Billed by many as one of rock’s greatest failures, Mark Manning, aka Zodiac Mindwarp, was a not-so-seminal mover and shaker on the early 90s rock scene. Backed by the Love Reaction, this band of misfits was renowned for literally tearing Europe a new asshole in their heyday.
And now, on the advice of a sick manager, Mindwarp has decided to search through the acid flashbacks and smoky haze of weed and alcohol to commit his sordid tale to paper. Gee, thanks.
For those who shrieked with glee over Motley Crue’s book The Dirt, thinking it was packed with debauchery and titillating accounts of nailing groupies with telephones, you’re a bunch of namby-pamby pussies. In the opening paragraph, Mindwarp puts them to shame with countless recollections of buggery, bestiality and drug abuse. An example where Mindwarp describes searching out possible drummers with bassist Cobalt Stargazer and guitarist Kid Chaos:
“Kid Chaos had turned out to be just fine. Not only did he have a lesbian stripper girlfriend, he had two…getting jolly on the floor, fists up each others’ arses, sucking on the furburgers, hairy pie all over the fucking place.
‘Hey no man, we just wondered if you were like a drummer?’ said Kid Chaos placatingly.
‘You saying I look fucking stupid or something you gay little bastard?!?’ shouted the colonial before throwing his drink in Kid’s face, ripping down his rubber mini-skirt and taking a shit on the floor.
Mr. Slam Thunderhide; lead drums with the Love Reaction.”
Sometimes, things just sell themselves. Does it matter who the hell this band was? No. To be honest, knowing their collective output, they should have been paid not to record.
But no one can ignore the incredible legacy. Even the most extreme non-believers must admit that some of this shit is just too weird to make up, a la “truth is stranger than fiction.”
Duct-taped groupies, buckets of eels swimming forced into anuses, fun with fireworks, masturbation, scatology taken to a new level and the odd gig are brimming with disgusting descriptiveness. Think of Fucked by Rock (or the band itself) as a car wreck: you’re completely disgusted and utterly disturbed, yet something forces you to scope out every detail all the while. Well written for a blazing alcoholic and drug addict, we’ve found a new Bible for the rock circuit. Now we can all be Fucked by Rock.
