Search - Rancid Vat :: We Hate You All the Way from Texas!

Fallen Angel Prayer Meeting

Clark Paull | Murder City | 12/13/2005

(3 out of 5 stars)

"The smell of urine in a truck stop bathroom (complete with condom machine on the wall, of course - ribbed for her pleasure!), barbed wire wrestling matches, heavily tattooed strippers with stretch marks, warm beer, cold coffee, and fresh roadkill entrails festering in the mid-day sun. If the next line that comes to mind is "these are a few of my favorite things," Rancid Vat may be reason for celebration. On the other hand, if your idea of a party is fresh underwear, steer clear.



Fouling the air like contestants in a karaoke contest/battle of the bands emceed by the Goat Lord way down south, these Texans make no pretense of striving to be politically correct. For that reason alone, I say they deserve respect if not outright admiration. As they loudly proclaim in the title track,"...the only thing you need to know about us/Is we hate you all the way from Texas." Fair enough.



In the grand tradition of G.G. Allin and The Mentors, and appearing to exist in a vacuum, Rancid Vat traffic in basic, thrashy, three-chord punk and attempt to see who will rise to the bait with songs running a gamut of subjects from basic hatred ("Crybaby" and "Hatred Is Sacred") to daycare center massacre ("Austin Bloodbath") to cancer and cryogenics ("The Frozen Dead") to professional wrestling ("The Nature Boy" and "Portrait Of A True American Hero (The Bruiser Brody Story)"). The guitars of Marla Vee and Kingkong Bundy Jr. snarl like rabid pit bulls with kittens smeared in hamburger dangled in front of them, The Texas Stud sings like he's on the verge of coughing up a hairball, and the rhythm section of Thee Whiskey Rebel (bass) and Bobo (drums) is nothing if not ham fisted.



Rancid Vat is, and has always been, the chew toy of Rebel and Vee, the two co-founding the band 23 years ago in Portland, Oregon. Based on lyrics alone, it's easy to write Rebel off as suffering from an advanced state of dementia, but a quick peek at his on-line diary reveals a deep thinker as comfortable discussing chess and politics as drinking, wrestling and, uh, scatology. Something tells me his tongue is usually parked somewhere in close proximity to his cheek.



Since it's hard for me to imagine a combination of words anyone could possibly string together that I'd find offensive, I found "We Hate You All The Way From Texas" brimming with crude, greasy charm as well as loads of laughs. Your results may vary"