| Perhaps too many would-be music legends and rock gods birthed themselves from the Ohio River onto the prophylactic littered shores of Wheeling, WVa, but they have since eaten themselves and shit out their own carcasses. The Mick Burwolski All-Stars, 3 White Kids, Lowborn, and Snach . . . all but forgotten, these heroes of yesteryear’s high school commons areas and college quads pass gracelessly into the submission of fickleness wrought by apathy, and the simple fact that Wheeling is a shitty town. But standing upon the toxic smog overlooking the rusty valley is one man not forced into submission, not put into a submission hold, not listening to those who told him to submit at the point of a gun. Sean Goddard of the Queeves did not submit. He abnegated. Or so I thought.
In a cicada-pollinates-the-flower sort of symbiosis, the Queeves played their last show in conjunction with the late, great Ahimsa. “Our first show,” says Goddard, “was with Ahimsa, so we thought it only fitting our last show should be, too.” However, when the hardcore band reunited the next summer for a fleecing the pockets of the young in the scene who’d never had the chance to see them because they were too young to go to the Glen Dale Fire Hall alone the year before and Mom and Dad just “can’t stand that loud rock n’ roll of yours” The Queeves actually stayed broken up. “Matt, what the fuck, why are you beginning with the end?” asks Sean Goddard, psycho-whiz paint prodigy. Bear with me. At least everyone thought the Queeves broke up in some sort of symbologic unity with Ahimsa. The truth, it turns out, is much, much darker. The Queeves’ fame has done a slow back-flip off the diving board of the starry eyes of adoring fans. [prepositional phrase, anyone?] It’s whispered you can still hear their name on the very drunk lips of late night patrons of the Ye Olde Alpha. Unlike many bands who take advantage of today’s technology to leave behind a swath of recordings, stacks of photos, collections of Photoshop-8.0-done-up-to-look-professional flyers, and even t-shirts, the Queeves have not. The only replica of that which once was besides the shoddy memories of those Alpha aficionados is a poorly typed, ancient looking, worth its weight in gold piece of paper, well—several pieces of paper, chronicling all 666 songs names played by the band amidst their illustrious career. This list has reached its own mythic proportions. One such Alpha-ite told me on one such ashtray tasting early morning: “I heard there were dozens of that floating around, but Moondog, see, has a separate bike, one without all those flags and bells and whistles, a stealth bike. And for years he’d ride around on his stealth bike in the dead of night stealing the copies of the Queeves’ songs. See . . . he knew about their power. And now, there’s no copies of the songs left. Beppo tried to save his and fought Moondog off with a pair of sais for three days before Moondog grabbed Ren and threatened his life, then Beppo had to give in, you know, he gave Moondog his copy. But I think it really took the life out of Beppo. Giving it up like that. He took it pretty hard. Some of us think it’s why he’s working at Northwood now." Apparently, I escaped the Valley before Moondog’s midnight rage, because in the midst of a recent move I, myself, happened across a copy of the mythical text. Titled “The Songs That Made The Legend,” it contains all the titles of the Queeves’ impressive, but all-too-short history. And though I may risk the wrath of the ‘Dog what I discovered with this discovery was too important to not make public to the public. “Matt, I really don’t think we need to go through with this.” Shut the fuck up, Goddard, I’m a writer, man, I have a responsibility. What I found within the epic manuscript is this: there are only 663 songs! And the song “Piss on a Bum” is listed twice! “There were actually two songs called ‘Piss on a Bum’. The second one was the reggae version, the music was different so that counts as a separate song.” Oh, well, ok, but still, six-hundred and sixty-three songs! After, for all these years we have held the Queeves in such high esteem . . . it is a blow straight to the heart. “Wait, does your list have ‘Big Dick Porn Flick’?” Hold on, let me check . . . yes. “’Six Pack Ass Fuck’?” Umm . . . yep. “Well, how about ‘Satan’s Beaver Spreads Its Wings’?” Hold on [five minutes goes by], yeah it does. “’Pina Colostomy’?” Wait a minute [ten minutes go by], uh-huh. “OK, I bet your missing ‘I Licked Your Ass Because Your Pussy Tastes Like Shit’.” [Eight minutes pass], no, that one’s there. [This continues 658 more times and takes half a week ranging from the Alpha to DiCarlo’s to Homer’s in New Martinsville to Eat n’ Park in Weirton. The painful end result besides the fact that Homer really is a gay retarded pedophile in a Superman suit, is that there really are only 663 songs.] “Alright, Matt, look, the art scene isn’t really taking off right now, but if you keep this under wraps I promise to give you Ted and McMurty’s first anal love child down under. I’ll give you Kuz’s liver, Kevin’s toupee, and Mason’s personality.” No, Sean, your fans deserve the truth. “You son of a bitch, if I could afford a gun, I’d shoot your ass like Matt Pinfield.” C’mon, the first time I heard ‘That Bitch is Squiggly’ I nearly cried, and now to find out it was all a lie, Sean, it tears me apart. I need to know what’s going on. Why did you really break up all those years ago? What really happened? Was it like one of your songs, ‘You’ll Buy Our Albums When We Die in a Drive-By’, were you trying to get publicity? “The truth is, we were in a class-action lawsuit between Gainer and Mr. T.” I can understand Gainer, what with songs like ‘Bald Little Prick’ and ‘Trailer Court Vinny,’ but why Mr. T? “Apparently, BA was upset with songs like ‘Man of Steel (Wheels),’ ‘Nel Carter’s Tight Bung,’ ‘Princess Di, Die, Die,’ ‘Lee Ioccoka Polka,’ ‘Roseanne’s Swollen Clit,’ ‘Tu-Pac, Isn’t It Funny?,’ ‘I Wanna Be Ricki Lake’s Tampon,’ ‘Frank Gifford Licks My Balls,’ ‘Tina Turner Needed Beaten,’ ‘The Jackie Chan Can Can,’ ‘Lita Ford Face Fuck,’ ‘Fat Ass Homosexual Pedophiles for a $1,000, Alex,’ and ‘Brandon Lee, Not Bulletproof’.” I see. He was pissed off in the name of all the famous people the Queeves have made fun off in your songs? “No, he felt left out.” Well, that’s bullshit! Why didn’t you fight him? “Webster and Corky were his lawyers.” Oh. “Which is a damn shame because we were getting ready to release an album of Queeves’ Ballads.” You mean like, ‘Cum Stained Clown Suit,’ ‘Incest, Impotence, and Murder,’ ‘Any Hole Will Do,’ and ‘I Beat My Dick Because I Hate It,’? “Plus, ‘Double Dong Butt Fuck,’ ‘Deep in Her Bowels (She Moves Me),’ ‘Placenta Eating Redneck Bastard,’ and ‘Find a Fold and Fuck It’.” Whew, what a line-up! It really hurts that, that never got to come out. You could’ve taken it to Vegas. “We were actually going to get Joey Fatone to sing with us on that tour. Of course that was before he was ‘discovered.’ Now he won’t even return my calls.” He’s in some big Broadway Musical, though. “Fuck him! I’ll use his entrails for a deep-fried cockring!” OK. “Sorry. Sometimes the medication doesn’t work so well.” Anyway, what now, Goddard? Do you have any projects on line with the late, great remainder of the Queeves? “Actually, I’m working on a children’s book. I’m writing and illustrating it, and it’s going to be based on some old Queeves’ material. It’s called ‘Nigel’s Catcher Mitt of Fur’ and will contain material gleaned from other songs such as: ‘Mama’s Family,’ ‘Dilly Dally On My Belly with Jelly,’ ‘Tard Beater,’ ‘Tickle My Nuts Elmo,’ ‘Anal Toys for Tots,’ ‘Poodle Vomit,’ ‘Diaper Rash Never Stopped Me,’ ‘I Didn’t Know a Seven-Year-Old Could Be So Loose,’ and ‘She Lays Ablaze In a Dildo Daze’. I’m really excited about it. My agent says it could be the next Harry Potter. If the first two books go well we’re going to look into a syndicated radio show on NPR.” Wow, that’s great, Sean. Thanks for clearing up all that mess. I was really heartbroken for awhile. And you know, maybe I could come up with three songs to finish out the Queeves’ line-up. How about ‘Sperm Burp,’ ‘Water on My Knee,’ and ‘For a Slut You Bleed Just Fine’? “Uh, sure, Matt. Can I have my car keys back now?” Sean Goddard of the Queeves, everyone. It’s really been an honor. Well, until Peanut Butter Scar rises again... |
|
added 12.30.04 |
see also n/a |
|
updated n/a |