First I’d like to say that from a visual perspective, I think this band was much better when it was called Alice In Chains. Maybe they THINK they’re Alice In Chains, but one listen to the tracks off this album and you’ll be begging for Layne Staley to dig himself out of the ground and throttle these guys to death with his bare zombified hands.

This is yet another in a long parade of nu metal “mad faces” album covers, but honestly, the cover makes it look like the mad faces are due to the fact that the hair salon won’t take them as walk-in clients rather than some kind of teeno-angst mongering.

I couldn’t figure out what it was that made me think this Static-X album cover is so wretched until I realized that the mad face dude with his mouth open (catching flies, no doubt) makes this cover look an AWFUL LOT like that Devil’s Bris album by Voltaire.

This album cover would be TOTALLY vanilla (except for the milkshake) if it weren’t for that look on this dude’s face. I can’t decide what he’s trying to tell his date here. Is he asking if Paula’s ever heard “Back Door Man” by The Doors? Is he suggesting a night of ritual cannibalism and mescaline abuse?

Maybe what’s going on here has more to do with the fact that you can’t see Paul’s OTHER hand in the photograph. But the expression on Paula’s face seems to indicate that whatever he’s doing, it ain’t working. Maybe they should try some poppers first.

Looking at this, it is PAINFULLY obvious that I’ve been picking on the gangta rap and heavy metal genres far too much. I might actually owe Mister Stinky an apology after seeing this winner by Conway Twitty. I nearly typed Conway TWITTER just now, which is a sign of some kind of horrific impending brain malfunction/meltdown, I am sure.

There’s so much wrong going on here that you don’t know which way to run. How much coke do you have to be on to look at this and say, “Yep, that’s MY RECORD and that’s EXACTLY how I wanna look.” Just LOOK at it–this cover makes Conway Twitty look like that creep who backs you into a corner at parties, smelling of Coors and stale cigarettes, asking you when the last time you were with a REAL MAANNN.

And let’s not overlook the title. Say it to yourself out loud to discover just how creepy it sounds to hear “I’ve alllready looooved you..in mah minnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Yeah, Conway, I’m sure of that. But did I squeal like a pig when it happened?

Seriously, what is with the born-again Christians and the puppets? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less than spend 45 minutes with my hand up a puppet’s ass talking out of the side of my mouth like a third-rate George Raft. And don’t try to tell me this crap is aimed at KIDS–track two on side two is titled “The Liquor Store”. That’s where I’d be spending the meager proceeds from this vinyl abomination if I had ANYTHING to do with it.

You might wonder why I vent my bile on ventriloquists on vinyl with such…passion, until you remember that very NATURE of the ventriloquist act is that you’re supposed to SEE THE DUMMY TALK apparently ON ITS OWN. Like MAGIC. Put these people on a record and the whole point of the ventriloquist act is…well yeah, you get it now.

Like so many other things associated with right wing evangelical Christianity, this makes absolutely ZERO SENSE.

OK, I feel better now.

–Joe Wallace

The real mystery behind this bad album cover is why anyone thought it would be a good idea to market the music on the album using THIS IMAGE. Since a plenty of Fleetwood Mac albums in the catalog featured members of the band on the cover, one can only assume that aesthetic is also represented here somehow. But which band member is depicted here?

Could it be a snide jab at Stevie Nicks? Or maybe that this gorilla looks a little tiny bit like Mick Fleetwood isn’t a coincidence. Regardless, file this one under “What were they thinking?” or maybe even, “We have an artist friend.” Friends don’t let friends design album covers for friend bands.

If you think this is a throwaway from Chappelle’s Show, think again. The Negro’s Back by Disco Rick is one hell of a bewildering album cover. Is he brandishing the KKK hood because he just beat the living crap out of some inbred redneck throwback or is he threatening to MAKE YOU WEAR IT?

The flames on this WTF album cover are also confusing. Is Disco Rick in HELL here? Or maybe he’s just set fire to his own pants because, you know, it makes him feel sexy. Disco Rick isn’t sporting any disco attire here, so it’s not exactly clear what kind of disco we’re dealing with here. Perhaps this album cover is actually an ADVERTISEMENT for a redneck disco that features a nightly bonfire and weenie roast. Or maybe Disco Rick is actually a fireman and we’re mistaking a piece of safety equipment for a Klan hood.

No, that’s not right.

There’s SOME kind of statement going on here, just hard to figure out what it is. The noose, the fire, and the hood would all be pretty emotionally loaded, politically charged stuff…except the message is coming from a guy with the word DISCO in his stage name. It’s the equivalent of getting a book in the mail titled, “The Relative Merits of James Joyce and William Faulkner” written by HOWARD STERN.

He wins points for the anti-style statement he’s made with both the hair AND the suit, and the “I’m passing a kidneystone” expression on his face makes this a must-own addition to any bad album cover connoisseur’s collection.

This guy does NOT look like he’s going to sing to you. More like he’s here to shake you down for the hush money or carry out the orders issued by Hans the Butcher to break your femurs and coccyx. “Eef you do NOHT break-a ze coccyx, I vill be fhorced to break-a YORSSS. Dooo yhooo undersandsks?”

I thought Gunther was joking. Surely, I wondered aloud, this HAS to be some Saturday Night Live gag spun off into its own release. Please tell me this guy’s not for real. Pleasureman here can NOT be serious.

But he IS.

Let’s consider the album as a unified concept for a moment–the images, the song titles, the face of the dork on the cover. You get Gunther’s faux-sexy “the Metamucil isn’t working” grimace, but you ALSO get staggeringly smooth and sophisticated tracks like Ding Dong Song. We’re talking high class material for the jet set here. Oh yes indeed, you ought to wrap your ears around this so you can get SUPER sexy before you go out on that blind date and turn on charm.

Tell me how you’ll be sustaining your arousal level without chemical assistance after listening to this nonsense. This stuff sounds like a VERY low rent Hyperbubble ripoff without the fun or canny observances of social phenomena (hear Pictures of Paradise for some great multiple entendres and commentary.

I do like the fact that Gunther is fondling himself on this album cover…indicative of what he did through the entire recording process in one way or another.

A lifetime of gratitude to the blog A Basement of Curiosities for turning me on to the wonders of A.A. Allen, who was apparently a bit of a revolutionary in the pulpit as he was a pro-integration activist at the height of Jim Crow, separate drinking fountains and the rest of America’s big ugly period where the Constitution only applied if you were the right sort of white anglo-saxon-protestant jackass.

Progressive as Allen might have been on some fronts, he was a fire-and-brimstone loony and faith healer. But like all religious maniacs, he couldn’t heal himself and is said to have dropped off the twig in 1970 due to alcohol-related liver failure. Whoops!

This album cover is a treat. Allen looks more than a little like a Wild Bunch-era Ernest Borgnine, but that expression on his face implies that something long and wriggly has just crawled up his rectum. The title is a hoot–of COURSE God is a killer! Look at all those church collapses, Jihads and right wing holy wars. God’s in it up to his eyeballs, a river of blood to flood a thousand universes.

Funny thing is, Allen doesn’t seem to mind. From what I read at A Basement of Curiosities, Allen seems to get off on telling his audience that if they don’t wanna “get saved” God might just have to disembowel them (my words, not his) and send them downstairs to have sex with the devil. (My words again, I can’t help myself. Maybe I’m possessed.)

This one’s a real treasure.

There is nothing in this world better than a born again Christian putting out another grotty album of craptacular warbly gospel songs shrieking about Jesus…with some IMPLIED BESTIALITY on the album cover. Look at her puckering up here! I’ve heard of a donkey show, but this is taking things to even sicker, more twisted extremes.

Everybody felt sorry for Tammy Faye Bakker in the end, but I’d like to remind our dear readers that pore ole Tammy Faye was one half of the husband and wife team that bilked all those pensioners out of their cash so Jim “PTL Club” Bakker could build a monstrous bible theme park and other ill-advised projects.

I will give Tammy Faye some props for consistency on this album, the title “Run Toward The Roar” is not only in keeping with the bestiality theme, it’s also pretty damn original for a collection of reheated barfy old gospel songs.
Special thanks to the amazingly cool Thrift Store Music blog for the back cover image.