I saw the Butthole Surfers last night. Paul Leary, Jeff Pinkus, King Coffey, and Teresa Taylor were amazing. Tight as hell. They gave off an ominous sound while film footage of hot rod wrecks, circumcision rituals, and 80's aerobics flashed behind them. I was not let down on that front.
But Gibby. Oh man, what a train wreck. His chemical of choice has clearly moved from acid to beer. He was sucking them down through the whole thing. And to be honest, he was better on acid. I am not condoning acid use, but at least when he was on acid, he was totally unpredictable and weirdly poetic. Drunk, he just kept saying "Fuck yeah!" over and over, messing up lyrics, and desperately looking over at Paul Leary to see when it was time to sing. After he completely forgot to sing the second verse of "To Parter" he walked over to Jeff Pinkus with a smile like "Yo man, my bad." He went to give Pinkus a "still friends" high-five, hand up in the air awaiting a slap, but Pinkus stopped playing long enough to angrily high-five him right in the chest. It was hilarious.
I am happy I went. The music was wonderful and horrifying as always. But Gibby came down many notches in my estimation. I pay $25, you perform!
