(July 1989) Spin
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.