As many of you know, I've recently recieved an iPod (courtesy of my brother Kris), and with it, I've discovered the art of SoulSeek. I generally download one of two types of MP3's:
1. Stuff that I like (or used to like), but would never buy, because I don't support major labels and/or because I'd be too embarrassed to bring that crap to the counter of Newbury Comics.
2. Stuff that is out of print, so I can steal it in total confidence that I'll be hurting nobody but eBay swine.

As any MP3 junkie will tell you, there is a considerable amount of crossover between those two. And just recently, I've found the perfect combination of both. Not only that, but this recording is personally revealing with regard to my rather offensive sexual preferences. This is one of those records I used to listen to when I was 16 and horny, and thus has stuck with me to this very day.

Now, being a desperate 16-year-old in the mid-1980's, there was plenty to keep me occupied. And I'm sure there are others out there like me, reading this blog and thinking they know what's coming (so to speak).

But y'all can keep your "Lady Cab Driver" or "Little Nicki" by Prince. Go to hell with your "Sex (I'm A...)" by Berlin. We don' need no stinkin' Appolonia.

The sexiest record in the 1980's was by a foursome of underage Brummy girls with bright eyes, bushy tails, and Cindi Lauper's tailor.

That record was called "Bostin' Steve Austin." It was by a group of underage girls with the double-entendre name of "We've Got A Fuzzbox And We're Gonna Use It." And it was the most brilliant pop record of 1986.

This is it: the sexiest record of the 1980's.

"We've Got A Fuzzbox..." consisted of Vickie Perks, Jo Dunne, older sis Maggie Dunne, and Tina O'Neill. Supposedly, this is how they formed the band: they heard a friend's band needed an opening act, and so lied and claimed they were in a band together - just because they thought it might be a fun thing to do. After stealing their boyfriends' equipment (including their vintage distortion pedal), they practiced for 24 hours before taking the stage. To everyone's surprise, they got a standing ovation and an encore. In the audience was Robert Lloyd from The Prefects and Nightingales, and recent creator of Vindaloo Records. He asked them to sign a record deal.

From there, it was an explosion of random pop-culture celebrity. They did a couple opening gigs for Sigue Sigue Sputnik (again: it was 1986), toured England and later America, and appeared on NME's C86 compilation, which (due to no fault of Fuzzbox's) is largely responsible for the British pop genre called "twee" or "janglepop".

Q: How could anyone possibly hate girls like these? A: You can't. It is physically impossible to hate girls like these.

They were underage and photogenic, with an outragious fashion sense and a giggly go-get-'em attitude, and they were prone to unintentionally profound proclamaitions like "Just because you've got coloured hair doesn't mean you're an anarchist." They quickly (and deservedly) became darlings of the English press, poster children for a new, devil-may-care pop decade.


And most of their songs are about women suffering at the hands of men.


The majority are of the usual he-done-me-wrong variety, a sort of punk version of The Shirelles. But midway through the album, a darker undertone of sexual violence and destruction creeps in among the pop melodies. This comes to the fore in the song "XX Sex" (which also happened to be on their first single). Over a chant of "XX Sex Gets Ex-Ex-ploited," the band recites a (mostly unintelligible) litany of female complaints, culminating in this view of the male gender:

XY
Immediate possession the ultimate right
XY
Beautiful woman in a short black drape
XY
They know what she wants
They know what she wants
Rape
Rape
Rape
Woooo!

Things get even darker in the song "You Got Me." Think that this would simply be a traditional love song a la the Kinks? Nope. Over a main riff that's bombastic and repetitive - one might almost say throbbing - the girls sing these lyrics in their teenage voices:

You got me
You took me
I bet that makes you happy
You got me
You got me, eventually

I wanted to ignore the
Threats and insinuations
But you stuck true to your word
You got me

Don't give me your excuses
I've suffered enough abuses
Don't need your explanation
Of your fall to temptation

You got me
You took me
I bet that makes you happy
You got me
You got me, eventually

They said it was what I asked for
Dressed up like a whore
So no wonder that you got me
You got me

I stood the investigation
Bylaws and humiliation
Now please just leave me alone
Can't even pick up the phone
I can't even pick up the phone

You got me... (etc)

That's not all. After rising to an orgiastic finale of "You Got Me!" over and over, the song ends... only to begin again, going to the end of the first verse before ending again. And starting over one more time to sing the refrain.

This means there are not one, but two false endings in the song. The overall impression is not just that the Fuzzchicks are raped, but that they are raped over and over again. Nothing in the song suggests that the rapist suffered any consequences whatsoever.

You would not believe how many times I masturbated to this song.

The next two songs are the saxophone-tinged suicidal dirge of "Hollow Girl," and the distorted and wailing "Console Me." I doubt it was their intent, but the effect is to arouse that kneejerk overprotectiveness that's instilled in the heart of all males. You couldn't have made better feminist propaganda if you tried. And as a confused teenager who was no older than the girls themselves, it had me drowning in a pool of self-loathing and reaction formation long before the tissue was even dry.

As it happens, the copy I downloaded has a bunch of extra tracks on it - I believe it's actually the first disk of The Fuzzbox CD Project. Most of these are earlier (and better) versions of the songs on Bostin' Steve Austin, plus some throwaway cover tunes put out when they were first signed to Vinadloo Records. The new songs include "She" (which, as far as I can understand, is about a cock-tease), and the brilliantly-named "AAARRRGGGHHH!!!" (about some unknown thing from the center of the earth rising up to destroy the world).

I never heard these songs back in the day, so they aren't really germaine to this discussion. But a friend of mine did have the "Love is the Slug" single, which featured "Justine" on the B-side, thankfully downloaded with the other extra tracks. As a teenager, I thought it was probably about the Marquis de Sade book, and listening back today, I'm convinced I was right:

Well I am but a poor girl
Please take pity on me
I had to make a choice
It's a question of morality
I need a helping hand
Please take pity on me
All I wanted was charity
But what came was the penalty

Justine
Lecture on vice
It doesn't really benefit you to be nice...

One could certainly say that writing anti-rape songs along with one about the Marquis de Sade is sending out a bit of a mixed message. But in any case, I can tell you from bitter experience that girls are not the only people who could learn from that particular "lecture on vice."

Had anyone listened, that is.

As it turns out, very few people were. In all of the interviews with Fuzzbox I've been able to find, not one person wondered why a bunch of teenage girls were writing pop songs about rape.

And journalists were not the only ones turning a deaf ear. From a 1986 article in NME:

A woman approached them at the London JAMC gig and pleaded with them to cease facilitating the wet dreams of the corrupt male consumer.

Another woman harrangued them in Manchester about their patriarchal packaging by a sinister male record company and the kinky stage gear... to both of whom the Fuzzhipsters replied- Fuck off back to the '60s, earthmother!

"Why should Fuzzbox conform to their preconceptions? why should we be all grey and miserable?" asks Maggie. "They just end up looking like men, why? I mean, men and women are different..."

"Are they?" asks Jo, wide-eyed and smiling.

Maybe this is why they wrote "Preconceptions," the last song on the album, in which they tell their listeners "don't look at how I look, listen to what I say" and to "pay less attention to the packaging and listen to the voice."

But as it turns out, Fuzzbox probably should have paid a little more attention to the packaging.

Perhaps to be taken more seriously as pop stars, but almost certainly egged on by major label execs, Fuzzbox went in a more mainstream direction. They learned how to play their instruments (or more likely got others to play them), got Bangles producer Liam Sternberg to co-write some songs, dropped the outrageous clothes, dressed up like sex symbols, and promptly put out one of the most disappointing albums ever recorded by anyone, anywhere.

That album was "Big Bang!", their second full-length, and it dropped like a pile of flaming dog poo in 1989. For this record, their name was shortened to just "Fuzzbox," which is kind of appropriate, because if they still had a fuzzbox, they sure as hell weren't gonna use it.

It's the worst girl-group album I've ever heard, and I've heard the Spice Girls. A polished turd of 80's synths and Phil Collins drum sounds, it would have been appropriate on the soundtrack of "Miami Vice," except that "Miami Vice" was already off the air by then. Not even up to the standards of the Go-Go's or Bananarama, the album seems to be a bad knock-off of Katrina and the Waves, which begs the question: How on earth could you miss the target if you're aiming so low?

This is why musicians should never listen to record producers. I mean, seriously, ladies. What the fuck?

Incomprehensibly, a couple of the songs charted in England, which is probably a testament to the girls' personalities and the sad state of English music journalism. Nonetheless, they started to work on a third record, but stopped when Vickie decided to go solo. Her self-titled debut sank like a stone, but by then, the breakup was a done deal.

The next several years saw a number of threats to get Fuzzbox back together, but nothing ever really came of it - due in no small part to Vickie's refusal to take part in any reunions. The BBC Sessions and few compilation albums were released early in the millenium, but no new material has been forthcoming for over fifteen years.

After a decade-long hiatus, Vickie now performs under the name V.i.X. and occasionally does backing vocals for Ginger and the Sonic Circus. And according to the All Music Guide, Maggie became the new bassist for Babes in Toyland in 2001. (This is likely one of the many "reunion" shows that Kat Bjelland performed with various backup musicians - to the utter chagrin of the other Babes.)

But for the most part, the girls are now living normal lives. According to an article in the Birmingham Evening Mail, Maggie is an IT tutor, Jo is a retail manager, and Tina a trainee teacher. (The article also claims they're back in the studio, but we've all heard that one before.)

It's too bad, really. One of the best girl bands ever, reduced to day jobs, out-of-print albums, and crappy fan sites on Geocities and Myspace.

Of course, I'd still do 'em.