I like the cover art, don’t get me wrong, but I gotta wonder just what exactly is going on here. Let’s see, there’s a really toned stripper gyrating on the American flag while Harry Truman and Dwight Eisenhower look on. How did YOU celebrate the Fourth of July this year?
First of all, it ain’t a rooster. And it’s not atomic. There are also three O’s in “Rooster.” And oh yeah, I almost forgot…uh…the bird’s got TITS!!!! What the hell, man? Is this the work of a talented artist creating a controversial and ambiguous work of art? Or just someone who’d rather be fucking a parrot?
Step Into the Uncertain, no shit. The only thing that is certain in Adrian’s world is that his artist had no formal training whatsoever. Hurry up, Adrian! Collect those ottomans from the giant spider squid so we can create another fancy metallic logo for you that no one can fucking read! Power up, You Level 6 Paladin Heavy Metal Rocker Dude You! Use those boots of escaping! And don’t forget to clean up before Mommy gets home.
Great. Now I won't be able to visit the Statue of Liberty without getting this image of her as a topless rock goddess. You thought XTC's "Statue of Liberty" was ridiculous - well, leave it to Jonathan King to actually put an image to that madness. Hey, why don’t we replace the statue of Justice blindfolded with a big poster of an oiled-up Lita Ford while we’re at it? Besides, this cover doesn’t even fit the music, to be perfectly honest. I mean, when you think of naked groupies and guitars raised over the head, are you really thinking of Starship, Mr. Mister and Whitney Houston? And are they really “the very best of USA entertainment?” It helps to know that Jonathan King, the man who “presents” this record whatever the fuck that means, is also the man responsible for two things in musical history: 1) the shitty solo hit “Everyone’s Gone to the Moon,” and 2) discovering Genesis, which means he’s directly responsible for “Su-Sussudio.” Therefore, the only thing Jonathan King should be “presenting” is the order for his own execution. Quickly. Before we start getting wet dreams about the Mona Lisa.
Sancho Panza’s bitch. Shake those maracas, baby. Real Mexicans have wood paneling, apparently.
For those of you who wondered what it would look like to wake up next to the lead singer of the Spin Doctors on a naked camping trip. Kinda sorry you asked now, aren’t you?
Damn straight. That’s Manuel the Magnificent to you, pal. Dude can make disembodied Jennifer Connelly heads in turbans appear out of pitchers of Hi-C and all he needs is Judas Priest’s smoke machine. That’s right. Fuck David Copperfield.
Yeah, that really IS Herve Villachez, otherwise known as Tattoo on Fantasy Island. And yeah, that really IS a giant talking frog. And Wayne Newton as the Devil. And three typefaces that were never used again after 1988. But before you get too excited, I’d bet that well-stacked babe who’s too tall to bronski Tattoo is really Divine or some other dude in drag. Because if it’s one thing you can learn here about the Eighties, it’s that they were really, really fucked up.
You’ve heard of the Blue Man Group, right? So what the fuck is this? Looks like Sinead O’Connor teamed up with Roger Daltry and Leo Sayer on Mars. Great. Just what we need. A disco version of Quadrophenia with an Irish accent.
Shoulda sued Madonna, this one. She got there first with the Silver Bullet Bra. Oh, and look, she’s making a rabbit head on the wall!
Me? Who, me? You want me to explain why you’re wearing African face paint on the cover of an album devoted to the music of Jamaica? I don’t know, Foxy Brown Half-Nip, but I’d say you’re the victim of a graphic designer who couldn’t tell one black culture from the next. Now whaddya say we go roll some spliffs on those plates your friends put in their mouths?
– Those of you who stopped taking piano lessons at the age of 15 should take note of Mr. Wallbank here. And weep. Because even if your hair looks like shit and you pull your pants up to your nipples, you can still bag a popsicle-licking piece of ass, just as long as you know how to play a mean organ. And if the babe drops her head any further, it won’t be Raymond Wallbank who’s “at the organ.”
I honestly don’t remember this being a fashion trend in 1977, and I was a horny teenager back then, so that’s the kind of shit I’d commit to memory. But anyone who writes “Bee Gees,” “Yvonne Elliman” and “10CC” on their ass NEEDS to be severely reprimanded, so I guess she’s just preparing for the inevitable. Consider it Step One.
No, really, dude, I’m sure she’s interested. In fact, she was just telling me before you came in about how she’s tired of young handsome Johnny Depp lookalikes, and she would blow the next Bobby Darin wannabee who stuck his martini-soaked fingers down her blouse. That’s you, Gramps! Hey, it’s your lucky day!
Look, I’ve been to Graceland, and lemme tell ya, NONE of the people who are into Elvis enough to buy a cutoff tee that says “You Can Vote For President, But Elvis Is My King” look anything CLOSE to THAT. As a matter of fact, Elvis cutoff tees START in XXL. There’s your “Presley Style” right there, folks. And what’s with the Krush Groove style graffiti lettering? Did the record label have ANY clue who listens to Elvis?
The worst buzz kill ever. This one’s got all the ingredients of a good cheesecake cover - hot swimsuit model, topless, major fake tan…but hold on a second! She’s dressed in a diaper, and she’s covering up her breasts with a fucking BABY??? Hey, look, I’m into MILFs as much as the next middle aged guy, but Jesus – how can I possibly get off when she’s HOLDING the fucking kid? Who designed this cover, a gay pedophile?
...because that’s all she can comprehend. Nice beanie. Where’s your drool cup?
‘Cuz there’s nothing funnier than a slow adult dressed like a bumblebee trying to rape a Page 3 girl! So offensive, even Benny Hill shook his head and muttered “Now that’s just juvenile.”
White men in black face lined up giving the Sieg Heil salute? Gratuitous crotch shot in the foreground? Jesus, Marilyn fucking Manson didn’t offend as many people as this old British record cover does! And he really tried! On the plus side, it actually does look like Amos and Andy are trying to push that dancer’s head into the giant camel toe. Now that’s comedy! (And only slightly offensive)
If the term “Broadway” means dressing like Lenny and Squiggy’s wet dream and showing your tit, then yes, I guess this is “going Broadway.”
Shit, where is everybody? This is Max Yasgur’s farm, right? Whaddya mean that was twenty years ago? Says right here on this poster, Woodstock, August 15, 16 and 17th, 1989. What? That’s a six? Awww, fuck! Well, shit man, you got any acid left?
Hey, whaddya think, I’m stupid or somethin’? Cloning the same black girl three times doesn’t make a girl group! Did you really think I was gonna fall for that? Whaddya gonna tell me next, that Iraq was responsible for 9/11? That Jimmy Fallon should host his own late night talk show? That there’s not a serial killer behind that Burger King mask? C’mon, man. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.
It's only sexually suggestive if you have wet dreams about Raggedy Ann. In which case, might I suggest there are a few Bratz girls who are far hotter.
Not only did this girl pleasure the entire offensive line of her high school football team, she did 'em all at the same time! And she likes to sit around topless! It's like fucking both Hilton sisters and only having to use one gag! Although I'm not exactly sure that rightmost hand is coming from her shoulder...
THE CHAKACHAS, JUNGLE FEVER, DUTCH 7" PICTURE SLEEVE
Some got it, and some don't. The ones that don't tend to hang out with the ones that do, while the ones that do try to hang on to what they got. That, of course, is the life mantra being pictured on the cover of this amazing German comedy album from the Seventies, "Es Steht Ein Wirtshaus an der Lahn," which roughly translates into "Here, let me carry them for a while." I went to Bavaria for a week back in my late twenties, and not only do I not remember any Bavarian women who looked like this, I don't remember any Bavarian women who looked like women. Someone throw that chick a Pilsner. Or two.
I don't wanna be rude or nothin, but if "Jack" wants to "tell it like it is" about drugs, shouldn't he be "hangin" with those "long-hairs" in the background rather than sitting all by himself with his fancy Farrah Sta-Prest slacks and fancy semi-muttonchops and spray-on tan and shirt collar that's wider than the doorway to Oprah Winfrey's kitchen? Sorry Jack, but you trying to school us on drugs is kinda like learning about respect from Kanye West. Besides, the other group looks like they're having way more fun.
Well shee-yit, ol' Jethro's lookin' real purdy on the cover of this here fancy rekkid album. Sure is one fancy mullet thar, Jethro. Real fancy like. Can't tell what he's watchin' though - probably either a tractor pull or his sister taking a bath. Something tells me the guy on the cover ain't the guy responsible for the record, though, since "Chicken Coupe De Ville" is actually a pretty decent pun, and the only person stupid enough to look like this and think it's a good look is named Kid Rock. Oh, and by the way, how many of the Sarah Palin supporters in this album's target audience actually figured out the missing letters in the song title "Sc****d & Tattooed"?
Don't think for a second that classical musicians didn't get their fair share of wang dang sweet poontang in their day. Just look at Johann Strauss. Who cares if you look like Avery Schreiber? Write "Radetzky March" and the young babes line up like runaways outside Nikki Sixx's dressing room. "They call me Danube," says Strauss to the swooning brunette on the cover. "Now don't you wanna say you Blue Danube?"
THE LEN HUNTER COLLECTION, SWING GENTLY WITH STRAUSS
Hey, it's Bigfoot from the Howard Stern Show, back when he was a folkie! Please, for the love of Jesus, just please tell me he's wearing pants.
Well now, there's really nothing I can say that could make this record cover any funnier. Fuck, I don't even know what to say. Except that maybe this is what the Houses of the Holy album cover would look like if it were a Takashi Miike film. But shit, that's not even nearly as funny as just looking at the cover one more time. It's Japanese, and I've said it before and I'll say it again, they buy used panties from vending machines over there. 'Nuff said.
FATHER MOO AND THE BLACK SHEEP, 2001 JAPANESE SWORDFISH LABEL
"Djano Bittet Zum Tanz." Roughly translated, means "Loretta Swit tries to pick up John Bonham." Not so unusual when you consider that, during Zep's 1973 American tour, Robert Plant did in fact sleep with Gary Burghoff. But hey, he was banging everything back then.
Poor Barbara Eden could never get any decent roles after the cancellation of "I Dream of Jeannie" in 1970. Sadly, this was something she did not handle well.
MONTEAUX VIENNA PHILHARMONIC, BERLIOZ SYMPHONIE FANTASTIQUE, RCA VICTOR LP
Just what do they think they're censoring here on the cover of this Buy It With A Six Pack of Rolling Rock At Your Favorite Interstate Truck Stop special? I mean, the chick's got a skirt on for Christ's sake! If something really is hanging out and needs to be censored by the not-exactly-flattering label CONVOY, then maybe our little truck bed beauty needs to stop riding stick shift for a few months, or at least start using a razor. Which means that last song, "Gimme Forty Acres," might've been written for her. This was the Seventies, after all. And let's be honest, she does look like she's seen her share of Kenworths. Still, she keeps a special place in her heart and under her skirt for "Big Dave" who rides in front, while his "Tennessee Tailgaters" take their place, naturally, around back. Now that's a real Mack daddy. And by the way, what the fuck did this album do to get a "Stereo Gold Award"?
BIG DAVE AND HIS TENNESSEE TAILGATERS, HITS FOR A TRUCK DRIVING MAN (INCLUDING CONVOY)
Maybe it's just me, but the way they've overlaid the photo of the blonde with the seascape/mountain background, kinda makes the girl look like all freaky and shit. I mean, I'm sure without Mauna Kea over her face, she's probably pretty hot, in that Susan George meets Suzanne Somers kinda way. But here, she looks more like the Salt Vampire from Star Trek. "Mr. Furley, come on in. I was just cleaning the house in my see-through nightie." "Say, Chrissie, I think you missed a spot under the couch. Hey, why are you touching my face like that? Aaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh!"
ALAN HAVEN, IMAGES, UK PHILIPS LABEL
She's a dream girl, alright. Wears color-coordinated pastel picnic gear and smiles over her shoulder at you while the fun couple are headed off into the forest for some heavy-duty down-and-dirty clover-rollin', which they'll probably put clips of on Youtube the very next morning. But you, you can always say you had some downright tasty ham and cheese sandwiches with your little pink lady while discussing the finer points of birdwatching. Yeah right, some fucking dream girl this one turned out to be.
RAY ANTHONY AND HIS ORCHESTRA, THE DREAM GIRL, 1950S CAPITOL LP
Just who does this "Verrill Keene" think he is, anyway? Sure, he may look like a budget-bin Robert Goulet, and that sure is one fancy ass gold fuck chain hanging around his groovy black turtleneck like he's some swinging bachelor pad white boy predecessor to Flavor Flav. But even so, does that mean he's good enough to snag not one but TWO smokin' hot 60's go-go girls who can't between 'em figure out how to keep their shirts buttoned? Right, I didn't think so. But there he is, smiling like Oprah Winfrey at an all-you-can-eat buffet, and what's even worse - if that cover is supposed to imply that the three of 'em just got done with a hot sweaty bout of psychedelic lovemaking on that vintage Spanish Modern bedspread (probably selling for hundreds of dollars right now on Ebay - search "retro" and "Eames"), then shouldn't virile Verrill be shirtless or, at the very least, necklace-less? Unless, of course, that means he's missing another article of clothing. And then we need to thank the art director for cropping the photo where he did.
VERILL KEENE, AN AFTERNOON AFFAIR, SHOWTOWN LABEL LP
TINO LA TINO AND HIS ORCHESTRA, CHA CHA CHA LP, CROWN LABEL
Today's show is brought to you by the Number 6. Okay, great, now get out of the way, 6. Go on, BEAT IT!
Alright, so if 6 ain't leaving, can we at least get another hot topless girl in here with a number "9"? Bababooey!
DAN HILL, SOUNDS ELECTRONIC 6 LP, UK RPM LABEL
...I wouldn't have to drink Palmolive Dishwashing Liquid through a straw.
Special thanks to Kari Wuhrer's mom, whose cleavage makes this cover.
BERT KAEMPFERT AND HIS ORCHESTRA, IF I HAD YOU, UK CONTOUR LP
First of all, that ain't a Hammond. A Hammond is a type of organ. Which makes this particular cover photo really, really stupid. 15 Great Classics, Hammond Style indeed. Sorta like having an album called Guitar Rock and putting a photo of a glockenspiel on the cover. Wouldn't surprise me if there were only 14 songs inside either. So yeah, even though the ditzy blonde is plugging her ears in response to the giant non-Hammond trombone about to bear down on her, it sure beats what the photogapher originally had planned: dropping an electric organ on her head.
DANNY HODGSON AND THE PETE SMITH BIG BAND, 15 GREAT CLASSICS HAMMOND STYLE, UK CONTOUR LP
We here at K-Mart...sorry, the "Big K"...are proud to have a dedicated workforce of talented and self-motivated employees who we continually motivate to seek higher levels of training and performance. Our managers and store owners of today were our cashiers and stockboys of yesterday, and that's because we promote from within. The levels of achievement are endless, and if you have the right stuff, you can rise through the ranks in no time. Oh yeah, and I should also mention that all roads to promotion go through Mrs. Pasquale, Assistant Manager of Housewares and Auto Parts. But you should have no problem. You look like you work out. She'll like you.
One word: Gunt.
CRISIS, ARMED TO THE TEETH, 1984 BULLET RECORDS
And you wonder why we make fun of the French. So Don Knotts here can flip a crepe up in the air in his swinging bachelor pad, big fucking whoop. But it is for the one chubster who's so enthralled by this act, she's actually gasping in amazement! Who invited her to the Crepe Fest anyway? I mean, look at the three juicy cougars that Chef Poofty somehow got into his finished basement, and then ask yourself how she crashed the party. My bet is she's not actually amazed; she's just hungry, and she's wiping the drool from her chin knowing that she's the one who's gonna be downing 90 percent of that airborne crepe anyway. While Don Knotts and Charlie's Single Mom Angels are gonna be off putting other things in the oven, so to speak. Viva Les Crepes!
She may be irresistible, but Damita Jo certainly ain't the sharpest Ginsu in the infomercial, that's for sure. When she said she was going to the beach, they told her to make sure she wore a hat. Turns out the entire USC Trojans football team was also at the beach that day, on Spring Break. They found Damita Jo irresistible too.
DAMITO JO, THE IRRESISTIBLE DAMITA JO, 1968
Right. For those who can't quite afford an actual Slade album. It's a budget label approximation of the Slade sound performed by actual homeless people that brings new meaning to the term "unnecessary." Only outdone by the next year's forgotten Sounds Like David Geddes (performed by The Crack Whores).
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