Filed under Band
They were born standin’ up and mouthin’ off. They were loud, proud and out of tune. A ‘36 Berlin brothel through a Gibson Firebird and a screamin’ Selmer amp.
Sir Nurembourg Raleigh in the Court of Little Queenie. They brushed their teeth with Decadent, they were pre Preservation Kink and Prettier Things and Smack Stones, and Shangri La’s, and Robert Johnson with the cuckold’s bottle of poison liquor right up to his lips. They were stack heels and snake hips cruisin’ the Faust lane heading for the off-ramp at 49th and Oblivion.
This tale comes to you via memory, reel-to-reel, diary, acetate, journal and cassette. This is festering wound, and smirk, and vendetta. This is Narcissus and Echo in a silver Porsche Spider half a mile from a date with Turnupseed. This is necro-Ophelia, mad and drowning. This is the Hollywood Brats.
This is how it was.