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FIREBALLS
OF FREEDOM Kelly: guitar/vocals
Described by many
as the last surviving defenders of the psychedelic hardcore movement,
THE FIREBALLS OF FREEDOM, for 10 years, have remained true to their master
plan of musical annihilation...determined in laying waste to the fools
who pretend they know too much. The FOF are "frequency warriors" or such,
and shall unwillingly out wit, outclass and pulverize any attitude laden
"scenester" whom threatens the Fireball way of life: do what you wanna...don't
imitate...don't worry...FREEDOM! Upon meeting each
other at art school in the late eighties, the four original "Balls" showed
mutual interests in the havoc+music=fun tradition commonly known to the
19 year-old acid-induced sound manipulators. After 'bout 4 years of virtually
no sleep, sometimes creating soundscapes lasting as long as two or three
days, the boys finally started performing live! The first show consisted
of a 45-minute instrumental version of "The Peoples Court Theme". Consequently,
many a folk thought this was the tragic fall of modern music. Despite
the hype, many early spectators barked "what is that", or, "I want whatever
they're on"...one confused reviewer compared them to Charles Bronson arm
wrestling Lawrence Welk in a room full of Greek fishermen. Fortunately
enough, despite the rumors of their neo-psychological terror, frequent
nakedness and hacky-sack with pigs hearts, the 'Balls' have carried on.
Often lumped in with
modern-world, cruddy rock resurgence doorknobs, these freaks are more
at home with psychedelic dementia and the unorthodox structures of freevile-jazz
while including the unprecedented dangers of the full-on live performance
(Kind of like going to the dentist on crystal meth while sitting on a
bunch of pillows). Sure, our boys dig Midwest rock, how can't you? But
they can't imitate, as they are FROM THERE...and don't you forget FARGO
is the Midwest too. Not as spooky as Spokane, and a little less grittier
than Omaha, Fargo, the blue collar "little city", is nestled in the shwag-ridden
plains of the Red River Valley. Nothing to do but pretend your going to
college, ingest drugs and music...constant music. It keeps you alive up
there. After achieving countless scholastic awards, including degrees in graphic art, political science and journalism (Von actually has a doctorate in horse head bookends), Von, Troy, Sam and Kelly came to a stunning landmark conclusion: all you really need is a PHD in sonic awareness. They all graduated in "flying" colours. After countless hootenannies under such monikers as "Smegma Clowns" in ye' ol Fargo town, the boys decided to pack up and head west. Good ol' Missoula was the place they ought' be? So they loaded up the van, waved goodbye to Ralph's Bar and didn't stop till they hit the hell gate itself: Missoula Montana. Here's where things
got a little hazy: After about 25 destroyed houses, 200 shows at Jay's
upstairs (about 1/2 known as "honky sausage") and countless skirmishes
with the opposite sex, the guys felt like mo-town was getting a little
small and set their sights for the bright lights of the big city of Portland,
Oregon. Then shit just started rollin'.
They recorded two records with Tim Kerr in Seattle, toured their asses
off across the whole fuckin' U.S., and then one night accidentally discovered
oyster pizza. That's when things went over the top. Everybody was in top-notch
form, creating the 1999 freakishly pepper-blasted "New Professionals"
on Empty Records and then the soul-splattering head-popper of their Estrus
debut "Total Fucking Blowout" in 2000. Everything seemed SWEEEEEEEET!
But of course something had to happen - I mean, they are the "Balls" (FoF=lethal
dose=?). Unfortunately, all toughest soldiers must fall. Troy lost it.
The repetitive tours and the throes of truck-stop delirium caused him
to develop a compulsive moustache grooming habit. He soon underwent therapy. In Decemeber 2000
Troy Warling left the band. Little did we know Troy, or "Squirrel" as
we knew him, had been battling a temple melting, 6-year beef jerky & hot
dog addiction, which combined w/ the herbal speed prescribed by a leading
Norwegian physician, caused irreversible damage to his colon. Squirrel,
well-loved, honorable member of the FOF currently performs in the stage
production of "Mad Dog West" at Teddy Roosevelt national park in Medora,
ND.
ACT 2 With no Squirrel in the house and a tour with Mudhoney two weeks away, the Fireballs enlisted Jason "The Dr" Paulucci on bass guitar. A Buffalo-to-Las Vegas transplant, the Dr had all the deviant qualities the Balls desire and require: a healthy yet hedonistic delinquent BROTHERHOOD FULLFILLED!! The bro-dome is back, and ready for any kind of attack with the best morale and most catastrophic capabilities yet. Thus created was "WELCOME TO THE OCTOGON" last may in Austin. They're just mentally and physically stronger than ever. I'm scared...you should be too. Keep an eye out for em' on tour. Even though they have been living the clean life, only indulging in beer and marijuana, they may accept an occasional pharmaceutical or line of cocaine. While many categorize the Balls as "Torch carriers", listen up motherfucker, they have never written a song in any "genre" nor in celebration or re-birth of any kind of music. The Fireballs of Freedom are themselves: four supersonic power-blasters ready to destroy the constructs of the pharaoh-sonic' dildoic age...they're 'bout subtle as a bag of gold paint! Huff away........ Dewey
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