Author/journalist Joel Gausten talks with veteran singer/guitarist John Corabi (Dead Daisies/Mötley Crüe / The Scream / Union / Ratt / Solo) about his forthcoming solo album, New Day.
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Author/journalist Joel Gausten talks with veteran musician Philip Shouse (Accept/Ace Frehley/Gene Simmons/Lucifer/John Corabi/Rodney Atkins/Solo) about his fantastic debut solo EP (Side 1), his experiences touring and performing with Ace Frehley and Gene Simmons, Accept's longevity in Metal, and more.
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If Tripping Balls were a musical genre, the Butthole Surfers* would be its Beatles.
While I’ve never dropped acid, I imagine the experience would be similar to the one I had when I first saw the band perform during the 1991 Lollapalooza tour. In an act of either pure genius or absolute lunacy (or perhaps both – 'sup, Perry?), the Butthole Surfers’ set followed (get this) Rollins Band.
Naturally, the juxtaposition was glorious. As soon as Henry and Co. wrapped up their set of Avant-garde Jazz-meets-adrenalized Nuge Rock angst anthems, the Surfers – singer Gibby Haynes, guitarist Paul Leary, bassist Jeff Pinkus, and drummer King Coffey – hit the stage with a performance that left audience members either utterly dumbstruck or convinced they had just witnessed one of the greatest, most surreally perfect gigs they’ll ever see. (I’m writing about these fuckers 35 years later. You tell me which camp has my membership card.) On that day, the Surfers were sonically adventurous and atmospherically shambolic – enough to make one envision Don Preston giving them a respectful nod and the late Nik Turner suggesting they may want to tone down the drug use a bit.
Fast-forward to last spring, and the band issues its latest live collection, this time recorded in … fuck knows. According to legend (or at least the accompanying press release), nobody seems to know for sure when and where the 21 songs that comprise Live at the Leather Fly were recorded for posterity – a mystery made even murkier considering no venue called the Leather Fly exists.
"Back in the ‘80s, Gibby used to fantasize about a nightclub called the Leather Fly,” Leary explains. “He wanted it to have a stuffed leather fly hanging in front of it.”
Uh huh. Very Gibby.
Considering the track listing, it’s fair to conclude that Live at the Leather Fly was recorded at some point during the band’s brief dalliance as MTV darlings of the let’s throw everything against the wall and see what sells era of mainstream Alternative music circa 1993’s Independent Worm Saloon.
So, does a Butthole Surfers live album culled from decades-old recordings have any relevance whatsoever in the here and now, especially without the benefit of a visual component presenting the band’s trademark crazed onstage histrionics? Oh, hell yes!
Here’s the thing: Bands don’t survive more than four decades on schtick alone, and the glorious goofiness heard throughout Live at the Leather Fly doesn’t hide the stellar musicianship within. Leary’s guitar work doesn’t once let up, Coffey’s masterful playing somehow manages to anchor the cacophony surrounding him, Pinkus easily strikes fear in the hearts of bassists the world over (particularly on “Bong Song” and “Dancing Fool”), and Gibby is … Gibby (which is always more than enough).
Highlights, you ask? My votes are for “Gary Floyd” (off 1984’s Psychic ... Powerless ... Another Man's Sac and featuring Leary taking a turn at the mic while gargling a mouthful of Biafra-flavored Jello); “P.S.Y.” (off 1991’s piouhgd), “Booze, Tobacco, Dope, Pussy, Cars” (off 1989’s Widowermaker! EP); and the Black Mothers of Sabbath Invention freakout of the Independent Worm Saloon track “Alcohol.”
Yes, the band’s moniker is juvenile. Yes, they always come off as total wackjobs. But the Butthole Surfers have always been smarter than they act, and they’re an infinitely more innovative band than they get credit for. If you need proof, give Live at the Leather Fly a listen. Doing so with a tab on your tongue is entirely up to you.
For more insight into the crazed world of the Butthole Surfers, check out the book Let's Go To Hell: Scattered Memories of the Butthole Surfers by James Burns, available through DiWulf Publishing House.
*Is it Butthole Surfers or The Butthole Surfers? The answer is quite hazy (because of course it is). The “The”** is missing from album covers and the press release that accompanied this album, but some folks (including King Coffey himself) call the band The Butthole Surfers. I elected to split the difference, keeping “the” lowercase to make it slightly less definitive. Yes, this is the sort of thing that keeps writers up at night. (**Matt Johnson and Johnny Marr were unavailable for comment.)
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| Photo by Gobinder Jhitta |
December 5, 2025
For Immediate Release
Past/Present Members of Prong, Pigface, Test Dept, and Others Join Forces for Animal Rescue EP
Rise Reign Revolt, an 11-member collaboration between various veterans of the international Industrial/Metal scene, has released a two-song EP, “Vultures,” available on Bandcamp. All profits from the sale of the EP will be divided between PAWS Chicago and Greyhound Trust Harvel in loving support of animals.
Founded by drummer Joel Gausten (Pigface/The Undead) and saxophonist Roger Ebner (Pigface/BILE/EBNR), Rise Reign Revolt was started in 2017, shortly after Gausten met Ebner and most of the other participants as part of Pigface’s 25th anniversary shows in Chicago in 2016. The pandemic halted the project’s progress considerably before it was rejuvenated earlier this year. Ebner served as Rise Reign Revolt’s producer and musical director.
The EP marks the first time former Prong members Ted Parsons (drums) and Troy Gregory (bass) have appeared together on a musical release since the early 1990s. Gregory contributes the “Blue Goblin” remix of the EP’s title track.
Rise Reign Revolt:
Greta Brinkman (Pigface/Moby/Debbie Harry/L7): Bass
Roger Ebner (Pigface/BILE/EBNR): Sax
Dirk Flanigan (Pigface/77 Luscious Babes): Vocals
Joel Gausten (Pigface/The Undead): Drums
Troy Gregory (Prong/Flotsam & Jetsam/Killing Joke/Swans): Remix
Martin King (Pigface/Test Dept/Dogtablet): Drums
Joe Kopecky (Imperial Fall): Guitar
Jesse Hunt (Pigface/Cyanotic): Oil Drums
Ted Parsons (Prong/Swans/Godflesh/Killing Joke): Drums
Karen Righeimer-Schock (Bellhead): Bass
Mimi Wallman (Ampyre/ONO/Deodara/The Joy Thieves): Vocals
The “Vultures” EP is available now at https://risereignrevolt.
Author/journalist Joel Gausten talks with New York-based Noise/No Wave-inspired duo Genre Is Death about their sound, work ethic, recent work with famed producer Martin Bisi, and more.
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Nothing involving Killing Joke is ever fucking easy.
I’m sitting at my desk in my home office in New Hampshire after returning from the most insane travel experience I’ve had in decades of flying. The journey to Chicago from Boston had already been a logistical shitstorm, but nothing prepared me for the 24-HOUR ordeal that followed when it was time to leave.
My luck ran out shortly after getting what was quite possibly the last flight out of O’Hare early Saturday morning (before the snow made leaving the city untenable), only to then endure several hours of faulty airplanes, missed connections, cancellations, rebookings, more cancellations, service-desk showdowns, and the near-miss of being stranded in Orlando until Tuesday. (Don’t ask.)
I’m quite certain it was all Raven’s doing. The most charismatic charlatan I’ve ever encountered and I had a surreally epic falling-out in early 2007. (Pro tip, kids: approach writing about your heroes cautiously.) Despite a few mutual friends assuring me that it all could likely be sorted out over an in-person spliff and handshake, the man went upstairs (downstairs?) before that opportunity. And he’s been fucking with me to varying degrees ever since. (I’m not bullshitting you. One day, I grabbed the first of several unlabeled microcassettes I found in a storage box, put it in the player, pushed “play,” and immediately heard his voice. Another time, an old address book fell out of the closet while I was moving boxes, hit the floor, and opened to Raven’s phone number.)
Here’s the thing: I’d head to Logan Airport RIGHT NOW and go through it all again if it meant I could experience last Friday night at Reggies a second time. Killing Joke is a complex entity that has been comprised of more than one epic pain in the ass over the years, but I would walk through fire for that band any goddamn day.
If you care enough to read this post, you already know why. That unexplainable thing that drives us all to be in that band’s presence. To listen to their music. To let their sounds touch our souls. To connect with others from around the world who feel the same thing.
We all felt it on Friday night
There hadn’t been a public memorial for Geordie, nor had there been one for everyone’s favorite pirate. Martin’s Extremities shebang finally gave us the chance. It was also a long-overdue celebration of Killing Joke’s most incendiary era. An event concocted by everyone’s favorite party planner/mad screen printer. There were problems leading up to the show (because Killing Joke), including the controversial decision to swap out guitarists mere weeks before the event. It could have all gone pear-shaped very quickly, but I always trust Martin to somehow turn a shitshow into something magical.
He did, and it was. Leaner, thinner, and happier than I’ve seen him in years, Martin assembled a group of disparate musicians (because Martin) and gifted us the opportunity to embrace this music live once again — giving our beloved Joke the respect and emotional sendoff it deserved.
Sitting with Roger (dear friend, travel buddy, life coach) in the VIP balcony, it was impossible not to shed tears as the show unfolded. Fuck, my eyes were watering by the second verse of “Money Is Not Our God.” By the time the somber trumpet-and-cello interpretation of “Love Like Blood” began, I was a full-on mess. Killing Joke was/is the most special part of my life’s soundtrack. Martin and co. cut the rose in full bloom. They broke my heart and put it back together multiple times on Friday night — just as Killing Joke’s music always has.
Mark Gemini Thwaite. Far too nice a man to have been handed the pants-shittingly high expectations that came with his role in the proceedings, especially with Ginny in attendance. How did he do emulating the coolest guy not in the room? Well, many of my tears were due to the tones he got from the guitar. Thanks for giving Geordie back to me, MGT, if only for an evening.
Tara Busch. What a talent.
The evening was already a success well before the first note. Seeing Karen and Ivan. Wysh and Alfred. Reidy and K W. With this thing of ours, the hugs are always tighter, and the moments shared are always more meaningful.
Other highlights:
• Grabbing a quick dinner with Mark and Geno shortly after arriving at Reggies.
• Giving Dirk a hug after not seeing him in person for nearly a decade.
• Watching Martin set a cash register on fire post-show, at the same spot behind Reggies where Jaz had done it in the “Money Is Not Our God” video, after showing the crowd the building where Invisible was located in the ’90s and where Lab Report lived during that era. (Moments later, I saw a new text on my phone from Matt Schultz. There’s no such thing as a coincidence.)
• Getting in a super-quick post-show hello with Randy just as the Uber arrived to pick up Roger and me.
There’s more, but I’m knackered. I need more sleep, although I’m a bit reluctant to let my guard down in case Raven decides to burn down my apartment while I snooze.
