The New Bomb Turks – Destroy Oh Boy!

“We beat our heads to the ground. What a cool sound!”

Last week I text brother P this message:  “Destroy Oh Boy on the way to work…Hew Yeah” .  To which he texts back:  “D D D D Dragstrip”. And with that we decided to review one of our all time favorite punk rawk albums…  An album we’ve been steady listening too since we were 15 (we’re 32 now).

T’s Take: Remember a few years back when Garage Rock made a slight comeback and “trendsetters” like Spin and Rolling Stone were creaming in their jeans over bands like The Hives? Oh it was all so new and different! Yeah, but it wasn’t. Cause the second I fucking heard The Hives I thought, “jesus these guys are just a fucking New Bomb Turks ripoff”. Don’t get me wrong. There’s some Hives stuff I dig, but dammit if those fucking Swedes should’nt have kicked some royalties back to the Turks. And another thing… I listen to Underground Garage on Sirius all the time and never hear them blast The New Bomb Turks.  What the fuck Little Steven?  What the fucking fuck?  But we’re here now to pay homage to The New Bomb Turks and not bitch at other knuckleheads so let’s get it on.

“Destory-Oh-Boy!” is bar none one of the fastest most ferocious most unrelenting punk albums I’ve heard. Was so in 1993… still is today. And they’re from fucking Columbus Ohio. Brilliant. Might as well be outer space. If you consider yourself a fan of punk music, or garage rock, or even just straight up Little Richard and don’t have this in your collection you might be full of shit. It’s every bit as essential as “Damaged”, or “Double Nickels”, or “Out of Step”, or “Fun House”, or any of those albums that everyone has in their collections. Seriously, if you don’t own this one get it now. Steal it. Download it. Do fucking whatever. It’s that good. If you see it in a bargin bin grab that motherfucker and run don’t walk to the counter to pay for it.  If you don’t own any New Bomb Turks at all, start here for sure, but please, by all means get all of their other 9 albums and 1000 or so 7”s too. Me and Brother P are lucky enough to each have a white label 12” of a set they did for Holland radio (also 1993). If you’re nice enough you can even look at it. I said look. Don’t think about touching that shit.

I don’t even know where to begin in trying to review this album. Really, if you think I’m laying it on thick you obviously haven’t heard this one. I put it on in the car for the past couple mornings and along with my cup of coffee it makes me want to drive my car through buildings. Guitars, drums, bass, vocals, all at breakneck speeds. How Eric Davidson is able to fit so many words into so little seconds is beyond me. They also have great titles like Born Toulouse-Lautrec (about people who consider themselves “artists”), Tattooed Apathetic Boys (a Pretenders reference or a song about the FSS I suppose), Let’s Dress Up the Naked Truth, and I Want My Baby… Dead. They also cover Wire’s Mr. Suit so fucking on point that you’ll forget the original even exists. I read somewhere that the dude from Wire says its the best cover of anything they ever did…sorry Mike Watt.  There are few situations where it’s inappropriate to play this album. Some albums I only throw on in the winter or summer or at night or in the morning or so forth. I don’t care where or when I am I can always listen to “Destory Oh Boy!”. And it always makes me feel the same way. Fucking Awright.  Hew Yeah.

P’s Take: See, sometimes you get cravings for things. Like, sometimes I just really want a Blimpie sandwich. Like a lot. Then I will have to haul my ass off the couch, ask for my wallet back from the wife, get on my rusty bike and pedal downtown and get me a fucking Blimpie sandwich. Cuz that is the only thing that is gonna do it for me right then. With me most often I get cravings for foods, but sometimes for albums too. One of those albums I get fierce joneses for is The New Bomb Turks “Destroy Oh Boy”.

I bought “Destroy” years ago on the strength of the album cover alone, a cartoon dude losing his shit amongst a spiral of beers, junk food and girlie magazines. And a clown for some reason. This cover art spoke to me at that time on a visceral level. I took it home and blasted it and it was the most righteous noise I had heard up until that point, it was exactly what I needed. Cheaply recorded, loud-ass overdriven guitar, two-and-one-quarter-chord wise-ass garage punk. It even sounds like it was recorded in a garage, even though it was recorded at a studio in Brooklyn. Oh yeah, in case you’re asking, fuck Brooklyn. You heard me.

At no point does this album slow down. At no point is there a timely topic approached. Sting makes no appearance. Bono does not pop his head in, light candles and fat shortly around. This album is about drag strips, loose women and telling Mr. Suit no. Just no. This album clocks in at under 40 minutes, you get an extra track on the vinyl you don’t get on the CD. This album gives you what you need, when you need primitive rawk. Like a Blimpie sandwich suckas. Get on yo bikes.

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