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Bloodhound Gang in-the-news

Dancing in the gutter: Rude CD of the week: The Bloodhound Gang

April 21, 2000Caroline Sullivan
The Guardian

There's no real British equivalent of Philadelphia's Bloodhound Gang, just as there's no British equivalent of South Park. Which is appropriate, as The Bloodhound Gang are the musical version of South Park. If Mr Hanky's poo-poo jokes make you fall apart, you won't believe your luck. Just for you, a whole album about pooing, peeing and, of course, chicks (who are mostly lesbians).

America is presently in the throes of a pop movement devoted to toilet humour and hormonal excess. And there's an enthusiastic audience out there, comprised of the countless men who've never outgrown the need to moon passers-by from car windows. The Bloodhound Gang, Blink 182 (whose current bestseller is called Enema of the State) and their ilk are validating those urges to the tune of millions of record sales. Twentysomething ex-college boys clinging to eternal pubescence, they're probably not above throwing a moonie themselves.

Their popularity Hooray for Boobies has been selling 80,000 copies a week in the US, and they've just been top five here with the single The Bad Touch probably has to do with the current rebellion against political correctness, as well as the fact that they present an alternative to grim angst-metallers like Korn. There's also the gross-out factor, which keeps you listening just to see how childish they'll get. The answer is very, evinced by lyrical gems like `I'm white, but I can come in any colour' and `It's hard to rhyme a word like vagina/Calvin Kleina?'

All of which makes Hooray for Boobies one of the more buyable records of the week. Its complete lack of responsibility, coupled with surprisingly melodic electronica, metal and punk, addresses a need you didn't even know existed. Songwriter Jimmy Pop hits the nail on the head by calling the record `halfwit and half-halfwit'. Taken in the right frame of mind preferably after a session with Radiohead it is head-clearing, butt- kicking and high on its own sophomoric humour.

Listen to the country pastiche A Lap Dance is So Much Better When the Stripper is Crying, or the Offspringesque pop-metal of I Hope You Die (`I hope your cellmate thinks he's God/But CNN refers to him as Bowling Ball Bag Bob/ Serving time again for the abuse of a corpse/ Only this time the victim's a Clydesdale horse') and prepare to mutter about a childish waste of record company money. But prepare to laugh, too.

To hear the tracks on this CD call 09068 626 828 and use code 1144