Only once, among my honestly countless number of jobs, did I quit loudly and vitriolically. I had been indirectly ordered (i.e., walk in one morning and find a shiny red binder and a cowardly note) to begin a daily count and weekly total of my work output (what I was doing was irrelevant; come to think of it, like most jobs). I wrote, “Too fuckin’ many to count,” at the end of a grueling week, fully expecting to write a more accurate number come Monday morning when I would hand the thing in. Well, the bosses saw it before I could fix it, and Monday afternoon I was called in for a little chat. It started out as a corporate counseling session:
“What’s wrong, Joe? We can tell something’s been bothering you.”
Unfortunately, they really didn’t want to hear what I thought. They were just setting me up to blast me for the “Too fuckin’, etc.” comment.
The bosses shook the offending piece of paper with the spiteful words that disturbed them so.
“Why did you do this?” they asked.
I stared blankly at them for a few seconds.
“For kicks,” I answered.
A few minutes later the fireworks started.
And now we can get to the Wanktones’ Live At The Fontana Bowlarama CD. When I first saw it, I asked myself, “Now why would they do this? Does the world need a faux live set of cover tunes from an essentially defunct band’s alter ego?”
To answer my second question, yes it does. The Wanktones are the hayseed flipsides of one of the greatest garage-power pop bands of all time, D.C.’s Slickee Boys. Years ago, you couldn’t find a better night of entertainment than a Slickees show with the Wanks opening. ‘Cause even with the overalls, neon cowboy shirts and goofy stage names, the Wanktones were serious about their love of country and rockabilly, and they did justice to “16 Chicks” and “Tiger” and other gems. It helped that both the Slickees and the Wanks could boast a lead guitarist as good as Marshall Keith/Del Marva, who could go from twisted surf-inspired pyrotechnics to downright Don Richian Bakersfield Tele-twangin’ without dropping his pick.
The Wanktones follow the all-important first rule in doing an album of covers, which is the same as the first rule of the Hippocratic Oath: Do no harm. They capably and happily blast through fourteen chestnuts, including “Little Pig”, “Take Me Back To Tulsa”, “I’m Walking The Floor Over You” and “Hello Trouble” with a sense of fun that’s rare to find in music these days.
I was listening to this CD, with its interspersed sounds of strikes, spares and splits transporting me from doing dishes in Tucson to the hallowed lanes of the Fontana Bowlarama, and at some point, I had a big ol’ grin on my face (perhaps it was the Wanks’ version of “Danny Boy”). And then I had the answer to my first question; I knew why they did it. And I’ll be damned if “kicks” ain’t a good enough reason to do just about anything.
