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Fireball Ministry: Their Rock Is Not Our Rock Label: Liquor & Baker Records Released: 2005

It kind of amazes me that I’ve fallen into this shit-trap whereby I need to see a band in order to judge them. I can well imagine that if I was 18 in 1976, and I was still living in my parent’s house and they were away on a long ski weekend (okay, for the record, my parents don’t ski, but humor me while I play out this “80’s-coming-of-age-teen-movie-shit in my head over here), I’d crank my tire-sized headphones, roll a joint and could probably give less than a fuck about what the guys from Black Sabbath looked like. Hell, if I’d seen even a glimpse of the bands of that era, I’d probably do my best to block out the very thought of their sullen mugs while the smoke clouded my still-developing brain. I mean, Jesus, you could practically smell these coked-up greaseballs by simply listening to the record.

Which brings me to my point: music should convey the attitude of the band, not their fashion sense. Although, that would kinda dismiss Bowie’s entire career. Forget I said that.

I once had a psychology teacher in college that was preaching about staying with the same chick for a long period of time. When discussing the possibility of cheating on his wife, I think he actually said, “Why go out for hamburger when you’ve got steak at home?” And I thought, “Why would you fuck a conduit of e-coli?” I missed the point a lot in college. I’m not sure what this has to do with anything. Maybe it’s all this talk of grease and rock music. I went to a college full of rock musicians. Actually, they thought they were rock musicians. They’re probably all homeless now. Fireball Ministry would never bang the same chick twice. I’m sure their tour bus smells like Hugh Hefner’s dick.

Regardless, Fireball Ministry embodies the immortal spirit of leather pants and coke off the asses of groupies, and I can tell you that without even seeing a picture of them. It’s friggin rock. I dunno. Lots of double guitar wiggy-wiggy-wiggy riff shit and drums that are real. No roto-tom frills and goofy cheese junk. Just rock.

Listen, if you long for the days when Headbanger’s Ball was kinda gay but in a really cool way, then you’ll dig the piss out of this record. I’m going to go search eBay for a used Trans Am