Scorched and Naked

The B-52’s discuss polyester, spontaneous combustion in Las Vegas, skinny dipping, and their future in video.

B-52’s. Yeah, that’s it. Where the hell have they been, in hiding or something? Actually they’ve been around, but not terribly visible, putting out solo albums and stuff, taking some time off after guitarist Ricky Wilson died of cancer.

But n

ow they’re back, with a vengeance and a new album. The band thinks Bouncing off the Satellites is pretty good, at least good enough that all their parents bought it. And if it’s good enough for mamas Schneider, Wilson, Strickland, and Pierson, it’s good enough for you.

While the group remains true to its life-equals-beach-party attitude (“Don’t need a man to treat me mean/I need a man to help me clean”), the B’s in person are quick to talk politics: the politics of groove and the politics of love.

“We consciously made an effort to put out a good vibe on this,” explains Keith Strickland (guitar, bass, and all kinds of other things).  Vocalist Fred Schneider continues: “It’s positive ‘80s flower power. I wish kids would get off their butts and stop worrying about their careers. People need to vote in all kinds of state and local elections. If anything good is going to happen, you’ve got

to get the right people in there. If we can make other people aware, even if it’s just in a small way then that’s something positive.”

The group’s liberal ideas, however, do not extend to their clothing. No Birkenstocks or sackcloth shirts here, no siree. One hundred percent American polyester is their fiber of choice. Schneider tremblingly admits that “we heard about this busload of tourists in Las Vegas who were all wearing polyester and they spontaneously ignited and all humped naked into Lake Mead.” Though a long way from the days of goat farming and thrift shops in Athens, Georgia, keyboardist Kate Pierson still believes, “If you’re dressed outrageously, you’re just bound to have fun.”

The band is still recovering from the loss of Ricky Wilson, but maintain that they are still a functioning band. Kate for one is taking the current project pretty seriously: “I think maybe we’ll make a video tomorrow. I had to cancel my hair appointment and make the plumber wait another week to fix the sink. We’re decided to support this album in a lot of alternative ways, ways never before dreamed of, like meditation.”

Seems to be working.

Originally published in SPIN Magazine, Volume 2, Number 9, December 1986.

Hell on Skates

The Georgia Satellites practice George Jones covers for the Judgement Day.

The Georgia Satellites want to sound like the devil on roller skates. They like to play loud, and they have the stacks of Marshalls to do so. They even play their Neil Young records loud, not just “Rust Never Sleeps” but also mellow stuff like “Old Man.” They wake each other up to play their new Faces bootlegs.

Th

ey claim they’re from Hell (in a bucket) but they really mean Atlanta. Rick Price and Mauro Magellon used to play in a band called the Brains.  Just as they were getting nationally famous, and before Cyndi Lauper could record their “Money Changes Everything”, they broke up. Price and Magellon joined Rick Richards and Dan Baird in the Satellites. They added the Georgia when they put out an EP in Britain, and the Satellites from England bummed out. Home turf, after all.

The Georgia Satellites are from Georgia, but they don’t sound like the Allman Brothers of R.E. M. Rick Price likes R.E.M., but is miffed that Mike Mills said R.E.M. blew the Brains away at R.E.M.’s first gig. Rick wants to speak to Mike Mills. Texas death match. Blood feud. Thrilla in Manilla. Fifteen rounds, no hitting below the belt.

The Satellites sound like very old Stones, and they like that. Their gu

itars sound dirty, like they’re playing with sand in the teeth. Their songs have about three chords, maybe foud, that that’s all they need. They could be the next ZZ Top if they hired a marketing genius. On good nights they sound like a stock car race. Their music is great straight, but it’s a lot more comfortable with a couple of Rolling Rocks under your belt.

The Satellites are demonic onstage, mellow in person. Rick Price wants to open Rick’s Rod and Salad Bar—auto repair with veggies. Rick Richards wants to buy New Zealand. Dan Baird has no idea what he wants to do. Mauro Magellon wants to open up a nursery or Transcendental Meditation center. Better yet, best of all, get one of those isolation tanks and fit it with wheels, curtains, some little portholes, a cosmic camper.

All of the Georgia Satellites like kung fu movies, and they say, any movie in which Edward G. Robinson says, “Yonder likes the castle of my faddah” (even though it was really Tony Curtis who said it). They like George Jones, and cover “The Race Is On” and “White Lightning” in their live show. And whatever else comes into their little heads. Sometimes one thinks up a really cool cover, tears into it, and lets the others figure it out as they go.

If you had to pick one band for a year on a desert island, it wouldn’t be the Georgia Satellites. But if you could pick a house band for your never ending party in hell they’d be the one. They’d probably like it too. Free beer. A hot crowd. Smoking Marshall cabinets. And the devil roller skating around in time to the music.

Originally Published in SPIN Magazine, Volume 2 , Number 10, January 1987

all material ©copyright chris carroll 2012