F, THE BAND FORMERLY KNOWN AS THE JOHN BIRCH SOCIETY

Turd Records -- Gainesville (1995)

Die You Stupid Hippies
I Want to Kill You
Turn Off Your Radio
Hatred Through Beer

Bob B.Q. Chicken - vocals
Ivan Absurdio -- guitar, vocals
Kevin Regan -- guitar
Tim Leigh -- bass
Vic Random -- drums

This band is on my short list of favorite Florida bands ever. F,TBFKATJBS (yes, this is the official acronym) grew out of the Doldrums and the Jeffersons, with Bob Chicken (former Generic Death and Fonzie's Nephews) up front.

The songs on this record capture both the genuine rage and nihilistic humor of the band, with the exception of the competent cover of The Essentials' (of Fort Lauderdale) "Turn Off Your Radio." All the other songs are about how the band wants to kill you. They are basically up-tempo double-guitar punk with lots of yelling. There is some interesting art-guitar noodling in 'Hatred Through Beer' too, thanks to Kevin Regan.

Addressing the dreadful emergence of emo in the 1990s, Mr. Chicken in the title track announces "Some of you punk rockers are pathetic, man/to me its just a different name/
emo-core my fucking ass/you're all hippies just the same."

The schtick of this band was inspiring in its absurdity. They took their name from two incongruent sources: the defunct West Palm Beach band 'F' -- of which there were no overlapping members -- and the John Birch Society, an anti-communist organization prominent in the 1960s and known for its embrace of right wing conspiracy theories. This was convenient, as both F and the JBS had stickers, pins and other paraphernalia that could be recycled for the new band.

Emo-punks were not their only target. Inexplicably, the band was invited to perform in a benefit for the National Organization for Women, which was attended not only by college students but a battalion of elderly battleaxes from town. F (or JBS, no one short name ever stuck) wrote a song for the event ("This Song Will Not Cure AIDS," unfortunately not on this record) and after performing it, Bob Chicken pulled down his pants, poured rubbing alcohol on his genitals and lit them afire. The organizer cried as Bob was surrounded by angry women. The event was ruined.

The band was, and the record is, great.