guy. Glad you like the site, buddy! Have you come around to Die Antwoord yet?
Links:
- That 1 Guy official site
- That 1 Guy on MySpace
- That 1 Guy on Facebook
- That 1 Guy on Righteous Babe Records (yes, he was once on Ani DiFranco’s label)
Signmark
When Queens of the Stone Age named their third album Songs for the Deaf, we’re pretty sure they were just kidding. But Signmark is dead serious. Yes, Virginia, this is hip-hop for deaf people, created by a deaf “rapper” named Marko Vuoriheimo. And he’s from Finland, no less. We thought it was all just metal bands and this guy up there.
Marko was born deaf to two deaf parents, but he discovered hip-hop from watching MTV and decided he wanted in on the action. Predictably, everyone told him he was crazy, but Marko persevered. He began translating popular hip-hop songs into sign language and sort of half-dancing, half-signing them out at clubs. (Like most—all?—deaf people, Marko can feel beats and heavy bass, so he could recognize songs with a distinctive bass pattern.) That led to writing his own lyrics and eventually creating his own music with the help of various producers and a rapper named Brandon Bauer, who raps in both Finnish and English on Signmark’s two albums.
Yes, Signmark has released two albums: a self-titled joint in 2006 that’s mostly in Finnish and a 2010 sophomore set in English called Breaking the Rules. The self-titled effort was apparently mostly a labor of love, but Breaking the Rules was actually released through Warner Music, making Vuoriheimo the first deaf recording artist signed to an international record deal.
Now you’re probably asking: How can a guy who can’t hear, sing or even speak get a record deal? Well, the answer is that both albums were actually released as CD/DVD packages, with videos accompanying each song, so you can see Marko signing them out. I admit, I was skeptical myself at first, but watching Marko do his thing does definitely add an extra dimension to the music. And the songs, by turns defiant and inspirational, all tell his story, even if he’s not the one actually speaking the words out loud.
Signmark is a big deal in the international deaf community and a very big deal in Finland, where he even narrowly missed representing his nation in the annual Eurovision Song Contest in 2009. (He lost out to this. Way to blow it, Finland.) But he seems to remain a well-kept secret just about everywhere else. Let’s help change that right now, shall we?
P.S. The white dude with the John Legend pipes is named Osmo Ikonen and yeah, he’s from Finland, too. Who knew Finnish people could be so funky?
P.P.S. Is it just me, or does Marko look like a little like Andy Samberg’s long lost Finnish brother?
P.P.P.S. The audio on that video is a little crunchy—whoever encoded it had the volume cranked up too high. It’s almost as though they were having trouble hearing it! Ha! Am I right, people? (Damn. Nearly made it through the entire post without one politically incorrect deaf joke. So close!)
Links:
- Signmark official site
- Signmark on MySpace
- Signmark on Facebook
- Signmark’s U.S. website (mostly tour dates)
Tiny Tim
Forgive me if this week’s post is even more rambling and incoherent than usual. I just completed a very early morning transcontinental flight and I’m so jetlagged, I’m starting to talk like Sean Penn in I Am Sam. Then again, being delirious with jetlag might be the perfect mindset for exploring the bizarre pop music footnote that is Tiny Tim.
Born Herbert Khaury in 1932, Tiny Tim became, very briefly, the most celebrated oddball in all of music, thanks to some memorable appearances on the comedy/variety show Laugh-In in 1968. With his gawky stage presence, comically miniscule ukulele (contrary to his stage name, he was rather a hulking fellow), and warbling falsetto, Tiny was an unlikely star—but something about his guileless interpretations of old American songbook warhorses like “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” and his signature tune, “Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips,” struck a chord with middle America. He became a regular fixture not only on Laugh-In but also The Tonight Show, where Johnny Carson teased out enough personal details (five showers a day, wore ladies’ cosmetics, openly had a thing for pretty underage girls, which he referred to as “classics”) to finally convince viewers that he was not some elaborate put-on, but a genuine weirdo.
On his first Laugh-In appearance, Tiny was introduced by the show’s droll, chain-smoking hosts, Rowan and Martin, as both an undiscovered diamond in the rough and “the toast of Greenwich Village.” Both things were true, in a way. After years of taking any gig he could in every New York dive under a variety of stage names (including Darry Dover, Emmett Swink, Judas K. Foxglove and “Larry Love, The Human Canary,” when he briefly appeared as part of a freak show), Tim finally hit the big time when he was “discovered” at a hip nightclub called The Scene. By the time he made his first Laugh-In appearance, he had already released his first album, God Bless Tiny Tim, on Frank Sinatra’s Reprise Records label. It contained his signature “Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips,” but the album’s most memorable moment is probably a cover of “I Got You, Babe,” on which Tiny sings both Sonny and Cher’s parts in a performance that’s simultaneously virtuosic and ridiculous.
Like all true outsiders, Tiny Tim was not destined for lasting stardom. He and his music were just too “far out” for the mainstream squares and too old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy for the hippie rock ‘n’ roll types. His jump-the-shark moment came in December of 1969, when he married his 17-year-old sweetheart, Victoria Mae Budinger, aka “Miss Vicki,” on an episode of The Tonight Show that is reputed to be the second most-watched TV program of the ’60s (21.4 million viewers) after the moon landing. Apart from the bride’s age, the ceremony is actually kinda boring by today’s Springer/Kardashian standards, but there was still a certain freak-show aspect to the whole thing that eclipsed Tiny’s music—especially when the couple revealed that they planned to sleep in separate rooms and even dine apart because of the groom’s phobia of eating in the presence of others.
By the late ’70s, Tiny Tim was divorced (though he later remarried, twice), dropped from his label, and reduced to releasing novelty tunes like “Tip-Toe to the Gas Pumps.” In the ’80s and ’90s, he occasionally collaborated with younger artists who admired his work, like (no, really) Camper Van Beethoven—but for the most part, he was remembered (dimly) as a tulip-sniffing, one-hit wonder. In 1996, shortly after the release of his final studio album, Girl (recorded with the aptly named Texas polka-rockers Brave Combo), he suffered a massive heart attack during a performance in Minneapolis and died that same day. He was 64.
Even though it’s probably true that most Laugh-In and Tonight Show viewers were laughing at, not with, Tiny Tim, it would be unfair to dismiss him as the Rebecca Black of his era. There was nothing manufactured or phony about him. His talents were outlandish, but they were genuine; take this amazing, Tom Jones-like version of “Stayin’ Alive,” which starts out a little shaky but eventually turns into a tour de force of vocal elasticity. Not many humans have ever been able to sing in a hairy-chested baritone and a choir-boy falsetto in the same breath. At least not with this much chutzpah.
I could go on defending Tiny Tim’s legacy, but I know I’m preaching to the choir; several readers over the years have suggested we add him to the Weird List, and since he would have turned 80 this week, we figured this was a good time to do it. We’ll leave you with perhaps his most famous performance. If you’ve never seen it before, you’re in for a treat.
Links:
- Tiny Tim Memorial Site
- Tiny Tim “official” website (hosted by this company, which apparently now owns the rights to his likeness and some of his music)
- Interview with Tiny Tim expert Justin Martell (much of this post was cribbed from this interview, as well as from Irwin Chusid’s Songs in the Key of Z: The Curious Universe of Outsider Music)
TISM
Our thanks to a reader named Rallan for reminding us about TISM, a band that actually had a fairly large following in Australia in the ’90s and early ’00s but is mainly famous back here in the States for pissing off the Red Hot Chili Peppers. More on that in a bit.
TISM (short for This Is Serious, Mum) formed in the early ’80s, when New Wave was in the air and college kids all over the globe were discovering The Residents. Such a group of college kids, supposedly, was TISM, although the members all insisted on wearing masks and keeping their identities secret, so details of their origins remain a bit sketchy. What we do know is that they began playing clubs around Melbourne by about 1985 or so, and in 1986 they released their first song, a jaunty little DEVO-esque number called “Defecate on My Face” sung from the perspective of Adolph Hitler, who supposedly enjoyed a little scat play with his mistress Eva Braun every now and then.
TISM’s music got poppier over the course of their next several albums, but their trademark balaclava masks (usually white, occasionally black or some more elaborate variation, like puffy silver spaceman outfits) remained, as did their knack for controversy. Their 1993 EP, Australia the Lucky Cunt, had to be recalled because its festive, childlike cover drawing of a koala with a syringe in its mouth supposedly bore too close of a resemblance to the artwork of Ken Done, a famous Australian artist whose, as far as we can tell, would have to sue every third grader on the planet to keep his work from being imitated. (Australia the Lucky Cunt was reissued as Censored Due to Legal Advice).
In 1995, they released their most famous single, “(He’ll Never Be an) Ol’ Man River,” better known by its opening refrain, “I’m on the drug that killed River Phoenix.” The song’s irreverent tone offended quite a few people, including Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea, a friend of the late River Phoenix, who depending on which version you believe, either challenged TISM to a fight, threatened to kill them, or maybe even tried to sue them. Among their other songs that have offended various people, or at least tried to: “I Might Be a Cunt, But I’m Not a Fucking Cunt,” “If You’re Not Famous at Fourteen, You’re Finished” and “Death, Death, Death, Amway, Amway, Amway.”
Throughout their career, TISM were famous for punking both the media and their own fans, doing things like playing three-minute concerts and forcing reporters to don scuba gear before interviewing them. They used their masks and secret identities not only to maintain their air of mystique, but to downplay the usual trappings of being in a popular rock band (and they were popular—their 1995 album, Machiavelli and the Four Seasons, was certified gold in Australia and won the ARIA Award, Down Under’s version of the Grammys, for Best Independent Release). They allowed rumors to circulate that they had all maintained their day jobs (for awhile, it was widely believed they were all schoolteachers, because they’d only tour during school vacations) and routinely talked shit about the record industry. When they did appear on television, they might, say, perform their biggest hit on traditional Greek instruments.
Sadly, TISM broke up in 2004. Their swan song appears to have been a sunny piece of power-pop called “Everyone Else Has Had More Sex Than Me.” Since then, most of the former TISM members have laid low, with the exception of the band’s singer/drummer, Humphrey B. Flaubert (real name: Damian Cowell), who has gone on to form not one, but two bands: an alt-country combo called ROOT!, and a rock trio called the DC3 whose first single was called “I Was the Guy in TISM.” Also, the band’s guitarist, James “Tokin’ Blackman” Paull, died of cancer in 2008. Wonder if he was buried in his mask?
TISM left behind a slew of music videos and concert clips, having released something like six different video compilations over the course of their career. And while their live performances are nearly always pretty eye-grabbing, we felt this 1998 music video for “Whatareya?” shows the band at their silly, pop-culture-slagging best.
Links:
- TISM official site (currently blank with a “we’ll be back sooner than you think” message)
- The DC3 official site
- TISM on Facebook (unofficial)
Whitehouse
Have we mentioned lately how much we love our readers? Well, it’s true. You guys rock. Thanks to you, we have a backlog of weird bands that should last us until at least 2013. So stick around, people! Or just go to our Submit a Band page, which is basically just one long spoiler for which bands we’ll be populating the site with over the next several months.
One reader who rocks especially hard is Mr. Ian Frost, who recently flooded the Comments section with a raging torrent of serious weirdness. Of all the bands Ian mentioned, the one that really jumped out at us (we’ll get to Buckethead soon, Ian, promise) was a British band called Whitehouse, who back in the early ’80s invented their own spin on industrial music, which they dubbed “power electronics.” And as anyone who’s read our posts on witch house, pornogrind and pagan Celtic folk metal already knows, there’s nothing Jake and I love more than peeling back the layers on an obscure subgenre. So let’s dive into this whole power electronics thing, shall we?
Power electronics uses synthesizers less as musical instruments than as pure noise-making devices, taking advantage of their wide frequency range to pump out ear-splitting, high-pitched shrieks coupled with bowel-melting bursts of bass. Over the top of this, they scream lyrics that are often just profanity-laced tirades—not unlike the sort of invective your neighbors will probably hurl at you if you play this stuff on anything louder than a well-insulated pair of headphones.
The man behind the band Whitehouse and power electronics is a fellow named William Bennett—no, not the former Drug Czar for the George H. W. Bush White House, although that is indeed a pretty excellent coincidence. No, this William Bennett was a teenaged guitar player in a post-punk band called Essential Logic who, around 1978, discovered early industrial bands like Throbbing Gristle and became intrigued with the idea of creating music that could, in his words, “bludgeon an audience into submission.”
While on tour with Essential Logic, Bennett met synth-punk pioneer Robert Rental, who sold the young guitarist “an uncontrollably vicious beast of a synthesiser which subsequently became the heart of the Whitehouse sound.” We’re pretty sure the synth he’s referring to is a strange little gizmo called the EDP Wasp, which was famous for having a black and yellow “keyboard” that was completely flat and therefore virtually impossible to play by touch. But for Bennett’s purposes, it was probably ideal, since he was mainly just interested in mashing down several keys at once and then twisting the knobs to get the most atonal squall of electronic noise the little keyboard could muster.
After releasing a single in 1979 under the name Come, Bennett formed Whitehouse in 1980 and proceeded to go on a recording tear, releasing seven albums over the next three years. He coined the term power electronics in 1982 in the liner notes for Whitehouse’s seventh release, Psychopathia Sexualis, one of several Whitehouse albums dedicated entirely to the subject of serial killers. You see, it wasn’t enough for Bennett that his music be brutal; he wanted the lyrics to be brutal, as well, even though they were usually completely unintelligible over the roar of all those maxed-out synths. Early Whitehouse track titles include “Shitfun,” “Rapeday” and “Dedicated to Albert de Salvo – Sadist and Mass Slayer,” a heartwarming tribute to the Boston Strangler. He was kind of a dark guy, that Bennett.
By 1983, Whitehouse had added two new members who would go on to be highly influential in the power electronics scene (and yes, by this point, it was a scene): Kevin Tomkins and Philip Best.
Although Tomkins contributed to two of Whitehouse’s most extreme albums, Right to Kill and Great White Death, he pushed the power electronics envelope even further with his own band, Sutcliffe Jügend, named after one of England’s most notorious serial killers, Peter Sutcliffe, and the Hitler Youth (“Hitler Jügend,” in German). This is one of their gentler numbers. As one reviewer of their 1998 album, When Pornography Is No Longer Enough, quite aptly put it: “SJ’s music would make for an extremely effective CIA interrogation tool.”
Best joined Whitehouse when he was just 15 and (being, you know, 15 and all) dropped out again just one year later. But he was a steady member of Whitehouse from 1993 to 2008, after which he quit to focus on his artwork and his own musical project, Consumer Electronics. From 2003 to 2008, Whitehouse performed frequently as the duo of Bennett and Best and underwent what one writer called “an unlikely vogue,” getting invited to lots of experimental music and noise-rock festivals and frequently cited as a major influence by younger, trendier noise bands like Wolf Eyes and Black Dice. They also developed a fondness for taking their shirts off—which is normally the worst kind of rock-dude cliché, but coming from two scrawny guys screaming things like “You look like a fucking bat, you old slut” over dentist’s drill synths, is downright confrontational and more than a little creepy.
Speaking of creepy: The other semi-constant member of Whitehouse, from 1983 to 2003, was Peter Sotos, an American-born writer whose work mostly explores brutal crimes committed against children. It’s probably to Sotos that the group owes its frequent use of spoken-word passages sampled from interviews with serial killers, rape survivors, and the parents of murdered or abducted children. Where Bennett, Best and even the rather intense Tomkins seem to be drawn to gruesome subject matter mainly for its shock value, Sotos seems genuinely, pathologically obsessed with it. There’s no proof that the man ever did horrible things to children himself (he was convicted of possession of child pornography in 1986, but the evidence was sketchy and his sentence was suspended), but he’s sure researched the subject with enough zeal to make you wonder if it’s all he talks about at dinner parties. Bennett has said that he and Sotos parted ways over “a notable difference in lifestyle attitudes,” which is kind of ominous coming from a guy who titled his band’s fifth album after a Nazi concentration camp.
A few other fun random factoids about Whitehouse: Their name is a reference both to Mary Whitehouse, a British conservative activist who did quite a bit of railing against indecent TV programming (like, you know, Dr. Who) in the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s, and to a pornographic magazine and website, Whitehouse (formerly on Whitehouse.com), that satirically named itself after the famed prude. All of their ’90s albums were produced by Steve Albini, best known for his work with the Pixies and Nirvana. Currently, the band consists of Bennett and a young woman named Mimsy DeBlois, who may or may not be the same woman who appeared with Whitehouse under the name Loulou at a concert in Portugal in 2009. Here’s a clip from that performance. In a 2010 interview with British mag The Wire, Bennett revealed that he and DeBlois are changing Whitehouse’s name to Bad Girls Get the Fuck Over It (the interview’s not available online, but Bennett confirmed the name change on his blog). Or he might just be yanking our chains a bit.
Bennett has scrupulously documented every single Whitehouse performance—he calls them “Live Actions”—and cataloged all 178 of them on the website for his record label, Susan Lawly. We’ll leave you with a vintage video clip from Live Action 39, which apparently took place right here in Los Angeles back in 1984 at a now-defunct record shop called Bebop Records. That’s Kevin Tomkins and Peter Sotos working the Wasps and a very young William Bennett doing the screaming. This is supposedly taken from a documentary called D.U.I.—if anyone knows anything else about it, we’d love to hear from you. When we searched “D.U.I.” online, all we got were a bunch of Bobby Brown articles.
Links:
- Susan Lawly official site (Whitehouse/Bennett record label)
- William Bennett on Blogspot
- Whitehouse on MySpace
- Whitehouse Facebook group
Christeene
Here at TWBITW, we’re always up for supporting a good cause. So when we learned that self-described drag terrorist and “sexually infused sewer of vile shamelessness” Christeene had only three days left on her Kickstarter campaign and was still more than $2,000 short of her goal, we just knew we had to leap into the breach. Even though we were a little afraid of using the word “breach” in a sentence about Christeene.
For those of y’all not familiar: Christeene Vail is the creation of singer/rapper/filmmaker/drag artist Paul Soileau, born at a queer open-mic in Austin about three years ago (Christeene, not Paul—Paul looks to have been born sometime in the late ’70s, though only his makeup technician knows for sure). Paul had performed for years as a more conventional drag queen named Rebecca Havemeyer, but he concocted Christeene because he wanted a persona that was more, in the words of one writer, “quick, destructive and fun—something to leave his audience speechless in less than five minutes.” Mission accomplished!
Christeene is a foul-mouthed, dirty-minded, trailer-trash naif who makes improbably catchy electro-pop with touches of R&B, hip-hop, dubstep and booty bass. She’s sort of what might have happened if Crazy Britney had spent less energy on shaving her head and attacking cars with umbrellas and more on actually making music as provocative as her pantyless bouts with the paparazzi.
Christeene’s performances and amazing, totally NSFW videos (made with filmmaker PJ Ravel under the name Three Dollar Cinema and mostly available on Funny or Die) are aural and visual assaults of gold teeth, smeared lipstick, flashed privates, ass-cheek-spreading backup dancers, and gender-bending songs and raps about ass play (“Bustin’ Brown”), sad hookers (“Tears From My Pussy”) and what we can only assume is old-people sex (“Workin’ on Grandma”). It’s not for the faint-hearted, even though Christeene herself maintains an endearingly childlike, Adam Sandler-ish quality throughout.
Arguably the weirdest—inarguably the most downright nasty—thing Christeene’s ever produced is “Bustin’ Brown,” a song about anal sex (“breakin’ laws in your bee-hind”), with a video that mostly takes place inside a giant colon. But for sheer NSFW hilarity, we have to agree with reader Hirsh, who first brought Christeene to our attention on our Submit a Band page by posting the “Fix My Dick” video along with the that-about-sums-it-up comment, “Mmmm yes.” (Did I mention this video is NSFW? I really, really can’t stress that enough.)
If you enjoyed that, please for the love of Jesus proceed immediately to Christeene’s Kickstarter page and give generously so that her debut album, Waste Up, Kneez Down, may see the light of day. Jake just stole one of my credit cards and gave five bucks, and if that raging homophobe can support this hot mess with someone’s else money, you sure as shit can, too. (I kid. Jake’s not a homophobe. He just gets squeamish about hairy guys in thongs.)
[Update: Well, shit. Christeene just hit her $10,000 Kickstarter goal with 46 hours to go—and barely 24 hours after we first wrote this post. Y'all just got the Weird Band Bump, Christeene! Congrats.]
Links:
- Christeene official site
- Christeene on Facebook
- Three Dollar Cinema on Funny or Die (Christeene’s video channel)






























































































