Standing Over By The Record Machine: Boris the Sprinkler's Bits O' Boris is the best kinda odds ‘n’ sods!
Rev. Norb’s post-Dickies/Descendents killers are fulla Sweet Tarts, chainsaw guitars, and enough Kingsbury to fill Lake Winnebago
Vintage Boris The Sprinkler in full cry, starring the Rev. Norb and his antler helmet. (Photographer unknown)
Greetings! I appreciate everyone tuning in to The ‘Stack in such high numbers last week, with the two salutes to the recently-deceased Shane MacGowan and and the not-so-recently-deceased Lester Bangs bookending the workweek. Despite my “metrics be damned” bravado, I do take a look at the numbers. And I see there’s a number of you among the loyal ‘Stack subscribers who especially dug those, revisiting 10 times or more in some cases. Such visible enthusiasm is more encouraging than if St. Lester himself tore his way outta his crypt right now, ran all the way to Austin, rang my doorbell, threw his arm around my shoulder, offered me a sip of his Pabst, and said, “Kid, you’re doing it right. Keep it up!” (Mind you, St. Lester’s corpse probably still smells the same as the man did in life.)
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Anyway, since beginning The Book (and now that I am trying to finish the latest chapter of The Austin Punk Chronicles, it amounts to me working on TWO BOOKS!), I’ve obviously not been updating The ‘Stack as promised in The Manifesto. I’ve decided that needs to change, tout le sweet! And there is a stack of platters needing reviewing, so that’s a good place as any to start righting this ship’s course. Shall we commence blasting your eardrums with the sonic equivalent of a cheesehead mosh pit at Lambeau Field after a triple bratwurst and cheese curd bender?
BORIS THE SPRINKLER — Bits O’ Boris LP (Beer City Records)
Boris the Sprinkler's latest sonic assault, Bits O' Boris, is a compilation album chock full of punk nuggets greasier than a deep fryer basket at the Wisconsin State Fair. The Grand Poobahs of Green Bay are hardly yer grandma's punk pop band. (And no, I refuse to call it “pop punk!” Was that sound’s older brother called “rock punk?”) These guys are more like a deranged marching band at a Packers tailgate party, fueled by Pixy Stix and Diet Mountain Dew.
No, these ain't your daddy's Dickies or Descendents. This is melodic cheesehead punk, fermented in Sheboygan basements and aged in the backwoods of Wausau. Think raw and raunchy, like a Taco Bell bean burrito with extra onions and a side of "Why Don't We Do It In The Dumpster?" (Don't worry, Rev. Norb — no stranger to this Substack — leaves nothin' to the imagination).
Bits O' Boris ain't your typical greatest hits snoozefest. This is a shotgun blast of B-sides, lost tracks, and rarities older than a spotted cow at the fair, a veritable Patchwork Orange. (Or any other fluorescent color you may prefer — I think Norbie’s partial to green or pink.) We're talkin' early ‘90s bangers like "I'm Gonna Perforate You" and "My Prom Date's Parkin' With Grand Moff Tarkin'," raw and real like a Packers fan on a losing streak.
But don't think this is just nostalgia stew. Tracks are sprinkled from across Boris's entire history, every lineup, all stirred up like a cheese curd casserole with a twist. As Norb himself says in the liners, “We wanted to make a Boris record that people could jump around to, not some weird artifact for an archeologist to poke and prod at centuries into the future. We put the songs in the order we thought worked the best, then kinda ran ‘em together as if playing ‘em live.”
The bulk of the mayhem comes from Boris Lineup #6 — Norb/Paul #1/Ric Six/Paul # 7. Norb's grasshopper-like antics on the mic (though I think his stage presence is more Frank Gorshin as The Riddler, with the delivery of a morning drivetime DJ) , Paul #1's chainsaw-in-a-blender guitar, and enough Kingsbury to drown the Sweet Tarts in suds. Think "Little Yellow Box," "Sharona Made My Head Hurt Yeah," and, of course, their not-so-subtle jabs at punk royalty with "Kill The Sex Pistols" and the radio-friendly "Bleep The Ramones" (use your imagination, folks).
Is it a masterpiece? Nah, it's a glorious, messy hodgepodge, like a cheese curd festival after dark. But that's the beauty. It's a living document of Boris's grand, glorious career, a snapshot of driving, melodious Wisconsin punk in all its beer-soaked glory. It's the soundtrack to a bar brawl in Bart Starr's basement, 19 anthems for the antler helmet underground.
So crank up the volume, grab a cold one (Kingsbury, of course), and let Boris the Sprinkler take you on a Taco Bell-fueled rampage through the backroads of Wisconsin. Just remember, the Fire Sauce packets might stain your Packers jersey. Just wear your dancing shoes and bring the Pepto – you're gonna need both.
P.S. — Boris made Number Six on Magnet magazine’s Best Of 2023: Punk list, between reissues by Ramones and Social Distortion! Gee, I wonder how they managed THAT?!
Tim review/interview with maker of We Are Fugazi From Washington, D.C. documentary at The Austin Chronicle
They revolutionized musical business ethics and methodology. As punk went mainstream with alternative rock's rise, Fugazi shows remained resolutely all-ages, with $5 admission even as their popularity grew. They remained self-managed and -booked, recorded for independent Dischord Records, sold no merch, and refused interviews with publications that accepted tobacco or other poisonous corporate advertising. They never exactly "broke up," per se. Playing their final show in London on November 4, 2002, they've been on hiatus since. They get together to play privately and pursue individual solo projects.
Thus runs my 87 word summary of certain aspects of D.C. post-core heroes Fugazi a few Austin Chronicles back. (The December 8th issue, to be exact.) The occasion? The release of a new documentary, We Are Fugazi From Washington, D.C., scripted by my Chronicle colleague Joe Gross. It’s as stirring and cinematic a punkumentary as you can find nowadays. Get all the straight poop by clicking all this junk here.
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