Remember the Tuscadero sandwich? The great shark jump on water skis? When a cool, leather-clad greaser singlehandedly ended segregation? All great times.
The good news is that now you can help to relive those great times once more!
You are invited to one of the premier bashes of 2014 as we all help Henry Winkler celebrate a major milestone. The Fonz is turning 69! October 30th is the date, Arnold’s is the place. Be there. Whoa!
Here’s a teaser of the sort of debauched action you would expect of The Fonz for such a special birthday celebration. The top 11 sleaziest songs ever recorded, one for each season of Happy Days. Just for you, Fonzie.
11. Alice Cooper “Blue Turk” (School’s Out, 1972)
So let’s kick the Sleaze Bucket List off with some necrophilia, shall we?
Alice Cooper is, and always will be, rock and roll’s supreme champion and educator in all things “sexy dead”. With cadaver fondling tracks such as “Refrigerator Heaven” “I Love the Dead” and of course the necrophile anthem “Cold Ethyl”, Alice has enough “lazy love making songs” to keep the music pumping at any twisted funeral director’s weekend soiree.
For me though, it’s the unsettling “Blue Turk” that makes the sleaze cut here. Now I’m sorry Fonzie, I know necrophilia isn’t cool, but with the heady combination of an awkward 4/4 dark-cabaret backdrop, a series of squelchy, speakeasy-type horn solos and the sludgy burlesque of Dennis Dunaway’s guilt-ridden descending bass, even you must admit some minor intrigue into the machinations of this taboo world. No? Fair enough.
“One spastic explosion, two pressure cookers go insane
It makes me act crazy, I shiver but I love this game
You’re so very ordinary, you’re so very lame
Tastes like whiskey on your lips and earthworms rule your brain”
Oh Alice, you sure know how to make a man feel sick, don’t you?
10. Roland Kirk “You Did It, You Did It” (We Free Kings, 1961)
To many avant-garde types, Roland Kirk is the King. Yoko Ono, No Wave pioneer Glenn Branca and Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore to name but a few, have each drawn unique influence from the jazz multi-instrumentalist’s experimentations with alternate tunings. Kirk’s music, always a blast, will transport you to an ethereal nowhere and a celestial everywhere at the same time, even with the most cursory of listens. It’s a stone cold trip.
“You Did It, You Did It” – a predominantly instrumental track sprinkled with comical scat refrains – remains true to the Kirk ethos and, as an added bonus, is ensconced within a wonderful coating of gooey sleaze splashings. It begins with the muffled groan of a solitary harmonica, the wolf cry of the eternally lonely man, our protagonist. It’s a bum scene. Enter the clarinet. Like a seductive snake it wriggles and writhes, enticing our protagonist out of his lonely funk. He’s intrigued, oh yeah, he’s turned on. Then like a lap dance for the limbic system, in comes the sensual backdrop; the sex of the rolling piano, the rhythm of the shimmering ride cymbal and the assertive seduction of the rimshot (that’s part of the snare drum – get your minds out of the gutter).
Our hero is now turned on, he’s up and about. Here come the confident drum rolls, the goofy jibber-jabber of Kirk’s scat-based saxophony (basically how every man sounds when he’s trying to pick up a girl – except the Fonz) followed by the obligatory “Hmmmm”.
The middle section, an awkward clarinet vs harmonica standoff, sees the protagonist becoming somewhat frustrated. Are things slowing down? Is he really being seduced or is this just another game? Apparently not. The song builds and as it does, so does our man’s cocksureness. The blabbering scat sax returns and, as the wriggling clarinet brushes ever so lightly against our hero’s crotch, a loud “Cuckoo!” pierces the lust-filled air (this perhaps is Kirk’s musical interpretation of the simple man’s “Aaooogah!”)
Regardless, judging by the protagonists final relieving cries of “You Did It, You Did It!” and the way the music degenerates into an off-tune romp of cacophonic, sloppy drunk fucking, I think it’s safe to say that our man scored.
“Heeeeeeeeyyyyyy!”
9. Pete Brown & His Battered Ornaments “Dark Lady” (A Meal You Can Shake Hands With In The Dark, 1969)
“You say you’re gonna be late, ’cause you’re waiting for his call
I’ll give you the wine of night, baby, and you can drink it all”
Sandwiched between a Beefheartian wet dream and an Arthur Brown apocalyptic nightmare, Pete Brown is one scary and enigmatic man. Perhaps best known for his lyrical collaborations with Cream’s Jack Bruce, Brown has been credited with rescuing a dormant and cutting room floor bound “Sunshine Of Your Love” from the scrap heap by penning some of the most beautifully whimsical and yearning (if a tad sleazy) accompanying lyrics to what would become one of the most famous rock songs in history.
And then he wrote this…
“In your night, baby, let me ride on your train
Drive right through your tunnel to the other side, maybe meet dawn again”
“Dark Lady” is a manic ol’ tune. Full of clutter and mayhem, Brown seems to prefer to demand action from this mysterious “Dark Lady”, rather than to sweetly serenade or coax some lovin’. A cacophony of horns again dominates here, serving only to reinforce Brown’s obnoxious demands rather than soften them, especially as he incessantly repeats the refrain “I said Dark Lady” over and over.
The one softening tone comes from a funky organ (again, minds out of the gutter please) melody that shows that maybe Pete might not be a total caveman in the sack. It seems to be his saving grace. The song delves into a debauched bridge of a manic horn section attack coupled with a looping, up and bass line that can only resemble the mechanics of a good, well-earned shag. Seems he got his “Dark Lady”.
Oh, and these lyrics probably give it away anyway…
“Said you saw old devil night, somewhere in my eyes
I was riding that black nightmare baby, right between your thighs”
8. Beasts of Bourbon “Just Right” (The Low Road, 1991)
Scenario: You walk into the last erectile dysfunction clinic on Earth. You need help. There is only one specialist on duty. He would dearly love to help you except that he seems to have lost his vision, hearing, voice box, use of both arms, both legs and all sense of reason, in just the past minute. You have problems.
Slightly miffed, you exit the clinic and step into your car to drive and think. You turn on the radio to clear your head. The Beasts of Bourbon’s “Just Right” is playing.
The Beasts of Bourbon need no introduction. They wouldn’t fucking want one anyway. Furthermore, this song needs no explanation. It’s just a straight down the line sweaty filth pig balls out orgiastic fuck fest.
With the tantalizing to and fro of Spencer P. Jones’ and Kim Salmon’s teasing, intertwining guitar as the gangbang centrepiece, Brian Hooper’s ever-threatening-to-explode pulsating bass holding back for dear life and Tony Pola’s wanton snare drum wound tighter than… well you get the picture. And then there’s Tex Perkins, the ringmaster calling the shots; encouraging, cajoling, reinforcing. Just like a good smut peddler should.
“It fits in just right, it slides in real tight
It moves up so slow, it heats up below
Get wise to the ways of the world
It won’t hurt you”
Erectile problem solved. “Whoa.”
7. Cheap Trick “Daddy Should Have Stayed In High School” (Cheap Trick, 1977)
And they looked like such nice young boys too. The two pretty ones, the eccentric guitarist, the bespectacled drummer in that lovely shirt, tie and vest combo. Boy were we wrong.
“I’ve been waiting every night after school, for five long years”
Musically, “Daddy Should Have Stayed In High School” is, whilst an excellent romp, nothing more than a straight-up rock song: 12 bar fiddle-farting, tense build-ups, anticipated releases, generic chorusing, handclaps, cowbells… they’re all there.
Lyrically, however…
“I’m 30 but I feel like 16, I might even know your daddy
I’m dirty but my body is clean, I might even be your daddy”
OK, nothing too serious so far, right? Just some fantastical musings of a randy 30-something obsessing over an unlikely carnal knowledge scenario of a particular juvenile. A staple in 1970s monster rock folklore. Not so bad.
“I like you and you like me, yes? Sorry but I had to gag you
You look better completely undressed, sorry but I had to have you”
Oh, these boys are not nice at all!
“I’m 30 but I feel like 16, how would you like some candy?
I’m thinking more than a kiss, whip me, spank me, grab me”
Cut to a scene inside Arnold’s. This song has just finished playing on the jukebox. Fonzie, not impressed with singer Robin Zander’s pick-up techniques, does a 180, flicks his Mrs. C knitted winter scarf over the left shoulder of his leather jacket and, as he exits, he mutters the word “Uncoolamundo”.
Jenny Piccolo is safe once more.
6. Betty Davis “If I’m In Luck I Might Get Picked Up” (Betty Davis, 1973)
Lovers of music owe Betty Davis a lot. In one fell swoop of youthful know-it-all-ism and a rampaging lust to teach her much older man about “where the kids are at”, she helped to change music forever.
For one year she was married to trumpet virtuoso Miles Davis. Just one year. In that year Betty introduced a knowledge-hungry Miles to psych rock, the wild fashions and lifestyle that accompany psych rock, Sly Stone and some guy named Jimi Hendrix. Out of these new friendships came a new inspiration and direction for Miles’ music. Filles De Kilimanjaro, In a Silent Way and the perfect album for a marathon stoner Sunday, Bitches Brew, are three of the most influential albums ever released and paved the way for the whole jazz fusion and prog rock movements that dominated the mid-70s.
More importantly, she is a fantastic singer in her own right. Like a cross between Blaxploitation star Pam Grier and a case of Spanish Fly, Betty Davis is the original female icon of freedom of pure sexual expression in music.
On this track she brings her sleaze A-Game. Heaving into the club with a stoner-funk soundtrack of Eddie Hazel proportions and a Blaxploitation beat dripping with snare and hi-hat, Betty lays it all on the table immediately;
“I said if I’m in luck I might just get picked up”
The vocals are like honey and hot candle wax slowly being poured over your privates by 1,000 breathy nymphs.
In kicks the organ and chocolate advertisement bass line. She’s scouting the room.
“I said I’m crazy, I’m wild, I said I’m nasty”
Now, after proclaiming to the room that she’s “Wigglin’ her fanny”, Betty finds her man for the night. Mr Blaxploitation, with a voice somewhere between Isaac Hayes and Richard Pryor, he tells us he likes what he sees:
“Oooh man, oooh ooooooooohhhh, I’m gonna take her home, man”
And then Betty, demanding yet begging…
“Take me home, take me home, take me home”
Splash! Thank you, Betty.
5. George Brigman & Split “Pull Your Pants Down” (Silent Bones, 1985)
[Guess what, hipsters? This clip isn’t on YouTube and we can nary find a trace of it on the innanet, so you’ll have to do what your forebears did and buy the “Blowin’ Smoke” 7″ EP from George’s site to hear the song! How’s dem apples! In the meantime, here’s a Brigman classic that is on YouTube.]
The Baltimore music scene has produced an eclectic mish-mash of bloody talented artists over the decades. Frank Zappa, David Byrne and Ric Ocasek are all native Baltimoreans, as are hardcore punk band The Accused and resident Brooklyn and Lisbon weird asses Animal Collective.
Sadly though, a name that dare not ever be dropped in the presence of such greatness is that of local guitarist George Brigman. Taking his cue from the mid-late 1970s Cleveland rock scene (Rocket From The Tombs, Dead Boys, Pere Ubu, etc), Brigman set about forging his own lo-fi path to hell with his incendiary blend of muffled Stooges-style guitar and predominantly psychotic sleaze lyrics.
And he did it damn well.
It would be an injustice to “Pull Your Pants Down” to even begin to analyze its contents. Suffice to say, the lo-fi grit of Brigman’s down tempo swamp guitar played just behind vocalist Wayne Hastings half-assed Roy Harper-ish demonic croonings, should certainly be enough to stir some sort of drunk, Tuesday night loin.
“C’mon little baby won’t you pull your pants down, ah pull them down for me
All I wanna do is kiss your sweet moosh ‘n’ set your pussy free”
4. Mudhoney “Touch Me I’m Sick” (Touch Me I’m Sick, 1988)
As a snotty teenage arsehole, I fucking loved this song. As an arsehole teenage 40-year-old, I still fucking love this song. Obnoxiously loud, brutish, invasive and damn rude ‘n’ raunchy, “Touch Me I’m Sick”, if people actually took heed, would go a long way to sorting out all of the world’s sexual frustration problems.
Don’t think, just fuck! Disease, no disease, whatever!
“I feel bad, and I’ve felt worse, I’m a creep, yeah, I’m a jerk
C’mon, touch me I’m sick
I won’t live long, and I’m full of rot, gonna give you girl, everything I got
C’mon, touch me I’m sick”
You gotta respect a guy that puts all his cards on the table like that. And judging by the onslaught obliteration of fuzz guitars, snapshot drums and blood-inducing vocals, he don’t want no slow, tender lovemaking bullshit. He wants it out in the open, up against his pick-up truck, done in 30 seconds, crack open another beer type thing.
Perfect.
This is before grunge was grunge. This is balls out, no subtleties, no formalities punk rock. So sit on it John Lennon with your “Give Peace a Chance”, “Imagine” hippie bullshit. It didn’t work. Take heed people, listen to, and act on “Touch Me I’m Sick”. War will end.
“C’mon baby now come with me, if you don’t come, you’ll die alone”
3. The Gun Club “Jack on Fire” (Fire Of Love, 1981)
Once upon a time, there lived a man. A man that despite his misgivings, violent outbursts and twisted musings, everybody loved and respected. This man spoke of death to many in the most heinous of ways, almost wishing it upon the world, yet the followers of his world view worshipped him. This man I speak of is The Gun Club’s Jeffrey Lee Pierce.
“I am like Jack and I tell you this, I will be your lover and exorcist
In the stillness of the mosquito sunset, you will make love to me to your very best”
On the surface, “Jack on Fire” is almost the perfect country pop square dance song that would fit right in on Arnold’s juke box; shuffling drums, a sped-up waltzy melody with an apparent master narrator at the helm. Scratch the surface just slightly though, and a sinister junkie arm bursts through the Wurlitzer glass and bashes your entire face in.
“When you fall in love with me, we can dig a hole by the willow tree
Then I will fuck you until you die, bury you and kiss this town goodbye”
Yet, despite all the morbid proclamations, you can’t seem to stop yourself shuffling around the dance floor, nodding and grinning in a vain attempt to understand what the hell is going on in Jeffrey’s head, almost likening him to some voodoo priest hero. You look over to Fonzie and his gal canoodling in the corner, he gives you the thumbs up, for, y’see, despite the sleazy demands and promises of horrific endings, everything is still gonna be alright. Hell, it’s got a catchy beat.
“It will be unhappy, it will be sad, but it will be understood that I am bad
So don’t you go and lie to me, cause every day is judgement day with me”
2. The Doors “Back Door Man” (The Doors, 1967)
Say what you want about Jim Morrison (and you will), but this Casanova had big love-filled balls with serious swagger. And he knew how to eloquently profess their intentions too.
“Back Door Man” – a Willie Dixon composition originally performed by Howlin’ Wolf – is another song that should be added to the Pharmaceutical Health Benefits scheme to help aid in the cure of worldwide erectile dysfunction.
It begins precariously though. Guitarist, Robbie Krieger kicks off proceedings with a stingy, fixated riff that really, could go anywhere. Enter John Densmore’s drill sergeant snare. Now Krieger has something to play hide and seek with. The two instruments intertwine in an erotic coital display perfectly. While they continue their foreplay, in comes Jim. First, a primal howl. An animalistic grunt. An ominous “Yeah!” The drum builds, everyone’s aroused. No lube required. The song hasn’t even kicked in yet.
What follows basically is a three minute orgasm. Ray Manzarek’s Hammond organ is first to flop it out with a glorious snaking melody that would get your great grandma dancing like Salma Hayek in “From Dusk Till Dawn”. Jim is happy to sit back and watch the show for a while until he eventually can’t take no more. He kicks through the back door and yells “I am ah… yo’ back door man”, followed by his own personal observation, “The men don’t know, but the little girls understand.”
Krieger, meanwhile, is getting right into it. His crafty, whammy-bar aided slink down the pentatonic scale is not only one of the sexiest damn grabs of guitar playing in rock history, but it also shows that this motherfucker knows the blues.
A drunken whiskey bar jam ensues. Everybody’s getting loose and ready for round two.
Once the lovemaking between instruments kicks in again, Jim announces that he has other ideas. He wants to go downstairs:
“You men eat yo’ dinner, eat yo’ pork and beans
I eat mo’ chicken any man ever seen, yeah yeah
I’m a back door man, wah!”
The men may not have known, but even at this young age, these boys sure as hell understood.
1. Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds “Stagger Lee” (Murder Ballads, 1996)
In honest reality, it would have been a very easy exercise to fill this sleaze bucket list entirely of Nick Cave songs. Especially in more recent years, Saint Nick has become quite a dirty old bugger. Kudos to him.
For the sake of balance though, I thought it only fair to include just one of his many brilliantly dark-humoured songs of smut, sleaze and sick sexuality on this list. It always had to be this song though. And it had to go in at number one.
“I’m a bad motherfucker, don’t you know
And I’ll crawl over fifty good pussies just to get to one fat boy’s asshole”
“Stagger Lee” has everything; in the beginning guns, cars, debt and broken homes make the scene. Then a stoush between a lippy bartender and our hero Stagger Lee takes place, so Stagger puts “four holes in his motherfucking head”. Enter prostitute Nelly Lee, (such a Nick Cave name) a prostitute who sees the dead bartender and then proceeds to promptly offer her services to Stagger, for free of course. They fuck, there’s some cheating (on Nelly’s man, Billy) some patronizing comments take place, followed by anticipated homosexuality…
“I’ll stay here till Billy comes in, till time comes to pass
And furthermore I’ll fuck Billy in his motherfucking ass”
…boasts of paedophilia (see first quote above) and finally an unkempt gentleman’s agreement where Stagger promises to spare the life of poor Billy if he’ll just fellate him only to “fill him full of lead” once the deed is done anyway. Now that’s sleaze.
All this plays out over a thumping descending bass line that is just begging to drop to its own knees to fellate the listener, a stalking piano/guitar accompaniment that not only shadows your every move but also seems to drive home just how ho-hum monotonous Stagger is finding all of this.
Throw in more “motherfuckers” than any N.W.A. Song, a typically brilliant Nick Cave narrative and a screeching Mick Harvey guitar solo that’s worth the price of admission alone, and you got yourself one sleazy motherfucking song.
Happy 69th birthday, Fonzie!
