(July 1989) Spin

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The Frogs, two Minneapolis men, are too busy rubbing boys' balls and asking questions like, "What'll we do when he butter runs out?" to bother with the mewling self-righteousness of the Communards or make up slogans about being glad to be gay. This delightful pair, who describe themselves as the world's first gay supremacist folk-rock band, have obviously taken that old adage about making the personal political very much to heart. In fact, as a certified 'mo, I'm proud to report that the lyrics on every song here involve some kind of filthy and/or illegal act. Faves include: "Out of the mist/I kissed your drug-filled lips/you filthy prostitute," and "Being oiled down by furry young men/I can't remember when/I've been so hard/How ya doin' sailor?" Such poetic gems are tossed off as blithe non-sequiturs amid giggles from the peanut gallery and self-aware asides (one lyric actually goes, 'That was a good drum break"). To up the anarchy, the music sounds like a heroin addict's attempt to play every track on Hunky Dory on two broken instruments. Even their voices are a wreck, offering wobbly send-ups of hippy earnestness.

Still, if you think this is all a joke, the hoot's on you. The rampant lasciviousness these Frogs croak for is not only a necessary counter to this anti-sex era of ours, but a convincing expression of post-liberation confidence. True, only one song delivers on the group's supremacist promise ("Lesbians are cool/straights are fools"), but they do make sure to include two examples of gratuitous misogyny - a plus. This way no one can ever accuse them of being politically correct.

Jim Farber