Racer-X


Track Listing:

Racer-X
Shotgun
The Ugly American
Deep Six
Sleep!
The Big Payback

Liner Notes:

side one

he was just plain cool, see. he was rex, speed racer's brother, but nobody knew it. it was a big secret. really big. speed racer was a pansy-ass wimp next to racer-x. speed, spying, machinery, little beads of sweat-he had it all. he was hooked on the excitement. hooked on the speed. hooked.

gangster social intercourse is pretty simple. no delicate conversation, no allusions or euphemisms, just demands. all your average news stand owner has to worry about, for example, is some hirsute ape who wants to widen his asshole with a cut-down shotgun. almost romantic, that job.

europeans, and americans who want to sound like them, spend a lot of time attacking the ugly american for his lack of culture. this, from people who change their governments like we change our underwear, and whose societies force thousands into lives of begging submission and menial pandering to the very american culture they profess to hate. feh. as durango says, the middle class is the same everywhere, but won't admit it.

side two

spend five minutes with a truck driver, and your conversation will encompass the whole of man's experience. sex, hate, pain, money, liquor, food, pride, humility, ambition, weapons, waylon jennings, dick size- everything. deep six, deep seven-whatever it takes. this is all true.

fundamental question of human existence #1: what the fuck is death all about, anyway? is it the nap after a hard day's work? is it the reward for staying alive long enough to crave it? maybe the punchline to an over-long joke ("so, you've spent 40 years getting shit together. probably didn't count on this, did you, motherfucker? hahahaha!") fundamental question of human existence #2: do we deserve the consequences of our actions, or are we fucked from day one? revenge is the motivator. the sleep is the payoff

the big payback (james brown). okay, so we elaborated on the lyrics a little. sue us. the godfather was winging it most of the time anyway.

BIG BLACK:
astroboy albini: knife guitar, vocals
tobor (eight-man) durango: hammer guitar
gigantor pezzati: bass, vocals
mach v roland: roland (mach v)
aquaboy bohnen: surgical sexophone
kimba burgess: engineering
spectre man shakespeare: tea boy, technical advisor, breakdancer tracking vocals on shotgun by the gordon tech boys choir and gloryhole society. produced by steve and iain in a mob stylee. three on 8 track, three on 24, you guess.
gerard costoy-one bad dude.

BIG BLACK'S address is (and always will be) post office box 442, evanston, illinois 60204 usa. we're friendly, but lethargic, so it may take a while to get an answer.

this is big black's third 12-inch e.p. the first one, lungs is available (a few, anyway) for $4 from big black (P.O. Box 442 evanston, illinois 60204). the second, bulldozer is available for $4 from fever records (621 S. 4th st. philadelphia, pennsylvania 19147). two songs, "hunters safety (tommy bartlett dies in pain)", and "big payback" (premix) are on the h.i.d. compilation, the middle of america (h.i.d. P.O. box 25 evanston, illinois, 60204). a live version of "texas" is on code blue, the last rites magazine compilation (1717 sunnyside beach, mchenry, illinois 60050). a live big black cassette was released, but is now out of print, it sucked anyway

other great bands you ought to get familiar with: rifle sport, man-sized action, bloodsport, killdozer, breaking circus, nadsat rebel (hey there's something in my oi!), squirrelbait, huge overcoat, circle seven (your check's in the mail), ashes of them, rights of the accused, naked raygun (world domination in '85), effigies (listen man, for a start...), savage beliefs, whole lotta loves, end result, pile of cows, hellos to jack rabid, terry and chris, liz phillip (but shteeeeev...), tesco vee, byron coley, and his concubine jimmy, surfers of the butthole, sonic youth, corey rusk, jody kurrila, the minneapolis supper club, lyle "big guitar" prestar and all our respective bosses and squeezes. the next one's gonna make you shit yourself.

HMS 007