Sing, motherfucker, sing!

Can you spot what's wrong with this album cover? No, aside from the fact that this group is way too chipper in the face of the impending Rapture.

Thanks to the sharp eye and keen detection skills of the lovely and talented Beth, and the superior technological wizardry of the not-lovely-yet-still talented Anthony Cartouche, I bring you the first of many - well, a handful, but many sounds so goddamn impressive, doesn't it? It awakens curiosity. It's nebulous, awe-inspiring, cosmic - um, what? Oh yeah - crazy album covers. But please, save your overzealous clapping and childlike giddiness for something truly groundbreaking. I'm merely following in the footsteps of the good Dr. Monkey and his legendary collection, and wish to humbly contribute to the elegant, refined discourse that one can only read in the blogosphere.

I'm beginning the series with this particular album because it holds a special place in my heart. The tyrannical overlord gentle producer, the Malcolm McLaren of this sonorous troupe is the one and only Rev. Ernest Angley, a staple in my beloved Northeast Ohio for many a year, who can still be seen on his revolutionary televised program, The Ninety and Nine Club, dispensing the good news in the only way the Reverend can. Inspirational is a word that simply does not do it justice. I dare say his sweet words of Jesus-ery warm even the icy heart of this old atheist. Sniff.

Or maybe it's the toupee. Shatner himself weeps before its grandeur.


















But once upon a time, back in the 70s, those heady days of free love, weed, Foghat and bralessness, the right Rev. was quite the chick magnet. Look at that lush head of hair. Look! Someone has truly been blessed by the Lord! Although, if I'm a member of The Musical Five, I'm likely a shade to the left of upset. Where is my fucking picture, Mr. Angley? You heard me, Ernest! We do all the work, write all the fucking songs, then you hire some telegenic fucks (that chick is complete babe, no? The coming of something draweth nigh, I can tell you!) that get all the fucking credit in the eyes of your million-strong audience! Well, I've fucking had it! The NLRB is gonna hear about this, you walking hairpiece!