Watch Out, Here Comes G.G. Allin
On Saturday, June 13 G.G. Allin the Hooksett, N.H. rocker, comes to Charlotte’s Church of Musical Awareness. Kneeling at the punk altar? Offering himself as a human sacrifice is more like it.
Allin’s exploits are legendary. He’s compared to Alice Cooper for his darkside theatrical flair (losely speaking, of course, as his stage props consist of his body and its byproducts), to Iggy Pop for his physical gyrations/contortions and penchant for self-mutilation, to Wendy O. Williams for his use of flesh as shock value, and to the late Sid Vicious for his personal brand of destructive excess.
“I am the blood and guts,” Allin says. “What I do on stage I do everywhere I play. I do wanna die on stage. I’m serious. Every time I step on stage could be my last show because I’m not afraid of nothing. I go over the edge. Others just talk about it.”
He’s been arrested for disorderly conduct, banned for obscenity, hospitalized for drugs and wounds. He’s done things onstage that CREATIVE LOAFING can’t legally describe.
He’s also created some intensely memorable rock ‘n’ roll, the kind that the Dead Boys or the Sex Pistols or Black Flag would never have done because it would have been too close to home. Allin doesn’t sing about TV parties or anarchy or psychotic killers – he is the party, the explosion, the madman. When he describes in intimate detail the what, where and why of his veneral disease test in “Needle,” or when he deliberately baits the audience in “You Hate Me, I Hate You,” or when he outlines his street cruise in “Sluts In The City,” there is nothing left to the imagination, no doubting his sincerity.
The music is loud, raw, chaotic, punk rock. The kind that parents hate. That kids thrash to. That local authorities monitor closely. That club owners pull the plug on.
Allin’s most recent release is a cassette-only album on ROIR Cassettes entitled Hated In The Nation. It contains material from his eight-year career (including appearances by members of MC5, Artless, Dinosaur and Shockabilly) and is interspersed with monologues and harangues, all obscene, from his live shows. Pretty wild stuff, no exaggeration.
— Fred Mills