This guy dies for you every time he sets foot on stage. GG Allin is no artist, definitely no musician and he's the last guy you'll ever call politically correct. The story of GG Allin includes some of the most primal, crude, badly-recorded attempts at putting rape on vinyl (and cassette when he runs out of money). His live shows are the stuff of legends: Stories of shit-eating (and flinging), masturbation, shooting up, arm-slashing, mikestands crushing front-row skulls, etc. ... and it's all true, no hype whatsoever. Best of all, nothing that GG Allin does is motivated by a desire to become famous, rich or respected. Most of his records are out-of-print or near-impossible to find. His shows are often kept very low-key, so as not to arouse the local PD. The man himself is usually broke.
He's also usually in terrific physical pain, the result of the many heavy objects (beer bottles, chairs, bowling balls, safes) that he's been struck with night after night.
The most underappreciated and misunderstood man on the face of the earth... why does he bother? Because somewhere in his admittedly damaged mind, GG Allin personally believes the rock 'n' roll he creates is the hardest core there is. Still, most of the nation's more academic scum (see Village Voice, 10/21/86), consider Mr. Allin to be nothing more than a mentally retarded exhibitionist. Of course, it all comes down to opinion, but most rock journalists have failed to recognize that for many healthy young people (guys and girls), a song like "Needle Up My Cock", or "Drink, Fight & Fuck" is far more entertaining and cathartic than anything Peter Holsapple or the Del-Lords are likely to create in their entire fucking lives. GG Allin isn't being obscene as much as he's spouting the very same philosophy most people wish they had the guts to say themselves. Famous punk-rock musicians who number themselves amongst GG Allin's legion of fans include Volcano Suns, Squirrel Bait, the Dehumanizers, Wayne Kramer, Cheetah Chrome, Joey Ramone, Michael Cudahy, and Thurston Moore. Of course, none of these people would allow GG to sleep over at their house, but they're not stupid. Not much more I can say other than dig the tape, and catch GG's live show if he's ever within 200 miles. Smart money says he won't live past 1987, so don't miss him. And unless you're trying out for a very rough detergent commerical, don't stand anywhere near the stage.
GERARD COSLOY
New York City, 12/86
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