The Bloodhound Gang: Hefty Fine
One of 2005’s few conceptually noteworthy, radio-rock songs was the Bloodhound Gang’s “Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo.” Some Russian philosopher or somebody once implied that all art circles around a few universal truths, and the abstract works that don’t do so blatantly are evasive if not worthless. On first listen the Bloodhound track is full of the near-nonsensical wordplay that Pavement/William S. Burroughs types have used to amuse dorm rats since post-war leisure time was invented. Only every couplet in “F.U.C.K.” adds up to “put the you-know-what in the you-know-where,” reducing this quiet-loud retro alt-rock nugget to a finger thrust in and out of a hole made by a thumb and pointer. Its mixture of insight and puerility is worthy of Beavis himself.
Unfortunately, the mental effort Jimmy Pop Ali and the rest of the Gang need to think up a smart sex joke is so taxing that they only pull off one each decade. “I’m the Least You Could Do” almost works as a post-electro “ Bad Touch.” And “Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss” almost works as a post-“Bad Touch” “Bad Touch.” But most of Hefty Fine, the Gang’s first album since 2000’s Hooray for Boobies, is too musically or lyrically lazy—if not both—to connect. “Pennsylvania,” Bloodhound’s Bam Margera-promoted attempt at a home-state anthem, only takes off during the closing shout-out to Wawa. The lack of inspiration is a shame, as we could always use a good song about “Farting With a Walkman On.”