Juju Claudius

Well, all those predictions turned to turnips at midnight, didn't they? As usual.

I'll be honest with you, little one, Billy Childish is one of my heroes, way up there with Swamp Dogg, Otis Redding, and Wendy O. Williams. It's easy to be cynical about somebody that's not only a prolific songwriter and musician, who's appeared on more than a hundred LP's and countless 7 inch records, but who also rounds out his resume as a compulsive painter, poet, novelist, vegetable farmer, mustache connoisseur, haberdashery critic and snappy dresser, but all snarkiness and boredom dissolves in the face of the man's humble, mad vision.

I'm far too drunk and simple-minded to summarize his lifetime of work in a few unruly sentences, but: Spoiled blowhard Damien Hirst debuts his £50 million diamond-encrusted skull, "For the Love of God." Upon learning of the 16 year old street artist "Cartrain" who's used the image of said skull in some cut-and-paste street art, Hirst sues and wins a measly £200 from the poor kid. Billy Childish immediately steps up to the plate and paints a numerous series of "paintings" on wood that just say "Damien Hirst" in big ugly block letters, not only paying the young artist's fine but also managing to slightly re-align British copyright law in favor of the kids.

Frankly, I could go on and on, but let's at least take a moment to listen to this album, yeah? It's a bit quieter than his usual work with such gnarly bands as Thee Headcoats, Thee Mighty Caesars, and the Buff Medways. It relies on a handful of well-chosen covers of Hank Williams, Slim Harpo, Jimmy Reed, and the old reliable Public Domain. It's some punk blues country righteousness distinguished by taste and dignity.
Bring Me Water