Before I get to heaping steaming superlatives on the timely re-issue of this punk-metal classic, there is some business I need to take care of first. Along with a sticker announcing that this is a limited edition pressed in “pink beef curtain” vinyl, the shrink wrap of this record is also festooned with another sticker touting You Axed For It as being “rape rock at its finest.” The thing is, the label “Rape Rock” not only misses the point, but it just isn’t funny. And if you’re somehow listening to and enjoying the Mentors without humor being one of the main motivating factors for doing so, then you are quite likely a dim and possibly dangerous fuckwit who should avoid ever interacting with women, children and animals. It was their lewd humor and depraved lack of decorum that gave the Mentors the stubby, stinking pig legs that have carried them through the years to a place of relevance here in 2010, not any attempt to be perceived as a real sociopathic threat.
The only way the label “Rape Rock” would be funny would be if it originally came out of the mouth of an aghast listener, someone along the lines of a Tipper Gore or a Mr. Rogers. Or, in contemporary terms, a Glenn Beck. Now, I admit that there is a song on this record called “Sleep Bandits”that might just be Rohypnol inspired. But my guess would be that if the Mentors ever played around with date rape drugs, it was for their own trashy high and was not used as a tool of a genuine sexual predator. I’m not sure about Sicky or Dr. Scum, but I seriously doubt that El Duce—the late lyricist and soused figurehead of the Mentors—could’ve even managed to sift through his own alcoholic haze enough to rape an inflatable sex doll, much less a living human woman, what with that drooping, booze-filled blubber stick of his. El Duce’s real life “rape” victims, I suspect, were sinks, tubs, and toilet bowls. Truth be told, “Rape Rock” is a label much more appropriate to GG Allin than the Mentors. If anything, the Mentors are more Peeping-Tom Rock than Rape Rock. Now that I’ve gotten that all straightened out, another mistake has always been to write off the Mentors as mere fatuous oafs laying in puddles of their own filth and laughing at their own farts. As oafish as their sexual slapstick was, Duce was something of a savant, possessed of a sophomoric cleverness that was leagues above that of the lowly jerk-off booth wino he might’ve appeared to be. El Duce was the Shel Silverstein of drunken smut. All you need to do is read the lyrics of songs like “Golden Showers” and “Sandwich of Love” to see that there was a bozo poet laureate behind the bleary frog eyes, lecherous mug, and swinish behavior. And You Axed For It shows El Duce at has poetic best, infamously rhyming “anal vapor” and “toilet paper,” among others. And as if pink beef curtain vinyl wasn’t enough, this re-issue includes a special 7” record containing two never-before-released tracks recorded in Dr. Scum’s basement in 1977. So how can you go wrong? But you better rush out and grab one of these quick because it’s apparently a very limited edition of only 500. My guess is that these filthy little treasures are going to get gobbled up pretty quickly, simply because You Axed for It captures the mighty Mentors at the absolute summit—and nadir—of their prurient, pull-my-finger powers. This is Peeping-Tom Rock at its finest. Screw social networking, social leprosy is where it’s at!
–aphid (Stool Sample)