BROUGHT TO YOU EXCLUSIVE BY THE
SWEDISH SCUM HERE IS:
THE
MOST CLASSIC OF THE CLASSICK REVIEWS OF
GG
ALLIN’s INFAMOUS CAT CLUB APPEARANCE 1986.
Illin'
on 24oz. Jolt
October 6 only made it worse.
GG
Allin, this New Hampshire loser, appeared at
the
Cat Club, wearing only a jockstrap and cowboy
boots.
He started shouting the moment he came out,
after
shitting in his hands and wiping it on his
chest.
Then
he bashed the microphone into his mouth, nose
and
eye sockets, a shiny red mask spreading across
his
face.
He stretched his jock aside and pulled hard on
his
little
dick. He broke bottles on the ground and rolled
in
them.
Back up on stage now, there was other stuff
on
the
floor (vomit?), and his butt and legs, besides
his
face,
were bleeding. On his back, sometimes doggy
style,
Allin
would shove the microphone into his anus.
Then he went into the second
number.
Seeing the band try to work through the
songs, sing
the
choruses, was not a little comic. This had nothing
to
do
with music, which was nothing anyway. This
was
obscenity:
-You should be raped, Fuckyoufuckyoufuck.
Another
15 minutes, and the club pulled the plug.
Allin
disappeared,
came back, shit on the stage's edge, picked
it
up and threw crap into the audience. He pitched
bottles
into the crowd. Bouncers glared, but they
were
frozen,
perhaps not knowing who to hate more, the
taunting
audience or Allin. His eyes were popped and
blackened.
He caromed through the club, screaming,
arms
twirling. Two bouncers nearby wanted him out
but
did
not want to touch him. Finally they swallowed,
each
grabbed
an arm, and escorted Allin out a side door.
Maybe
the guy figured, "This is my New York show.
It
is
important for me to do the right thing. Make
them
think:
I saw something." After all, Allin's played
across
the
country, doing assaultive things for years now and
this
evening, also, fit into a lattice of show-biz
gestures.
It,
too, was entertainment. Except that, Monday
anyway,
we
were watching a guy who for at least one
night
didn't
care if he died, maybe wanted to. And didn't
mind
hitting others with bottles, or shit, on the way
out.
Before
the show, according to the booker, Allin pulled
a
knife
on a woman backstage and tore her jacket.
There
was
no pacing(I've got to go, I want it now) no
role-
playing
like Karen Finley, nothing like the best o.
the
blare
of Iggy that meant we are all going over the
edge
together.
Not even Sid singing "My Way." Allin was
alone,
like the guy biting the chickens head. Unlike
watching
Buddhist monks set themselves on fire in pro-
test,
or The Gore Gore Girls, or even an autopsy,
Allin's
were
gestures with no ripple. The club, the band,
the
audience,
everyone exploited the guy. By watching, by
not
leaving, and maybe by writing about him. I
know
that
I'm exploiting him too. I hope I haven't made
you
wish
you were there.
Perhaps
you've seen a terrible car crash. Lots of
people
left
the club, but a wreck draws a rapt audience,
and
those
who stayed were transfixed. During a song
called
"I
want to rape your cunt" he tried to fuck a
female
friend
in the broken glass. They ended up wrestling in
slow
motion. A woman ran bleeding to the restroom,
hit
with
a microphone stand. Allin’s female friend
went
from
table to table, swigging the remains from
every
bottle
of glass she could get her hands on, like she
was
plucking
change from a row of pay phones. I felt like
throwing
up then. Writing about this is not helping.
See
you in hell.
R.J
Smith Village Voice October 1986.
Here is GG’s comment to R.J's
review.
Ass Whole
Dear Editor:
It seems like I've been the topic of discussion in a couple of the last
issues of
your paper("Crackin' Up." RJ Smith, October 21; Letters, November 4)
Well, here's what GG Allin have to say, Print as is, Don't edit this. RJ had
his say.
So now I get mine. I am the blood and guts. What I do onstage I do everywhere
I play not just N.Y.C. I do wanna fuckin' die on stage. I'm serious.
Every time I step on stage could be my last show because I'm not afraid of
nothing.
I go over the edge. Others just talk about it. I'll never sell out like
everybody else.
I never have and never will. I don't care if everyone hates me cause I'm only
doing it for me.
Fuck you. I am self destructive. I drink too much and do too many drugs.
So fuckin what. I like the danger of bleeding, cutting myself, beating
myself,
pain and total abuse any way I can. I've been carried off stage on
stretchers.
I've been hospitalized many times after gigs for blood poisoning, broken
bones,
crushed nerves etc. But it doesn't fuckin stop me. I'll never stop. I'll take
on anybody.
I shit on you and piss on you. so what. Next time I'm in NYC and RJ cums to
my
show he can shit on stage and I'll eat it. I've eaten my own shit and drank
my
own piss on stage, and things up my ass are welcome. I'll rape any bitch
I wanna rape, RJ, so fuck you. Go vomit. I just did.
Drink, fight and fuck.
GG Allin
Manchester, New Hampshire
GG out for blood at the
Cat club, NY Oct 6 1986.
HERE IS
ANOTHER EYEWITNESS REPORT FROM THE CAT CLUB
GO BACK TO SWEDISH SCUM's GG ALLIN
NATION
