Deep Throats
Good Bad Pretty
"I was a kid, I took mushrooms to help me ease into things. It was a perfect SF night [circa 1999]-warm and dimly lit, shit-and-piss-smelling Clarion Alley. A band took the eye-level built-that-afternoon stage. I had peeked up gender-bent punks chicken-leather skirt and into eternity. How old were they? Who were they? How were they so fascinating? "They were blowing my young mind. I remember a show where, for some reason I cant recall, but probably the cops had shut a party down, they got moved to a friends backyard down on 3rd Street. They played in front of a halogen work light on cement and somebody threw a bucket of yellow latex paint into the sky. The show was incredible and unstoppable (until the bikers next door called the cops and broke up the party). Im not sure how I made it home but the next morning I woke up to strangers sleeping on my living room floor and yellow-paint footsteps covering my joint. I spent the next day gagging on my hands and knees scrubbing paint off the hardwood floor (even the shitty flats in SF have nice floors). Drugs, violence; general snottiness; elastic paranoid guitar; SRO drum kit; coke-bottle specs, sharp bass sounds. "An abstract guitar dance that still I cant rip off without feeling guilty. Smirking medicated bass player whose heavy glasses slid down his sweating beak. Hot-as-hell and unapproachable drum master Sugar, whose boyfriend at the time I remember as like an extra from Warriors except he rode a BMX and was like 40.bad ass. Then there is Tracy-sneer lip stick smear, ripped stocking high heel in my eye. Tough as nails. Off the rails. A guitar as skinny as a knife, bent on pushing an ideal into your face hole. "I look back on these dark and aggressive times with much fondness. Now, here, we present to you the long-lost final Deep Throats recordings, Good Bad Pretty, on frosted, sugar-injected vinyl. Dig in, kids." -John Dwyer.